Page 39

M y delivery bag hung empty at my side as I fumbled with my apartment keys. My legs ached from climbing four flights of stairs to Mrs. Henderson's apartment. The elderly woman's delight at receiving her weekly raspberry tarts was the only bright spot in days that stretched endless and gray.

I hadn't left the apartment in days before today, not wanting to face anyone. The bruises around my throat had finally faded to pale yellow shadows, barely visible unless you knew where to look. The cut on my shoulder had healed to a thin pink line beneath my sleeves. Nyla and Joslyn had tried calling, but I refused to answer. Knowing them, they'd get Faith and Victoria to come drag me out and demand answers without V around, but I knew I had to talk to them again soon.

The lock clicked open, and I pushed the door with my shoulder, eager to collapse in bed and pretend the outside world didn't exist.

I stopped cold in the doorway. My fingers clenched the keys so hard they cut into skin, sharp points grounding me as the dark object took shape. Not furniture. Not a shadow. A body— huge, motionless—stretched across my living room floor like a crime scene.

V.

The delivery bag slipped from my grip, hitting the floor with a dull thud. My chest constricted, ribs squeezing inward like a fist. No air. The keys clattered from my numb fingers, metal striking hardwood in sharp bursts that made me flinch.

He was on his back, one arm flung across his chest, the other stretched out beside him. His mask shifted slightly, revealing just a glimpse of his jaw. Beside him, a small pill bottle lay open, tablets scattered across the hardwood like tiny white bones.

His bat rested a few feet away, alongside a knife.

My throat closed. Oh God. Oh God. My knees wobbled, threatening to dump me onto the floor beside him. The walls seemed to breathe, pressing closer with each frantic heartbeat. I gripped the doorframe, knuckles white, fighting the urge to run.

Forcing my legs to move felt like walking through concrete. Each step toward him sent fresh waves of nausea rolling through my gut.

"V-V?" My voice quivered like a broken string. What was he thinking? What if he was—no. Don't think it.

His eyes opened slowly, pupils already dilated. The single overhead light cast harsh shadows across his face, carving valleys where there should be expressions. He struggled to sit up, pushing himself up on his elbows. "You didn't..." he paused, words coming slower than usual, "...choose me."

The room seemed to tilt beneath my feet. My hands shook so violently I had to clasp them together to stop the tremor. "What?"

"I understand." The words slurred slightly at the edges, his usual crisp diction already compromised. His arms trembled with the effort of holding himself upright.

"Understand what?" My voice cracked on the question, climbing higher with each word. "V, I don't know what you're trying to?—"

"You want... out." Each word required visible effort. His elbows finally gave out and he collapsed back to the floor. "Here's your out."

My stomach dropped, bile rising sharp and fast. My gaze darted to the knife and bat, then back to his masked face. The metal seemed to glow under the harsh light, edges too sharp, too real. "You mean..." My voice came out as barely a whisper. "You want me to..."

He said nothing. Just waited, blinking slowly like even that took concentration.

"This is insane." The words burst from me, high and panicked. I wrapped my arms around myself. My whole body shook now, uncontrollable tremors that made my teeth chatter. "You're asking me to—I can't—I could never?—"

The trap closed around me, crushing my lungs. If I took the bat, if I hurt him, I'd become something I'd sworn never to be. If I refused, what did that mean? That I was choosing this? Choosing him?

There was no right answer. No clean escape. Just the slow suffocation of options collapsing around me.

My chest heaved, each breath a struggle against the panic clawing up my throat. The apartment felt smaller, walls pressing in from all sides. I backed against the counter, needing something solid behind me, something to stop the world from spinning.

"I'm not..." V struggled with the words, trying again to prop himself up but managing only to lift his head slightly before it fell back. "...normal. No one... taught me."

"I don't want to hurt you!" My voice broke completely, dissolving into something raw and desperate.

"You should." The response came out flat, matter-of-fact, though his voice continued to thicken.

I moved closer on unsteady legs. My pulse drummed in my ears, each beat a warning I ignored because I couldn't process what was happening, couldn't understand how we'd gotten here.

"W-What are these?" I pointed at the scattered pills with a shaking finger, my voice barely audible through the terror.

"Pills." His gaze didn't waver, though his eyelids looked heavier. "One for... the night I..." he paused, struggling to organize his thoughts. "Took your name. One for... choice. One for tonight... so you could..."

The fragmented explanation made my stomach flip. "Y-You drugged yourself?"

"Only drug... works on me." His pupils had expanded further, the powerful sedative working deeper into his system. He blinked once, slowly, like his eyelids weighed too much.

"You could have just left," I whispered, the words barely making it past my constricted throat.

His head moved slightly—maybe a shake, maybe just the drugs. "Can't." A long pause. "You're... all I have."

The admission hit me. I stumbled backward a few steps, but then stopped myself. My knees trembled, threatening to give out, but I remained standing near him.

"You threatened to kill my parents." The words spilled out before I could stop them, voice cracking with accusation and fear.

V's eyes found mine with effort. "Would it... hurt you?"

I recoiled at the question. "Of course it would!"

"Then... wouldn't." The words came broken, disconnected.

"Then why did you say it?" My voice broke somewhere halfway through, dissolving into a sob I couldn't contain.

V's head tilted slightly, that familiar gesture now sluggish and uncoordinated. "Didn't know... how else..."

"How else to what?" My arms wrapped around myself, trying to hold myself together.

"Keep you." The admission came out barely above a whisper.

The twisted simplicity of it hit me like a sledgehammer. He didn't care about right or wrong. Only my pain mattered to him. My parents' lives only had value because hurting them would hurt me.

His pupils were now fully dilated, black almost completely swallowing the gray. His body swayed noticeably, the medication taking stronger hold. He had to catch himself from tilting several times.

My whole body trembled as I processed his words. Cautiously, I dropped to my knees beside him. My shaking hand reached toward him, fingertips barely grazing his cheek, the contact electric and terrifying.

His eyes widened fractionally, the only sign of surprise he allowed himself. His skin felt warm beneath my touch, human in a way I sometimes forgot he was. As my fingers made contact, he flinched—a tiny, involuntary movement that spoke volumes.

"What happened to you?" The question slipped out before I could stop it, my voice small and broken.

V went utterly still, not even breathing. His eyes, usually so empty, filled with something dark and vast, an ocean of pain I couldn't begin to fathom.

"Doesn't matter." His voice was rough—almost human.

But it did matter. It mattered because it made him who he was—the man who thought drugging me into marriage was love, who kept his body covered at all times, who now lay before me offering his body as penance.

The drugs were making his eyes increasingly heavy, his reactions noticeably slower. His massive frame swayed more dramatically now, no longer able to fully disguise how the chemicals were affecting him.

"Did you think this would fix us?" I asked softly, my voice still shaking. "That I'd hurt you and then we'd be even?"

"I was giving you a… choice." His words were becoming harder to understand.

Terror and something else—something I couldn't name—welled in my chest. My hand closed around the knife handle, metal so cold it burned. My wrist ached as I lifted it with trembling fingers. V's gaze followed the blade's approach without fear. He didn't move as I held it over his chest, just above his heart.

The weight of it made my arm shake violently. I could barely hold it steady, the blade wavering in the air like a dying thing.

"I could kill you," my voice barely audible, breaking on every word. "Right now. And you wouldn't stop me?"

"Yes."

My hand trembled so violently the knife shook like a leaf in a hurricane. This was my chance—my opportunity to make him feel a fraction of the pain he'd caused me. But my whole body rebelled against the idea. Nausea rolled through me in waves, my stomach cramping with the thought of breaking skin, of causing pain, of becoming something I'd never wanted to be.

The blade clattered to the floor as I released it, the sound making me jump. "I can't," my voice cracked completely, dissolving into sobs. "I can't hurt you."

His fist suddenly lashed out. My body scraped the floor as I scrambled back, pulse jackhammering. I didn't stop until my shoulder blades slammed against the wall, my knees giving out as I slid down to the floor, arms wrapped protectively around myself.

My fingers found my throat instinctively, tracing the phantom pain where bruises had bloomed like dark flowers. The memory of my attack lived deep inside—ghost hands that tightened whenever shadows moved wrong.

"I can't hurt you," I said again, my voice cracking. "But I can't forgive you either. Not yet. Maybe not ever."

His eyes drifted, locking onto mine. "I'll wait forever for you, kardia pou chtypa."

The promise held only the terrible certainty that he would still be watching when the world burned to ash around us.

His eyelids grew heavy, the drugs pulling him under despite his resistance. He fought it visibly now, head dropping before jerking back up, struggling to stay conscious.

"If you killed me..." his voice dropped to a whisper, words heavily slurred but still lucid, "Maybe I'd finally be okay."

His body began to shake, the drugs taking full control despite his resistance. His eyes rolled back momentarily before focusing again with obvious effort, pupils so dilated I could barely see the iris. His breathing became erratic, chest heaving unevenly as he fought to remain upright.

"V-V?" My voice came out as a squeak. Panic flooded my system as I watched him deteriorate. What should I do? What if something was wrong? What if he took too much?

"Please… don't leave…" The words tumbled out, disconnected and fragmented, his speech completely transformed, no longer the measured, controlled V I knew. His eyes weren't seeing me anymore. His voice cracked, high and childlike, completely unlike his usual cold tone. His hands clawed at the air. "J-Just stay until I stop shaking."

His body pitched forward. He hit the floor hard, the impact echoing through the apartment like thunder. From my position against the wall, I watched helplessly as he rolled onto his side.

"Oh God, oh God," I whispered, my hands pressed against the wall behind me, not knowing what to do, how to help from this distance. "V, are you okay? V?"

The blade lay a few feet away on our living room floor, untouched. V's body was completely limp now, his breathing deep and uneven. His head lolled against the hardwood several feet away from where I sat pressed against the wall.

"They're coming," he mumbled, voice slurred almost beyond recognition yet flat, his eyes staring at the ceiling without seeing. "Have to hide. Have to?—"

I watched from across the room as his hand moved slowly across the floor, fingers scraping against the hardwood like he was searching for something that wasn't there.

"V, no one's coming," I said softly, my own voice shaking. "You're safe."

His eyes weren't seeing me anymore. They remained fixed on some point above him, unblinking and vacant. "She's bringing them again." His breathing remained steady despite the words, no change in rhythm or depth. "Don't let them come into my room. Please."

The flatness in his voice made my stomach turn. This was the most dangerous man I knew—reduced to a drugged state where fragments of his past spilled out like facts from a file, spoken with the same detachment he used for everything else.

"No one's taking you anywhere," I whispered from my position against the wall. "You're here with me. Just me."

"They're coming up the stairs," he said, head turning slowly on the floor toward where I sat. "Can't you hear them?"

He began to move. Dragging himself across the floor, his massive frame scraping against the hardwood with wet, grinding sounds. Each inch of progress was agony to witness—fingernails clawing for purchase, leaving pale scratches in the carpet, his powerful body reduced to this broken crawl. His leather cut bunched and twisted beneath him, the material catching and releasing with each desperate pull forward.

His breathing never changed—still that same steady rhythm—but his body betrayed the monumental effort. Muscles that could snap bones strained just to drag him forward, tendons standing out like cables under his skin.

When his strength gave out halfway across the room, he didn't stop. He used his elbows, then his chin, anything to keep moving toward me. His movements were deliberate despite being uncoordinated, driven by some calculation I couldn't understand—like his broken body was following orders from a mind that still functioned in the past.

He didn't stop until he reached me, his body collapsing against mine. His arms came around me, pulling me close as his head found my chest. The weight of him was overwhelming, his massive frame pinning me against the wall. I couldn't breathe, couldn't move, trapped beneath him as claustrophobia clawed up my throat.

"V, what are you—" My voice climbed higher, panic threading through every syllable.

His hold tightened, desperate and clinging, like I was the only thing keeping him from drowning in whatever memories the drugs had unleashed.

"She said it made me prettier," he continued, the words barely coherent through the slurring and the fabric. "For when they came. Five was always enough." My breath caught in my throat, bile rising sharp and acidic. His fingers dug into my back, holding on like I might disappear. "Don't let them come tonight, Oakley."

Not knowing what to do, my hands shook as I reached for my phone. Maybe I could call Nyla or Joslyn. Or even my father. Someone who could help me make sense of what was happening, someone who would know what to do because I was drowning in panic and couldn't think straight.

V's eyes widened with genuine terror when he saw the phone in my hand.

"Don't," he begged.

My finger stopped, hovering over the screen. I'd never seen V look scared before—not even when he was bleeding or fighting. But now his eyes held pure panic, pupils dilated not just from drugs but from absolute terror. My own fear spiked in response, feeding off his terror until my whole body shook.

"I-I need to call someone. I can't—" My voice cracked completely. "I don't know what to do. What if you die? What if?—"

"Five is enough," he choked out desperately, the words slurring together so heavily I could barely understand them, only comprehensible through the sheer desperate intensity with which he forced them out.

His hands clawed frantically at the floor as he tried to reach me, to stop me from making the call. His entire body shook with the effort, movements so uncoordinated that he barely advanced an inch despite his desperate struggle. My breath caught in my throat as I tried to process what he was saying. Five? What did that mean?

"I'll be good," he begged, a sound I never thought I'd hear from him, voice cracking in a way that had nothing to do with the drugs. "I'll stay quiet."

I slowly lowered the phone, hands shaking so badly I nearly dropped it.

"Don't leave me here," he rasped, words barely intelligible.

V's knees shot up toward his chest, the sudden movement jarring as his body tried to find some anchor against the drugs coursing through his system. Then he toppled backward, his shoulders hitting the floor with a dull thud that seemed to echo through the room. His arms sprawled wide on either side of him, palms up, fingers twitching sporadically as the sedatives fought against his iron will.

"They'll come back. They always come back when she's done."

The space between his legs opened up, freeing me from where I'd been pinned against the wall. I pushed myself up from the floor, my back scraping against the brick as I rose on unsteady legs. My movements were clumsy and desperate as I stepped over his sprawled form, careful not to touch him as I made my way across the room. Once clear of his reach, I stumbled toward the couch, my own legs betraying me with their weakness.

From his sprawled position on the floor, V's head rolled to the side, tracking my movement with glazed eyes that kept losing focus. His neck strained as he tried to lift his head, but it kept falling back against the hardwood with soft impacts that made me wince.

"Oakley," he gasped, but his eyes weren't seeing me—they were seeing through me, to some horror from long ago. "Don't let them take me again. Don't let her?—"

His words cut off as his body convulsed slightly, the drugs pulling him deeper under. Still, he fought it, one hand weakly grasping at air, fingers curling and uncurling as he tried to reach for me even though I was now several feet away on the couch.

I collapsed onto the cushions, my legs finally giving out completely. From here, I could see him sprawled across the floor like something broken, his massive frame somehow diminished by the vulnerability the sedatives had forced upon him. Terror and confusion warred in my chest as I watched him fight a losing battle against the drugs, his eyes losing focus before snapping back to find me again.

"I… I can't leave you alone." The words were almost unintelligible, his speech completely compromised by the drugs. Through the crushing weight of the drugs, his eyes fixed on me with desperate intensity. "I don't..." he struggled visibly to form each word, "...want them...to get you...too."

His body convulsed again as he fought against the sedatives, but it was a losing battle. His eyes kept unfocusing, head lolling forward before he'd jerk it back up, only for it to fall again. "But I won't stay in bed with you," he slurred, the words almost completely unintelligible through the heavy sedation, his head lolling to one side before he managed a weak attempt to straighten it.

I sat on the couch, shaking like a leaf, watching as he fought the drugs with everything he had. Despite his completely compromised state sprawled on the floor, he still struggled to keep his eyes on the entrance, like a wounded animal determined to guard its territory until its last breath.

"Goodnight..." His head fell forward, chin hitting his chest before he jerked it back up one final time, eyes still fixed on the entrance through heavy lids. "Oakley."

Not "wife." Just my name.

I could still see him sprawled on the floor by the wall, but the distance felt like miles. My fingers trembled, still feeling the phantom weight of the knife that lay abandoned across the room, the moment I'd almost crossed a line I couldn't uncross.

V began to mutter, his voice so low and slurred I could barely make out individual words. He wasn't talking to me—wasn't talking to anyone real. His head turned slightly, eyes closed, lips moving behind the mask as unintelligible sounds spilled out. Fragments of words, half-formed pleas, broken syllables that meant nothing and everything.

I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to stop the shaking, but it wouldn't stop. My whole body trembled with aftershocks of terror and confusion. V had drugged himself as twisted penance, and I had refused to take what he offered. But in that refusal, had I somehow accepted something else? Some warped version of his devotion that I couldn't quite name?

The sounds coming from him grew more agitated—not words, just broken noise. Sometimes his voice would crack high, childlike, before dropping to a growl. He was fighting battles I couldn't see. His hands moved restlessly against the floor, grasping at nothing.

I couldn't stop wondering what was buried beneath all that darkness. What had happened to him? Who was the woman that made him pretty? What did five mean?

What had turned a human being into something that thought love and possession were the same thing?

His muttering continued, a constant stream of broken sounds that filled the apartment with ghosts.

Even unconscious, he couldn't find peace.