Page 89 of My Dark Divine

The words hang heavy in the air, a shroud of suspicion that smothers me. I feel a familiar chill, like a cold wind sweeping through the ruins of my past. This eavesdropping reminds me of my school days before Dad forced me to drop out, claiming, and I quote, ‘An idiot like you doesn’t need school. It won’t help you at this point.’

I know it’s ridiculous to compare the present to the past like this, but my brain doesn’t ask for permission—it just spreads this unsettling feeling, erasing any positivity I’ve managed to build up.

“I was a bit concerned about how you’d accept this,” Venetia says, her nails clicking against something that sounds like glass. “I mean, you liked him, while I never did, and here I am, engaged to him.”

Laughter erupts. “It’s not like youchosethis, so I can’t be mad at you, Venetia. I’m not a child. Honestly, I think I’m moving on from it. The guy you saw me with at the party…” She trails off, clicking her tongue. “His name’s Oliver. He’s an idiot, but the good kind. Though don’t think I’ll ever stop feeling jealous. I mean, it’s West fucking Reyes we’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on,” Netia says nonchalantly. “There’s nothing to be jealous of.” I lean my shoulder against the wall, prepared to listen further. There’s an edge to her voice that I don’t like.

“What do you mean?” her friend probes. “Are you saying it isn’t as big as I thought?”

“I’m not discussing this with you, Grace. But I’ll say this—it’s the best part of him. The one that makes himbearable.”

I try to convince myself it isn’t what I think it is, but then Grace’s laughter explodes in sudden, cruel confirmation. The ache in my chest deepens, a heavy weight settling back in my stomach, and I can’t swallow, my throat choked with a nameless emotion.

“Stop it. You’re being too harsh. He’s nothing like Zayden. You don’t always have to bite and hurt him because of your past, babe. That’s not fair.”

Venetia sighs and takes a long pause. “I’m not even thinking about Zayden anymore, Grace. I’ve moved on. You know I’ve always hated West. What do you want me to say?” She chuckles. “It is what it is. The sex is good, but that’s all. All the pros end there. He’s already too much, following me around all the time, so I have to sneak out just to have a chat with you. At the end of the day, I don’t want to pick up his pieces or wipe his nose clean of coke and snot. I don’t care. He meansnothingto me.”

I have to stifle a laugh at how familiar this all sounds. It’s fucking comical. The story keeps repeating itself, as if the universe is determined to keep me from glimpsing anything positive, dragging me back into misery every time I try to crawl out.

She’s drunk and doesn’t mean what she’s saying. You hurt her too when you were high, and it didn’t matter.

No, that’s not true. I never said anything like the shit she’s saying now. I still remember when she said she’d find a way to hurt me—not physically, but emotionally.

And she did.

Fucking mocking me behind my back after everything that happened between us? That’s too much, even for her.

My dad warned me about this. He always said I can’t be loved or even liked. To most people, I’m a walking contradiction, a broken record that plays the same song of self-destruction. To those who are supposed to be closest to me, like my father or my fiancée, I’m nothing but a pathetic, weak junkie, unworthy of their company. An annoying presence that feels like too much—the one without whom their lives would be so much better.

I’ll never be more than that. I guess it’s time to finally accept it. The world has proven too much—too fickle, too quick to betray. But there is still one thing, one unyielding presence, that has never failed me. The sanctuary from the storm.

The only drug that truly matters from now on.

Awave of warmth washes over me, a tingling sensation that spreads like a gentle fire across my skin. My body melts into the mattress, the line between dream and reality blurring. For the first time, the liminal space feels not terrifying but strangely comforting.

A moan escapes my lips, and I arch my back as I feel something wet sliding in slow circles across my pussy. Through the fog of sleep, my hand instinctively reaches out, and in an instant, I’m enveloped in the comforting familiarity of his hair.

Gradually, the remnants of sleep dissipate, pulling me into reality. Fragments of yesterday rush through my hungover mind—I woke up to a thousand-and-one roses on my doorstep, and since then, my resolve has crumbled. Conflicting thoughtsbattled inside my head, each louder than the last. Instead of preparing for the evening, I spent hours just staring at the damn flowers.

There was no card attached, but I didn’t need to be a genius to know who sent them. West, ever the stubborn prick, decided to play a game—and without a doubt, he won. He showed me with this gesture that I deserve better, even when it comes to small things like receiving flowers.

I couldn’t concentrate at all. My house is enormous, but the roses seemed to occupy every inch of space. No matter where I went, my eyes would catch their vibrant color. Even when I closed my eyes, their scent invaded my senses, refusing to let me forget them.

The irony is that I’ve always hated flowers. I still don’t care for the little bouquet Eli sent. Yet, somehow, the roses West gave me struck a chord. Their raw beauty, deep color, and scent—a strange mix of calm and unease—were something I couldn’t shake off. It’s probably fucking ridiculous to admit, but they’ve become my favorite flowers—the ones I can deal with, at least.

I didn’t know how to handle all the feelings West evoked in me, so I did what I do best—I muffled every single one. I swallowed my Xanax before heading to the party, then excused myself to get drunk with Grace. I don’t even remember how I made it back home.

What I do remember is that I couldn’t find West when I was ready to leave. His car wasn’t outside when I went looking for him, and he never answered my calls. The betrayal stung so deeply that I broke down in tears.

After that, everything became a blur.

Now, he’s back, and instead of feeling angry for leaving me, I’m just relieved that he’s here. “West,” I whisper drowsily, my eyes still closed as I caress his hair. “Where have you been? Why did you leave?”

He kisses my pussy, and I bite my lower lip, feeling a rush of euphoric tingles from his touch. This is the best way to wake up.

“Are you mad at me, baby?” he asks, his words sending a vibration through my core. I can feel how wet I am, how my juices slide down his lips as he brings me to life. “Mad that I left without saying goodbye?”

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