Page 3 of Oblivion
“Burden. She told you you’re a heavy burden.”
I nodded against his neck when he cupped the back of my head, stroking slowly. It felt nice, and suddenly I felt sleepy.
“Would you like to meet my son? Maybe you can play with him.”
“But Mommy—”
“Your mommy told me it’s okay. She told me I can take you with me if you want to come.”
Mommy said it was okay? See, she wanted me to have friends. I knew she loved me, but she needed her medicine.
“If Mommy said so.” I smiled at him.
“She sure did.” He started walking toward the door, leaving the room. I didn’t see Mommy or Daddy, but it didn’t matter. I would have a new friend, and maybe Mommy would buy me that toy if I was a good friend.
“What’s your name, boy?”
Mommy didn’t tell him? Oh well, maybe she was excited because I was going to have a friend.
“Storm. But Mommy calls me Stormy sometimes.”
“Storm,” he said, looking at me. “Well, Storm. My name is Nikolai, and I think you will love what I have prepared for you.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes. There will be lots of kids, lots of new friends, but first you will come with me to meet my son, Theo. My wife can’t wait to meet you.”
I was going to have friends. Lots and lots of them.
I can’t wait.
1
OPHELIA
Present
Shallow souls and broken hearts.
I should’ve tattooed it over my ribs as a constant reminder of everything I was surrounded with. Redeemers, sinners, liars, heroes, and villains, and I always belonged in the last category. Maybe it was by choice, or maybe by the already written destiny I had to live with; my burden to carry, my demons to entertain.
And for so long, I’d danced with them as if they were my friends. My only companions when the dull pain in my heart turned into a constant thrumming. I always turned to the shadows when things became too much to bear. When real life became a constant reminder of every tragedy I’d caused, my pretty devil whispered sweet nothings into my ear, pulling me back into the oblivion where I didn’t have to feel.
There was no sadness.
No happiness.
No love.
No fear.
No grief.
Just the pure nothingness where I could be who I was always supposed to be—the killer. Baba Yaga, the queen of the night, of pain and fear… The one they all whispered about, but no one ever dared to say my name out loud.
And I longed to be seen, to feel the soft touch on my skin, even if it lasted only for a few seconds. At least I would’ve remembered what it felt like.
I had it. I had it all, and I’d lost it, because oblivion was much sweeter thanhispromises of tomorrow.
