Page 70 of Carved in Ruin

“I deserve to be forgotten. It’s the only way for people in my life to find peace—if I disappear.”

“Don’t talk like that,” I growl, my fists clenching at my sides.

“Why not?” She yells. “Isn’t it the truth? You’ve already washed me out of your life like some old stain. Even the drawing.”

She gestures toward the wall, and my stomach twists like a knife has been shoved in.

“Even that,” she whispers, her eyes dull with disappointment.

My blood boils. I stand abruptly, my body moving on instinct as I cross the room.

I grab at the wallpaper and rip it. The sound of tearing paper echoes through the room. Beneath the layers of wallpaper, there it is, the little drawing. Two stick figures, side by side. One bigger. One smaller. Me and her.

I turn back to her, the shredded wallpaper dangling from my hands. “I wanted to erase you,” I hiss. “So fucking badly. I wanted to wipe you out of my life. Out of my mind. But you’re not one to be easily forgotten, Mila. The moment you weave yourself into someone’s life, you’re there forever. It’s just the kind of woman you are.”

She steps toward the exposed drawing, her fingers brushing over it like it’s something precious.

She smiles, despite the tears streaming down her face. Her gaze lingers on the childish scrawl like it’s a treasure she never thought she’d see again.

And I watch her, every part of me consumed by her. By the gravity of her pain. By the fact that no matter how much I tried to sever her from me, she’s been carved into my very fucking soul.

Thirty

Crawl Inside Me

Mila

It’s been days. Or hours. Hell if I know. Maybe weeks. Time feels like it’s folded in on itself, pressing me down, suffocating me.

I can’t move. I can’t function. Even breathing feels like a chore, each inhale clawing at my lungs. Rafael tries to help in ways that tear me apart and hold me together all at once. He hand-feeds me when I can’t stomach the thought of eating. Reads to me like I’m some fragile child. But all I ever do is sleep.

Not that it helps.

Sleep isn’t an escape; it’s a trap. Every time I close my eyes, the nightmares come. They’re always the same. I’m devouring everyone around me, their flesh between my teeth, blood dripping down my chin like some grotesque feast. I wake up choking on the screams lodged in my throat, cold sweat clinging to my skin like guilt I can’t wash off.

Every time, Rafael is there. His arms tighten around me, his warmth grounding me. I wish he’d let me go. I don’t deserve this. His patience. His care. I ruin everything I touch. I am my father’s daughter.

And yet, kindness keeps finding me.

Layla has been trying to reach me. She’s relentless. She calls. She texts. She shows up, banging on the door until the sound feels like it’s splintering my skull. I can’t face her. How can I? How can I look her in the eye when all I see is another person I’ve failed? Another person I’ve hurt just by existing?

So, I don’t.

When she calls, I let it ring until it dies. When she texts, the messages go unread. When she demands to see me, I beg Rafael not to let her in. She’s hurt—I know she is. But I can’t confront her without breaking apart completely.

So, I do nothing.

I lay on my side most days, staring at the wall where the drawing is exposed. It’s the only thing that brings me any semblance of peace, however fleeting. That stupid, childish drawing of two stick figures—a simpler time, back when I was young, naive, and happy.

Happy.

The word feels foreign now, like a language I no longer speak. Like a memory I’m not even sure belongs to me anymore. There is a dark voice in my head, it whispers that I’m a curse. That the best thing I could do for everyone is disappear.

And the worst part?

I believe it.

The door creaks open, but I don’t bother looking. His footsteps are slow, as if he’s giving me a chance to acknowledge him. I don’t.

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