The sounds of battle raged on all around me, as Dimitri began single-handedly taking on the Strigoi. I couldn't make any sense of anything, couldn't even see what was going on. I heard the grunts and blows being exchanged. I caught glimpses here and there of fallen Strigoi, the bodies now piling all around me. Even so, none of it meant anything to me. It gave me no further insight as to who had the upper hand. For all I knew, Dimitri was already one among those fallen bodies and the Strigoi were just having a pissing contest: taking out their buddies to get in good with their boss.
But, I couldn't think about that right now. Not only because of my lack of coherence, but because I wouldn't allow myself to. I had to hope for the best. Even if I didn't make it out of this alive, Dimitri would. I would not let him die for me, not again. I would find some way to get him out of this…so I held on to whatever little hope I had left.
Roza!
That word still continued to resonate throughout the room for me. It filled the room—filled me—with a strength and power that was nearly tangible. His voice—that one word coming from his voice—it wrapped around me, offering me all the hope and strength of the world. I could touch it. I had the power—the capability—within myself to touch it. And, if I could touch it, I had no doubt that I would come back from this. Everything would be okay. It had to be. God, if only I could stretch just a little farther—
My desperate attempts to break out of this current state were destroyed, my line of thought—or any coherent thought, period—completely cut off by another unexpected pain. A sharp, white-hot agony surged through me as Lucas managed to dig the stake even deeper into my abdomen before violently jerking it back out. That sudden movement tore at my flesh even more, so much so it felt like it was ripping me in two. My blood sprayed everywhere, soaking both me and Lucas.
I was so out of touch with reality—everything so severely distorted—that even my pain made no sense whatsoever to me. All I knew was that I was in pain. A pain worse than anything I had ever experienced. I didn't know whether to scream or cry or pass out or what. All I could do was lie there and stare.
Lucas already had a bloodthirsty look in his eyes before, in the sense that he reveled in the opportunity to inflict pain upon me. It was the bloodthirsty look of a psychopathic killer that took great pleasure in the kill, in the violence of it. But, once he jerked that stake out of me—my blood soaking him just as much as it did me—that bloodthirsty look on his face took on a whole new transformation. It wasn't just a bloodlust for the kill or the power anymore…it was a bloodlust for the blood, itself. For my blood. For me.
Oh, God. His expression took on so many different changes, I couldn't even read the reason behind most of them. Within seconds—maybe even less, considering how out of it I was—I saw the different desires, the different lusts and wants warring inside him, each one fighting to the surface. Desire, itself, was written all over him, but I couldn't say which desire he would give into: the desire for the violence, the desire for the blood…or the desire for my body.
Apparently, all three of them somehow managed to win out; something that, under any other circumstances, I would've applauded him for. One of his hands made its way up to my hair and he jerked it up before slamming it back against the concrete, tugging so hard at it that I was pretty sure he would rip it out.
All the while, his other hand pried my legs apart, his eyes glued to where the blood was now running down my thigh. His lips parted and I could've sworn his breath hitched as his other hand gently grazed my inner thigh. Slowly, tantalizingly, he slid his hand up, shoving my skirt up as he went. Once my whole leg was practically bared to him, he stretched it out and gave my upper thigh a gentle squeeze. His eyes fluttered shut in an almost delirious ecstasy and he leaned down, pressing his head against my leg. I could've sworn a delighted whimper escaped his lips as his tongue darted out and began dragging up the now exposed flesh.
I barely noticed as he raised his head to turn his attention back to me, his words having a slight tremor to them. "Dear God, child…" he murmured, leaning down again to breathe his next words against my now trembling leg. "Do you have any idea just how sweet you taste?"
His hand was still on my upper leg, his fingertips now lightly brushing against my skin. It wasn't even to collect blood, this was just an assurance of dominance…just his desire to touch me, to have me.
I shrank away from him, cringing further and folding into myself since I had nowhere else to go. Not that it did any good, since he was just as much there as he was before, still touching me. His other hand released my hair and moved to pick up the stake again. "Here, let's just end this all the quicker for you, huh?" he offered. "Consider this a personal favor from me to you, love. You should be honored. Never before have I gone this easy on a guardian."
Lucas thrust his arm back and made to plunge it into my chest when someone's hand shot out of nowhere, grabbing holding of his wrist. That same hand twisted Lucas' wrist at an unnatural angle, causing the stake to fall from his hand and keeping him from being able to reach for me again.
It took me only a second longer to realize whose hand it was: Dimitri's. I gathered every ounce of strength I could muster to keep my eyes open, refusing to fall under just yet, not until I knew Dimitri would be okay. The bad thing about that was it enabled me to assess Dimitri's expression.
Oh, God, the look on his face…It was one I had never seen before. I had seen Dimitri as a Strigoi—I had seen him as dark and evil and twisted as a person could get. I had seen him frustrated; I had seen him downright pissed off…but, this? The anger and utter loathing and disgust was more than obvious in his expression as he glared at Lucas. Dear God, was he pissed.
I repressed a shudder and cringed even further back, but this time, it was because of the look in Dimitri's eyes. I knew he would never do anything to me—he would never hurt me. He was doing this for me, saving me from the Strigoi, trying to protect me and keep me safe. But, just seeing that anger, knowing what he was going to do to Lucas…knowing exactly what the man I loved was capable of… it made scared for Lucas. God help me, it made me feel sorry for him.
"You ever touch her like that again…" Dimitri snarled, his words both fire and ice at the same time. "…and I will be taking your hand with me when I leave as my own personal souvenir."
Lucas turned his attention on Dimitri, keeping any signs of pain or fear out of his features as he returned the glare. "Belikov." His words were spoken pleasantly, like he had just run into an old friend he hadn't seen in years. "Long time, no see, my brother."
Dimitri released Lucas' hand, shoving it aside as abruptly and fiercely as if the Strigoi had a severe case of leprosy that the slightest of touches would pass it onto him. His look of disgust twisted even further, distorting the features I so loved, and he practically staggered back in revulsion. "I am not your brother," Dimitri spat. "I never was."
A cold smirk played on Lucas' lips, as he rose to his feet and he and Dimitri began circling each other, each taking on the stance of one about to engage in a fight. I watched, entranced, as they stared each other down, daring the other to make the first move, refusing to make it themselves.
"Well, perhaps not by blood," Lucas conceded. "Or, at least not in the sense of sharing blood in the biological, familial sense. But, by sharing blood in the sense of what made us what we are—what you once were and what I am…we are very much brethren in blood…bro."
"No." Dimitri's voice was harder and more insistent than I had ever heard it before.
"Hey, I'm not too happy about this either, but you can't choose your family, right? No, that choice rests entirely in the hands of fate. Neither of us can control that any more than we can control our need for blood."
"I don't have that need anymore," Dimitri snapped. "I don't have it and I don't want it. I will never have it again."
"Yeah, that's right; I forgot. Our little—or rather," Lucas chuckled. "big—Belikov had himself a little trip to the doctor, right? And, what happened to you? What, he put a plastic cone on your head? Shoved a thermometer up your ass? Made you a real boy again? Do me a favor: don't ever let me go that doc. Have enough problems in my life without the added pain-in-the-ass of a damn soul. I don't have it and I don't want it. I will never have it again."
"You're right about that," Dimitri said acidly. "You won't. I'm going to see to that. You don't deserve a soul after everything you did."
"Yeah? And, what makes you so special, huh? You were just as bad as me—hell, even worse than me, I'd say. Yet you get the reward? You get called the hero? The miracle?" Lucas scoffed. "If only those people knew half the things you had done…my sins seem kind of pale in comparison, wouldn't you say?"
When he didn't answer, Lucas continued on, going into greater depth on those past grievances, no doubt to spark the guilt he knew Dimitri kept buried within him. "Like, let's see…you remember that infant in St. Petersburg? What was it, two? Three months old? You held the mother hostage…tied her up and made her watch as you tore that baby limb from limb. Pretty sure there was some disembowelment and mutilation involved too."
Lucas began laughing heartily, almost as if laughing at some inside joke he shared with Dimitri that no one else would get. "Oh, man, good times. You remember how she just kept crying?"
Lucas continued his words through his laughter. "She sat there, sobbing hysterically, desperately pleading with you, in every language known to man. Begging you to let her baby go and take her instead. I think she thought you were a Martian or something since you didn't respond to any of the languages she spoke. She must've spoken 30, 40 languages and you ignored every single one of them."
Lucas began wild, frantic gesticulations to really drive home and emphasize his words, something that somehow made it all the funnier to him. "And, then when you were done? You broke her restraints and let her run to her baby…or rather, what was left of her baby. By the time you were done with that thing, I swear, it looked like an old, rotting pig that had been split open, dunked in soup, and then left out in the sun for, like, a week.
"That woman didn't make it two feet before you grabbed her from behind and dragged her off to the back room. I don't know what went on in that back room exactly, but I heard a lot of: 'Please stop it-s' and 'Oh, God, it hurts' which, you know is like music to our Strigoi ears. Poor girl, pretty little thing. No more than 17-18, I'd say. Gorgeous, long, dark brown hair, so dark it was almost black, I remember. And those dark brown eyes just burned into you. She looked quite a bit like Hathaway, come to think of it."
A curious look crossed his features, almost as if pieces to some puzzle clicked into place for him. "I do remember hearing her being torn limb from limb too, but did anything else actually go on in that room, just out of curiosity?"
"I raped her," Dimitri admitted, his voice so small and filled with so much pain and regret, I could feel my heart shattering more with each word he spoke.
Lucas suddenly smacked his knee as he doubled over with his laughter, making both Dimitri and me flinch in surprise. "Oh, man! That is just…wow. Guess you never got over your affinity for minors, huh?" He turned to me. "You must've made one hell of a lasting impression on this man. All he did for six months…was talk…about you. Except when he was killing of course; you certainly don't take priority over everything."
Then, just as abruptly he turned back to Dimitri. "I have never had a kill as phenomenal and astounding as that before…and there was once a time when I was the equivalent of you in both worlds. Damn. Thank God I killed Maureen, otherwise I would've owed that bitch a thousand bucks. She claimed you raped the girl; I insisted there was no way in hell you could ever be capable of such a thing."
"Stop it," Dimitri practically cried out. "Please stop." Dimitri never once wavered when it came to fighting in battle, and it was even rarer still for his guardian mask of indifference to slip and let emotion through. But, this was the closest I had ever seen him to expressing real, true emotion or weakness.
He kept his eyes averted from mine, despite my attempts to meet his in my desperation to hold onto that gaze. That gaze was all I had that kept me anchored to reality. Without that gaze, I feared I would truly lose myself in those luring depths of unconsciousness once again.
"Oh, my God, even more amazing still," Lucas said, seemingly ignorant to or just not giving a damn about Dimitri's agony. "You just sounded like her. That is exactly how she sounded when she was begging for her life. Uncanny, you got that recorded on tape or something? Working to hone up your impressions and impersonations of people in case it comes in handy someday?"
Now, it was my turn to step in…as much as I could anyway. "Lucas, you…" I choked out, coughing and gagging on my own blood. "…shut the hell up…and leave Dimitri the fuck alone, you son of a bitch."
"Rose," Dimitri spoke my name, still refusing to look into my eyes as he did. "It's okay. Please just—don't." I opened my mouth to retort, but a sharp look from him silenced me.
"Wow, Belikov," Lucas said, looking surprised and somewhat impressed by my defending him. "Got yourself a fan club, I see. So, this is why you're back? One meaningless, worthless girl journeyed to the ends of the earth and sacrificed everything to bring you back and, despite everything you've done…you're let off the hook? Just like that? That hardly seems fair. After all the pain, all the suffering you've caused, you get revered as a god by our people simply because you came back from this." Lucas shook his head, that cold exterior returning to him. "You shouldn't have been saved. You didn't deserve this—you should've been killed."
"I," Dimitri began, seeming to repress a shudder of his own. "was saved through never-ending grace and compassion. It had nothing to do with my deserving it. I got my soul back—I was returned to my original state. I didn't ask for it. I don't deserve it. But I'm not going to let it go to waste either. I insist on making the most of it and making it count for something."
"So that just makes it all go away?" Lucas challenged, a taunting smirk tugging at his lips. "That make you feel better about yourself now? You can justify your actions to yourself now that your soul's drenched in blood? Does it give you a happy, knowing you were salvaged from that evil state? Does being returned to your original state really change anything? No amount of good you do will ever erase your past. You can never undo what you've done. You can get back 50 souls—you can get God's blessing, Himself, and…none of it will ever mean a damn thing to you. Will it?"
"No. Never," Dimitri admitted, humility and submission in his voice for the first time since this slander with Lucas began. "I know what I have done and I know I can never…take it back…" Dimitri's voice caught, but that mask of pure hatred never left his features. "I understand that and I accept it."
"Sounds rather arrogant on your part, wouldn't you say?" Lucas noted, grimacing slightly in amusement. "You always did have a sense of superiority, didn't you, Belikov? Always thought yourself better than your peers, your colleagues. You've always considered yourself above the law, to a certain extent, haven't you? Because you were so good? Hell, what am I saying; I'm selling you short, forgive me. You were the best."
"I'm so honored to have the approval of a Strigoi," Dimitri said dryly.
"You should be," Lucas said, feigning insult at Dimitri's lack of sincerity. "Approval isn't exactly something Strigoi just go around handing out, as you well remember."
"I'm trying so hard to forget," Dimitri returned, his tone never changing.
"You can try to forget all you want, Belikov…but, it'll never go away. Not really. It still wakes you up at night, doesn't it? It will always haunt you. And, to think, people still insist on calling you the hero."
"I am in no way a hero," Dimitri said matter-of-factly. "Not in this or any other piece."
"Then, what do you see yourself as?" Lucas asked. "You fell fighting to rid the world of evil…then bounced back from your darkest of times only to resume the good fight, fighting all the harder to ease your guilt. That's got tragic hero written all over it."
"That is not why I am fighting the good fight," Dimitri contradicted. "I am not doing it for my own personal gain or to make myself feel better for my wrong deeds. I am doing it simply because it is the right thing to do. End of story."
"And, the fact that it is Miss Hathaway who is here…that has nothing to do with it, right? That has nothing to do with the fact that you just stormed in here, half-cocked? Not even half-cocked, you weren't nearly prepared enough to even be considered half-cocked. You came in here, by yourself, ready to take on the Strigoi armies of the world for this girl. There's gotta be more to it than just the moral obligation to do the right thing."
Dimitri winced slightly, but otherwise kept that mask of loathing on his features, not faltering for a second. "It doesn't matter why I am doing this. Either way, you're going to die, regardless of what my motives are."
"Is that right?" Lucas almost seemed amused by the concept of Dimitri killing him, as well he should've been, considering Dimitri could barely stand as it was.
Yeah, Dimitri was putting on a good show of being just fine, being perfectly capable of going another 15, 20 rounds with Lucas. But, I knew him. I knew exactly what his limits were, knew his weaknesses, his faults. And, I knew that it was only a matter of time before he collapsed and completely lost the ability to go on at all.
I couldn't let that happen to him. I couldn't let him take it that far for me. Dimitri was going to make it out of this alive. If that meant I had to die, fine. I would die. But, I would not let him take the fall for me.
"Dimitri—" I tried again, moving to scramble to my feet.
A motion that proved to be quite futile, since it was met with a backhand from Lucas that knocked me back to the ground, so quickly it was as if I had never gotten back up.
Ouch. Okay, stars.
And that one motion from Lucas triggered an instinctive reaction from Dimitri, his instinct and determination to protect me giving him all the strength and will he needed to carry on in this fight. Dimitri returned the backhand with a good, solid blow of his own, managing to block Lucas' forearm from slamming into him in the same motion.
And, thus began the duel, sending Strigoi and dhampir into a pissing contest of their very own.
I alternated from watching as they circled one another in the beautiful yet deadly dance of battle, to attempting to pull myself together enough to join the battle and help Dimitri. I stared in awe, as if that fight was the most mesmerizing experience in the world. Which to me, it was.
Watching Dimitri fight always gave me a sense of comfort and peace that I could never get elsewhere, and somehow I knew everything would be okay. I loved fighting—hell, I fought side-by-side with the man. And, even up against him from time to time. But, something about watching him just…made it so different, so captivating. It was as if that fight was my lifeline—like my very survival depended on Dimitri's prevalence.
While everything inside me yearned to get the hell up and get in on the action, something even stronger held me down. Some force—a force far more powerful than I was, at the moment—pinned me in place, refusing to let me get back up. Maybe it was shock. Maybe it was the urge to watch him fight for me, to watch him protect me. Or perhaps it was the fact that I had just taken on the Strigoi myself—having been stripped of my strength and skill, for that matter—was staked in the gut and literally didn't have the capability to stand on my own two feet.
Huh. Well that was new for me. Literally being…helpless. Helpless to the point where I was actually incapable of doing anything for myself. God, I hated this so much. Always, always in my life, I had been able to fight to a certain extent—to pull my fair share of the weight in battle.
But, now? This? Sitting here, helplessly, watching Dimitri fight to protect me? He shouldn't be doing this, damn it. He shouldn't be here. He should be with Lissa—he should be protecting her, and keeping her safe, at any and all costs. My life meant nothing compared to hers. I don't give a rat's ass how much he cared about me or how obligated he felt to return the favor or gain redemption for his past sins. Lissa always took top priority—nothing else mattered. Nothing else could matter. Only Lissa did. And, damn him for forgetting that.
Without warning, a sudden sharp pang of realization shot right through me—so sharp, in fact, it felt as if another stake was being stabbed through my gut all over again. I have no idea what exactly triggered it, but an unexpected yet intense reaction stirred to life within me. An unexpected memory, triggering all the agony and guilt and regret and despair that I felt…when I had to kill Dimitri.
For some reason, I was reminded of all the times I fought Dimitri when he was a Strigoi—when I fought him with the goal to kill him. It was the strangest thing. I had just been fighting Lucas myself minutes ago and I had no problem offing the son of a bitch. In fact, I was looking forward to it. But, now, after hearing Lucas talk about his relationship with Anna, remembering just how much it reminded me of my relationship with Dimitri…I couldn't do it. I just couldn't let Dimitri kill him. I couldn't let Lucas die. I couldn't just give up on him like that—I could try to save him. It would be hard—nearly impossible—but it was possible. And, if we could keep him restrained and if Lissa would be willing, maybe…just maybe…
For some reason, watching Dimitri fight Lucas like that—in a fight-to-the-death type battle—watching as they took each other on like that, both oh so eager for the kill, both so desperate to beat the other one down…oh, God. I couldn't explain it.
Seeing Dimitri try to kill Lucas made a wave of guilt crash over me, as I thought of what could have been. It was as if I was watching someone else….like I was watching someone else take on Strigoi Dimitri, not to fend him off as I had. Not to save him as Lissa had. But, to actually kill him dead.
How much differently would things have been, what would I have done had it been another guardian that had fought Dimitri that night? Had it been another guardian fighting him, they wouldn't have hesitated out of love. They wouldn't have hesitated based off of an impossible hope. They would have plunged that stake into Dimitri's heart…no questions asked. No hesitation. Nothing.
Oh, God, that image…the image of Dimitri, lying there dead, with a stake in his chest flashed before my eyes. It haunted me day-after-day, ever since the night Dimitri was turned. The mere concept of Dimitri dead terrified me to no end. I could think of nothing worse in this world, aside from maybe losing Lissa.
The images and emotions began to coalesce together in my mind, nothing making sense anymore. I was fixated on the battle, watching them fight in a horrified fascination, at a complete and utter loss to know what to do. I couldn't do it. I could not let this happen. With every blow, every insult, every grunt, I just kept seeing Dimitri in Lucas' position. Seconds ago, I wanted Lucas dead more than I'd ever wanted anything in my life. But, now I kept seeing him as Dimitri. I fought with everything I had to save Dimitri because I loved him, and now circumstances made me feel obligated to at least try to save Lucas too.
Anna couldn't save him, but maybe I could. Maybe I owed her that. She would want this, I know she would. If she loved him anywhere near as much as I loved Dimitri—and I felt certain she did—I couldn't let Lucas go without a fight. Anna committed suicide because she literally could not handle losing the man she loved. She tried so hard to deal with it and move on, but she couldn't. She didn't have the strength to carry on after losing him. Something that I could very much relate to. Something that very easily could've been me at some point, had I not saved Dimitri. Oh, my God. We couldn't. He…he couldn't. Dimitri…
"Dimitri…" My voice was so hoarse and strained; I couldn't even recognize it anymore.
But, there was one thing I was beginning to realize and that was my need to fight. I had taken everything lying down up to this point and damn it, I was not going to do that again. Not ever. I was going to fight for this. I was going to fight for Lucas. Despite everything that bastard did to me, I owed it to him to at least try to save him. I would fight as earnestly for him as I had for Dimitri.
"Dimitri," I tried again, my voice a lot louder and bolder now.
Dimitri and Lucas were so lost in the fight, they didn't even realize I was there. They were so caught up in beating the other guy that, as far as they were concerned, I didn't even exist. There was no Rosemarie Hathaway anymore.
Well. Then, I guess I'd just have to prove it to them.
Clutching my stomach with my hands, both to contain the bleeding and I'm pretty sure to keep my insides from falling out of the gaping hole in my gut, I managed to very clumsily scramble to my feet. It certainly wasn't easy. My legs were wobbly, trembling beneath me and struggling to support my weight.
Nonetheless, though, I managed to look quite pissed off and powerful—despite the fact that I was very much on the verge of falling unconscious yet again.
"Dimitri." My voice was so hard, that I actually flinched from the sound of it—not that it even caught their attention. "Dimitri…don't—do this. Please stop."
Either not hearing my words or choosing to ignore them completely, Dimitri saw his opening and went for it. So quickly that I couldn't really process what happened, Dimitri's hand shot out before I had the chance to make any further attempts to stop him. Panic began to settle in, and right as Dimitri the stake bit into Lucas' heart, all that could be heard was my voice crying out: "Dimitri, no, wait! Don't!"
And, like that, Lucas' body fell limp before crumbling to the ground at Dimitri's feet. The whole world stood still—time itself seeming incapable of moving forward at all—as Dimitri glared down at Lucas, that same power and fury that fueled him during the fight radiating off of him. It was so intense, so powerful, that I felt I was drowning in it. It was as if the world would explode at any second now.
I fell to my knees, as I stared at the fallen body, wide-eyed, mouth agape, frozen in a state of shock. I didn't…I didn't know what to do, where to go from here. As I looked at that body, I kept seeing Dimitri lying there. Seeing Dimitri dead. Not Strigoi dead, but dead-dead. Oh, God. What would I have done? How would I have survived it, had it been Dimitri there right now? Had it been Dimitri in Lucas' place, nothing would've ever been okay ever again. No, I would've praying for death, begging and pleading with Lucas to put me out of my misery. I never would've been able to go on—losing him the first time was more than agonizing enough. No way I could survive it twice.
"Rose…" I heard my voice being called somewhere in the distance. "…can you hear me?" The voice was slurring and distorted. "It's okay now. Everything's going to be okay. It's over. You're going to be fine. Roza…?" the voice continued when I didn't respond.
"You…killed him," I managed to choke out, still frozen in place, refusing to look towards the source of the voice.
I felt a gentle hand close around my shoulder and give me a small, reassuring squeeze. "Yes," the voice assured me. "I killed him. He's dead now—it's all over."
"You killed him!" I nearly shouted, looking to him now in my anger and outrage. Now, I rose to my feet, not even needing to fight my through it to do so. My rage was more than enough to get me to my feet just fine.
"Rose?" Dimitri's eyes met mine, confusion clearly etched into his features as he finally allowed himself a good look at me. "I…I think you're confused?"
"You son of a bitch; you killed him!" I cried out again, as I began uselessly slamming my fists into his chest. "You son of a bitch!"
I didn't know what else to do, but I felt like I had to do something. I couldn't just let this go—he killed him. He killed Anna's Dimitri. How could anyone live with themselves after doing such a thing?
"You bastard, you son of a bitch!" I continued yelling, as hot tears began brimming in my eyes, threatening to spill over. But, I wouldn't let them. God, I wouldn't let them. "You killed him! You killed him! How could you?"
"Rose! Rose!" Dimitri tried to restrain me without hurting me, trying to grab hold of my wrists in order to stop me, but I was out of control. I wasn't so easy for him to stop when I was like this—not unless he was willing to use all of his strength against me. "Roza, please stop!" he tried again.
But, I wasn't listening. I was consumed by my rage, my agony, my guilt…how could I have let that happen? How could I have let him kill Lucas like that? He didn't even give him a chance, he just killed him.
I don't know how long we stood there like that—me, fighting against him; him, trying to restrain me—but it came to a sudden, abrupt halt when Dimitri finally pulled his fist back and thrust it hard into my jaw. Incidentally, the exact same place that Lucas had just backhanded me, mere moments ago. The impact was hard enough to knock me over, my back slamming so hard enough against the ground that, even through my shirt, I could feel the skin break.
This time, both of us were frozen in a state of shock. I reached up to clutch my jaw, staring up at him and wallowing in my helplessness and self-pity. He returned my stare, but his, I couldn't really decipher. There was definite regret and concern and guilt lingering there—despite his attempts to keep it hidden. I think he was just as shocked as I was that he did that. I don't think he meant to hit me so hard—he was just trying to stop me and that was the only way he could get through to me. That was the only way to snap me back to reality and bring me back to myself.
But, there was something else too in his eyes. Something more than just simple regret for what he did. It was almost like he was in disbelief. Like he was utterly and completely appalled with himself for hitting me. I remembered our conversation where he told me his father used to beat up his mom and his expression suddenly made sense to me. He was fucking pissed off at himself, obviously remembering some distant memory where he had witnessed his parents in a similar position.
"Roza…" his voice cracked slightly with emotion, as that very emotion distorted his features and he reached forward to touch me.
I flinched back with that motion, wanting to avoid his touch. I didn't want him to touch me, not after—not after what he did. Not after everything. Not right now. More than that, there was some small part of me that was almost scared to have him touch me.
"I'm sorry," he tried again, his voice even more strained than before. "I didn't mean…" he trailed off, clearly at a loss to know what to say.
I just stared at him for a long moment, sharing that very loss with him. "Are—are you okay?" he finally managed to choke out, neither one of us moving for what seemed like forever.
I tried to scoff, but it came out sounding more like a strangled cough, all things considered. "Thought it didn't matter," I said, my voice cool, but otherwise completely without emotion.
"What?" was all he could bring himself to say.
"Since when is my well-being of any concern to you," I snapped. Or tried to, anyway. "Love fades, remember? And, apparently yours…most certainly has…"
Anything else I might've said was cut off by my eyelids drooping shut for what seemed like the millionth time and every muscle in my body going limp. I toppled over, landing at an awkward angle on my side before falling completely unconscious…
…and before I knew it, those luring depths of unconsciousness claimed me again, continuing its endless torment and power over me, seeming to take a guilty pleasure of its own in my misery.
