Page 138 of Chasing Ruin
“Don’t,” he cuts in gently. There’s a sharp grunt as he shifts, pain clearly lancing through him, but he pushes through it. “Don’t think about that,” he murmurs, his voice strained but steady. “Just… look at me.”
My gaze snaps to his instantly.
“Keep looking at me, okay? Always.”
“Yeah?” I whisper, barely holding myself together.
“Whatever happens…” His voice dips, something deeper threading through it now. “You look at me. Only me.”
My breath catches.
“And I will stay,” he adds, his eyes locking onto mine with a ferocity that makes my chest ache. “I promise, baby. I will stay with you through anything.”
There’s something in those words. Something bigger than what he’s saying out loud. Because he knows he can’t stop what’s coming. But he’s promising me something else.
That I won’t be alone.
That he won’t look away.
The silence that follows is suffocating.
My gaze drifts without meaning to, landing on the bloodied dressing wrapped around his abdomen. My stomach twists. “Are you… in pain?” I ask, my voice small.
He smiles. Soft. Gentle. Like we’re not sitting in a nightmare carved out of stone and blood. “No, Charlotte,” he murmurs. “I’m okay.”
It’s a lie. I can hear it. Feel it. See it in the way his breath stutters just a second too long between inhales. How his words slur slightly.
My eyes roam helplessly over him. His arms—strained and shackled. His chest—rising unevenly. His hands—those inked hands, slick with sweat and blood, restrained by cold, unforgiving metal.
The more I look, the tighter something coils in my chest.
Sobs rip through me again, catching in my throat, breaking into small, restrained whimpers I can’t control.
He shifts again. A guttural sound escapes him this time—low, pained, raw.
And that’s when I see it.
His eyes. Red and glossy. Brimming.
My breath hitches when a single tear slips free, carving a lone path down his blood-smeared cheek as sniffles quietly.
“T-Theo…”
He freezes. Completely. Like the world just stops.
I see it then—the moment it lands.
His given name. I guess he didn’t catch it when I said it earlier.
A broken, wet sound leaves him. Half sob, half breath. But his gaze never wavers. Never softens.
If anything, it burns brighter. Fiercer.
“Ah…” He exhales, a shaky breath leaving him. Relief flickers across his face. “You finally said it, huh, baby?” There’s a teasing lilt to his tone.
But his eyes betray him. Because this means something to him. More than it should when we’re both sitting on the edge of something we might not survive.
He’s glad I said his name before the war swallows us whole.
