Page 99 of Eternal

DAMIR

“Fear Of The Water” by SYML

Present

B lue and Green. Light and dark. Half of it soft, the other angry.

And she’s staring at me with need, with disappointment, like she’s scared that I’ll abandon her because now I know who she is.

“If I asked you to kiss me,” she says, voice low, seductive, like she knows exactly how to break me, “would you?”

My eyes flicker to hers. “You’d want it?”

She smiles. “Maybe.”

My heart beats harder in my chest, but I hold steady. “And how would you want me to kiss you?”

Her fingers hover near the scar on my chest, the one that’s always been a reminder of the mess we are. She brushes it with soft fingers. “Should’ve aimed for the heart…”

I can’t help it. I laugh, but it’s colder than it should be. “Kinky?” I ask, my tone dry.

She’s unfazed. “I’d want you to take the air out of me with your mouth.”

I take a slow breath, fighting the urge to grab her and pull her into me. But I won’t. I can’t .

“My drunk partner,” I say. “Flirty things are falling out of that mouth too easily tonight. But I won’t. Not like this.”

Her lips twist, a flicker of something bitter flashing in her eyes. “What? Afraid I’ll hurt you again?”

She stumbles slightly, and I move instinctively to catch her, but she pulls away, almost like she doesn’t want me to.

“You’re not sober for this,” I say, softer now.

But she doesn’t listen. “Why not?” she scoffs, almost disappointed, as if she’s daring me to cross a line I know better than to cross.

I close my eyes for a moment, shaking my head. My jaw clenches. Not this way. “Not when you’re like this, partner.”

“ Consent ,” she says, almost laughing at the absurdity of it. “Never thought people cared about it. It was never an issue for them.” The words spill out too quickly, too raw, like they’ve been festering for years, and I freeze.

Something inside me tightens, my chest burning with a fury I can’t hide. Them? They… they took her. They used her. I can’t even think of it without feeling the heat of anger rise in my throat.

I don’t even realize it, but I take a step toward her, like I’m about to tear through the world that made her feel like this. My hands ball into fists at my sides, the control slipping from my fingers faster than I can grasp it.

“Azra,” I rasp, “They’ll rot in hell for what they did to you.”

They took something from her that no one has the right to, and if I could make them feel the pain she’s carrying, I would.

Her eyes look lost for a moment, like she wasn’t expecting that kind of anger. Like it’s too much for her to process. But then she looks at me, a kind of rawness in her eyes, and I know she’s not really seeing me. She’s seeing the past. Them .

“I’ll show you,” I say, my voice soft but dark, almost a promise. I reach out, but this time, I take her hand carefully. “I’ll show you what consent feels like, Azra. Not like this… not like what they did.”

She doesn’t pull away. She just looks at me, eyes wide, maybe confused, maybe hopeful, maybe scared.

“Trust me,” I murmur, barely above a whisper. “ This ... this is different.”

Her gaze flickers with something vulnerable, broken. But she doesn’t argue. She doesn’t pull away.

I don’t give her a chance to change her mind. In one smooth motion, I scoop her into my arms, cradling her against me like I’m the only thing that can keep her together. Her head rests on my chest, and for the first time tonight, I can feel the weight of her body ease a little.

“It’s been so long since I’ve felt safe in someone’s arms,” she whispers, barely audible. “I don’t want you to leave. I lied…”

My heart does something strange, something tight and fragile.

I feel that shift in me, the one that makes me want to protect her, to keep her from whatever hurt is still clawing at her insides. “How could I leave my sad and chaotic partner?” I whisper, my lips just brushing her ear. “Who’s gonna stab me if not you?”

She lets out a soft laugh, but there’s something bittersweet in it. Then, her lips press softly against my chest. It’s light, just a touch. Something inside snaps, and I can’t stop myself from leaning down and kissing her cheek.

“I’ll take you home,” I mutter against her skin, the words raw with yearning.

We don’t talk on the drive back. Music’s playing low, something she likes, and I let it play. No reason to cut it.

She’s slouched against the window, cheek pressed to the glass. Her breath fogs it up in little clouds. She looks… small. Not physically. Just... folded in on herself. Like a tired kid who never got hugged enough.

And drunk. Not tipsy… drunk. The kind that gets into your bones and starts pulling memories out of you whether you want them or not.

I keep glancing over. My hands stay tight on the wheel, but I’m barely seeing the road.

I missed her. Not just the fire or the chaos. I missed the quiet parts.

The heaviness she carries like it’s normal.

The way she just exists and somehow makes me feel like I’m bleeding and breathing all at once.

When we pull up in front of her building, she gives me this half-lidded look like, Alright, you did your job. You can go.

“I’m walking you up,” I say.

She doesn’t fight me. Doesn’t even sigh. Just nods. That’s when I know she’s more gone than she’s letting on.

In the elevator, she sways a little. I rest a hand on the small of her back. Not grabbing, just there. Steadying. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t lean in either. Just accepts it.

But she’s cold. And I’m close enough that I can smell the alcohol on her skin.

Outside her apartment, she digs through her keys. Pulls out her motorcycle key and tries to shove it in the lock. I watch for a second.

Yeah. She’s really not okay.

“That’s not it,” I say, quietly. “That’s your bike key.”

She blinks at it, like it’s the one that screwed up. “I’m not helpless,” she mutters.

“I know,” I say, and I mean it. Still, I take the keys from her gently. “Just let me help, alright?”

She lets me. The door clicks open. She walks in without turning on the lights. I step in just enough to see the mess.

Bottles. One on the kitchen counter. Two near the couch. One knocked over, like it got into a fight and lost.

My stomach sinks.

“Azra,” I say, low.

“ Don’t ,” she snaps. “You can leave now, Damir.”

I stay where I am. Watch her stand there like the room is shaking under her feet. Like she’s holding herself up by sheer force of habit. She finally turns to face me.

“You didn’t have to walk me up.”

“I wanted to.”

She tilts her head, that crooked smile that doesn’t fool me for a second. “You gonna tuck me in too?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I come in, I won’t have the will to leave.”

That stops her. Her face changes, just for a second. Something real flickers there. Like she almost lets herself feel it. Almost .

She steps in closer. Slowly. Her fingers reach for my shirt, land right over the scar she gave me. Her thumb brushes it like she forgot why she touched me in the first place.

“You’re not gonna kiss me goodnight?” she says.

I don’t answer. I just lean in and press a kiss to her forehead.

She sucks in a breath, barely audible. Then lets herself fold into me. Head on my chest. Fingers bunching the fabric of my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll vanish.

“Why can’t I have you?” she whispers.

I close my eyes for a beat. My hand goes to the back of her head, thumb stroking her hair. “You can,” I say. Quiet. Honest . “I’m here.”

She doesn’t believe me. I feel it in her shoulders, in how she doesn’t relax.

“Why can’t I keep you?” she says. “Why can’t I just… keep you?”

She’s not lucid enough, no matter what I’d say, no matter what I’d do. She’s not lucid enough and I just want to hug her and make her smile to make her thoughts less distressful. “You already have me. You even marked me with your knife, it’s too late now.”

She huffs out a laugh. It’s small. Cracked. But real. Then she presses a kiss to my chest, right over my heart, and it short-circuits something in me.

I tilt her chin slightly and kiss the corner of her mouth. Just there. No more. “I missed you,” I whisper, lips brushing her skin. And then I pull away. “I’ll come by tomorrow.”

She doesn’t believe that either. I can see it. “You won’t,” she says.

“I will.”

I mean it. Even if she doesn’t believe me. Even if she doesn’t open the door.

I step out. Close the door behind me. Lock it gently.

Just in case.