Page 48 of Tainted Serenity

It is as if words have ceased to exist within him as I continue to lock eyes with him, taking in his appearance and those sapphire eyes that remind me of the crystal clear water in oceans. It’s like he has stopped working, unable to function, while staring me down with an unwavering intensity. From the way his chest rises at a rapid pace, clutching the knife tighter in his grip, I can tell he feels breathless.

“Don’t hurt her,” I plead, my voice sounding pathetic, and I am not even sure if this will work. He is too far gone inside his head.

“N-Naya?”

Never before have I heard him stutter, but here he is. The villain dressed in shining armor that swept me off my feet and ripped my heart out of my chest to keep it as his, only to never give it back again. It pumps inside his ribcage along with his own heart while a part of me is missing, but that piece is slowly coming back to me as I take in the imposing man before me.

He is even more muscular now, his arms stretching taut against the suit jacket, and he seems to be more ripped from the way his shoulders flex with each breath. As he is dressed like that, I cannot resist feeling a quivering need for him, saliva gathering in my throat as I try not to let it distract me from my actions.

“No. You’re not real. You cannot be real.”

Grey mumbles to himself while looking around the corridor, not sure where to settle his gaze. It breaks my heart to see him like this. My strong man, who has gotten through so much in his life, just like I, is lost in the cage filled with the demons inside his head. With a loud growl, he lifts the woman’s head again by grabbing her hair before slamming it into the ground. A cry tears from her throat until it silences, and she falls into unconsciousness, her chest still rising and falling.

“I’m real,” I whisper, trying to keep my voice from quivering.

He stares into my eyes, and there is a darkness behind them that shines through, letting me know he has suffered just as much as I have. It breaks me from the inside out, tearing my heart apart as if it has been sliced by scissors, and it’s a wonder I am even standing straight right now. My pulse rings in my ears with an unsteady beat.

“Stop haunting me! I’m so fucking tired of seeing shit.”

He slumps against the wall in defeat, his hands coming up to grip his hair tightly while shutting his eyes. Untold emotions clog my throat as I now stand right before him, broken fears and worries crashing over me like the relentless force of waves against rocks, gradually stripping away their surface as the years pass.

“I am real,” I repeat as I press my palm against his soft cheek, the touch sending electric currents through me as I let him feel me near him.

His eyes flutter open, looking into mine once as he takes in every inch of my being, every broken, bruised, and imperfect part of me. And that is when I catch a glimpse of what I hoped for. As if sparked to life, a flicker of recognition comes over his irises, telling me that he remembers me and knows I am real, not a figment of his haunted imagination.

“Little doll?”

At hearing those two words, that fucking nickname, it feels as if lightning has struck me from within, and I nearly lose my standing, tears brimming the corners of my eyes at the relief of hearing them.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Fuck,” he stutters out, tears glistening in his eyes. “You’re real?”

“I’m fucking real,” I say with a smile on my lips, my heart aching at the disbelief in his eyes.

It isn’t long before his lips meet mine in a feverish kiss, one that both guides us over the bridge our minds built a long time ago. The demons inside me writhe in his presence as he kisses me as if his life depends on it, my heart thudding wildly inside my chest, and I embrace the darkness washing over our beings.

I am finally where I belong. Nestled in his arms and enveloped by a welcoming cocoon, like a safety net despite its toxicity.

His tongue meets mine desperately, and it isn’t gentle or caring. Instead, it is hard and full of need, as if he has to make sure I am truly here. A part of me cannot believe he is here in front of me after months upon months of doubting he was ever real or wanted me. He kisses me like he always does, with a mix of possessive intensity, both toxic and loving, making me savor my devil’s taste on my tongue.

Teeth meet teeth as our tongues collide in an act of dominance until we both have to pull away from being too breathless. The salt in his tears rubs against my own, and I am left speechless. Words cannot describe the turmoil tinged with relief within me.

The blissful moment soon morphs into one of panic as a surge of anxiety courses through me, while his expression turns into one of solemnity.

“You can’t be here. Please, Naya,” his voice is full of defeat, sounding so unlike his usual self.

My eyebrows raise as my brain processes his words, a jolt of pain curdling inside me at the rejection and insecurity that he doesn’t want me anymore. His hand reaches for mine, but I step back, heart pounding hard. Grey shakes his head, taking a step toward me, and this time, I let his hand meet my cheek as he strokes it tenderly.

“It’s not like that. I-I don’t want you to witness this.” His eyes flicker toward the woman as she stirs, a groan slipping from her at the pain I am sure she experiences.

I swallow a lump. “Don’t kill her.”

“You don’t understand!” he exclaims, frustrated. “I have to fucking kill her for your sake, or else he will killyouinstead. I cannot lose you, even if it means losing myself.” His voice is a colliding rush of rage and desperation, blocking any of my attempts to stop him.

My pulse becomes a drumbeat beneath my ribcage, remembering all of the pain and guilt yet relief as I watched the blood drain from my mother’s face when she took her last breath. Grey’s lost inside an inner turmoil, hurting all on his own while his hands still clench the knife tightly. I barely recognize him anymore; his eyes which always used to be full of life, have transformed into dull and lifeless ones. The circles under his eyes are clear proof of lack of sleep. He looks worse than he did at Dankworth Institute, and I know this Grey is notmyGrey, although he is in there. And I have to help him find himself, precisely like he has done for me so many times before.

There is only one thing I can do for him at this moment.

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