Page 69 of The Beautiful Dead

“So am I. You look like shit, too.”

My eyes flicked over the bruises on his face, yellowing and fading but stark reminders of the day we met. We’ve never talked about it. I wasn’t sure how much he even remembered after I had walked away from him on the steps to Nocturne—how much he recalled of Domino breaking him apart, of me watching, or what came after.

How Domino had forced me to my knees and throat fucked me as he lay broken and bleeding next to us. How I let him.

Kyran reached out, but I flinched before he could touch me. He pulled his hand back, curling it into a fist against his thigh. “Look what’s happened to you, Remi.”

I tensed, but before I could move, he grabbed the collar of my hoodie and tugged. His fingers stilled against my skin. His breath hitched. “Jesus Christ,” he whispered.

His eyes locked onto the deep bruises trailing down my throat, the faint line of a cut tracing my collarbone. His expression twisted—horror, disgust, something else I couldn’t name. He yanked the fabric lower, revealing the imprint of Domino’s teeth.

“Are those—are those fucking bite marks?”

I ripped away from him, yanking my hoodie back up and pulling the hood over my head like it could hide the truth. “It’s none of your business.”

Kyran’s jaw clenched. He raked a hand through his hair, his movements sharp, barely contained. “You think this is normal?”

I scoffed. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Wouldn’t I?” His laugh was bitter, hollow. He grabbed my wrist, flipping it over, his grip gentle, a contradiction to his voice.“I know what it’s like to be pulled under. To think drowning is the same thing as devotion.”

My stomach twisted. “You don’t know anything about us.”

“You think this is love,” he snapped. “But it’s a fucking prison.”

A cold chill ran through me. I opened my mouth to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but the words wouldn’t come. Love? Love was fleeting. Love was temporary. The only thing that lasted forever was death.

Kyran exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “He’s inside your head, Remi. You don’t even see it, do you?”

I swallowed hard. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” he shot back. “You’re covered in bruises. You flinch when people touch you, and you can’t go five minutes without checking your fucking phone.”

My fingers twitched again, betraying me.

Kyran let out a harsh breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You don’t have to live like this. You don’t have to go back to him.”

I laughed, but it was empty, lifeless. “Go back?” My voice was quieter now. “I never left.”

Kyran’s face twisted, frustration boiling over. “Do you even hear yourself?”

I looked away, my pulse hammering against my ribs. The world around me felt distant, unreal. My chest was too tight, my skin too hot.

Beneath it all, past the fear and doubt—I knew the truth. I didn’t want to leave. Because in Domino’s grasp, in his world of blood and pain and ownership, I had never felt more alive.

My phone buzzed, and everything else fell away. I snatched it from my pocket, heart slamming into my ribs. My vision tunneled, narrowing in on the screen. The message icon flashed. I clicked it instantly and waited for the picture message to load.

I was asleep, my arm draped over him, face buried into his skin like I couldn’t get close enough. I looked peaceful. Free. The contrast between my pale skin and his tattooed olive chest was stark, but it was the darkness in his eyes that anchored me. That lit the ember inside me and let me breathe.

The world steadied. The static in my head dissipated. The suffocating wrongness of this place evaporated. The chains of reality that shackled me loosened. The pressure in my chest lifted.

Domino was my home.

Kyran’s voice was still there, a dull murmur in the background, saying something—pleading, maybe—but I couldn’t hear him. My pulse roared in my ears. My blood hummed with certainty.

I stood. My body knew the way before my mind could catch up.

“Remi, wait—” Kyran grabbed my arm, his grip desperate. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to go back.”

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