Page 83 of Equilibrium
Fuck.
I loved him. I was in love with him.
I placed my hand on the wall, the cool surface seeping into my skin. My heart thundered in my ears, the sweat collecting at the nape of my neck and my breathing gradually turned shallow as the reality of what I just thought about settled into my core.
I couldn’t love him. No, no it was too soon. Too soon to give myself to someone who didn’t appreciate me—again. And what did I know about love? I thought I loved Kieran and that story ended up filled with violence.
But Kieran’s betrayal didn’t hurt you as much as Storm’s lack of communication is hurting you right now.
No! I couldn’t love another person, not like this. Not when I wasn’t even sure if he wanted me for me, or if he was just mesmerized by the character I played so well. This fucking sucked. This heavy feeling settling in my chest majorly sucked, and I didn’t know what to do about it.
I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t allow him to have one more piece of me when he wasn’t willing to give me even the slightest piece of himself. But I couldn’t leave him either.
God, even thinking about leaving him made me want to drop down to my knees and weep. He has already buried himself deep beneath my skin. He was in my veins, my heart, my soul. He was everywhere, he was everything, and he was one demon I didn’t want to exorcise. He was the prettiest demon I had, and I wanted to keep him with me until forever ended.
Until the worlds collided and everything else died, but I wanted him with me. The mere thought of not having him in my life sent my heart into a frenzy, while my mind tried to come up with a million different scenarios of a life without him.
It would be a sad, empty life—no love, no happiness, just pure nothingness.
Damn you, Storm. Damn you for making me love you. Damn you for showing me affection. Was I that starved, that fucked up that the smallest signs of affection made me fall for somebody?
No, you were just made for him and he was made for you.
No. No, the stories of people being made for each other was just that, a story. A last resort made up by those that wanted to cling to something because everything else in their life fell apart.
It’s okay. It’s going to be fucking okay. It had to be. Voices from behind the closed doors I was bent in front of came closer and I knew I couldn’t let them see me like this. If any of the members saw me like this, they would tell him, they would call him, and I wasn’t ready to look him in the eyes and lie about the extent of my feelings.
Especially when he kept his mouth shut about everything.
I straightened up, taking a deep breath, and shoving the panic rising in my body into that little box where everything I didn’t want to deal with slept soundly. This was just another thing I didn’t want to have to think about. Not right now.
There were other things far more important than uncertain feelings I was probably imagining. Nope on a rope. I wasn’t going to think about them.
What was love anyway?
I strode down the hallway straight to our room before anyone could see me or talk to me. Most of the people here were pleasant enough, but I just wasn’t in the mood for small chitchat today. The way he disregarded my need to talk to him made me want to stab something, and nobody deserves to be on the receiving end of my wrath when I was in one of these moods.
As soon as I opened the door, I was welcomed by the cool air coming through the open window. I never thought I would actually say it, but I loved springtime here. Unlike Croyford Bay, I didn’t have to look like a panda so that I wouldn’t freeze my ass off. The layers, people. I hated the layers of clothes I had to wear to get warmed up.
Whoever didn’t experience winter and spring in Croyford Bay, with the snow reaching their shoulders and having to wear three pairs of socks so that their toes wouldn’t fall off, they didn’t know what a true struggle meant. Here, I could go outside with just a jacket during the day, and I didn’t have to worry about losing my kidneys, or my skin getting dry because Mother Nature decided to fuck with us.
I flipped the switch on, illuminating the room. The bags I moved here a month ago were now completely empty, stored beneath the table in the corner of the room. All my clothes were mixed with Storm’s in the wardrobe, and it both warmed me and cooled me down. No matter how hard I tried telling myself that we weren’t living together, we were. Just because it wasn’t a house somewhere in the suburbs, it didn’t mean we weren’t already sharing this life.
It took me almost a year to let Kieran talk me into having a key to his apartment, yet it took me a few months to let Storm whisk me to his little, dark kingdom. God, I fucking wanted to smack him on the back of his thick head. I walked to the bed, ready to play some music on the phone he bought for me, but I froze instantly when I saw the black envelope with my name neatly written in silver ink.
I knew that handwriting. I knew who used black envelopes and the silver ink on them.
I knew it because I also delivered plenty of those to the people that were close to their doomsday. I knew it because the true boogeyman used it, while I was his puppet, spreading his sickness all over this world.
With a trembling hand, I picked it up and stared at the mockery scribbled on it.
Ekaterina.
One word. One fucking name, my middle name, and it was enough to send me back to that night in Siberia when I found the strength to overcome the things clouding my mind. The scars on my back started itching, as if I were still there, listening to the sound of that fucking whip and my skin splitting open after each hit. His sinister voice, the eyes the same color as mine, the coppery taste of my blood on my tongue, I was still there.
I was once again a nineteen-year-old kid, battling things no one should battle at that age. I absentmindedly reached for the scar on my lower back, remembering the blinding pain, the mockery, the sadness, and grief. The lack of compassion my father showed me, the way he tortured me, trying to bring out the worst in me.
Such a foolish little girl, trying to impress a man who wouldn’t care if I lived or died. I gripped my stomach as the nausea rolled around and ran to the bathroom before I could lose the lunch I’d had all over the bed. I dropped to my knees just as the bitter taste entered my mouth, emptying my stomach into the toilet. I closed my eyes, trying to calm my breathing, trying to suppress the heaving, all the while holding that poisonous envelope in my hand.
