Page 14 of Nocturne
I hate him. But damn, it’s fucking hard to hold onto that hate when everything feels like it’s shifting beneath your feet. Finally, I turn and walk away, swallowing that burning mess inside me, clinging to the hate that feels safer than the confusion.
Everyone leaves after that. But the silence between me and Hunter? That’s the kind of thing that haunts you for a long time.
And I swear to God, if he crosses my path, I’m gonna kill that motherfucker and leave his body in pieces. I don’t give a shit if he saved my life. I was taught to hate Iron Requiem and anyone tied to them. No cap.
CHAPTER 2
HUNTER
The apartment reeks of cigarettes and neglect. Peeling paint, a ceiling fan creaking slowly like it’s dragging itself through the motions. The kitchen light flickers, a dying blink, like something here’s still fighting not to go dark.
A jacket lies on the floor, stained and forgotten. An empty glass on the counter, another tipped near the couch. Leather torn at the shoulder. A gun in the sink.
And me, standing in the middle of it all, pretending this mess is a choice.
People think the quiet ones have it all under control. Like if you don’t say much, you’ve got some kind of secret power. Sarcasm means confidence. A smirk means you’ve won.
No one realizes silence can be a shield.
Sometimes you shut up because if you speak… you fall apart.
I fake it well. Always have. Faking it is the only thing keeping me in one piece. Or close enough.
Countdown’s started. Meeting at ten. Warehouse 19.
A ceasefire between monsters, a thin-ass line between pretending to be civil and blowing each other’s brains out.
And he’ll be there. Damon. The only name that stillcuts through me just by walking into a room. The only presence that unravels me without lifting a damn finger. And no one sees it. No one suspects a thing. On the outside, I’m still the same cold bastard I’ve always been. But inside? I’m just trying not to sink any deeper than I already have.
I light a cigarette, let the smoke burn its way in. Then another, thinner, harsher. Super Silver Haze. Just the right dry, citrusy smell, the kind that comes in glass jars with price tags and hits clean. Slows me down just enough to put the mask back on. The one that says I don’t feel. That he doesn’t get to me. That no matter how close I get, I stay immune. Lie. But one I’ve learned to tell like it’s gospel.
I close my eyes, and there he is. Again. Damon on the damn tarmac, inside the airport. Blood. Screaming. One of the Echoes with his gun raised. Me reacting on instinct. Shooting before I even thought.
The blood wasn’t his. But it could’ve been. Fuck, it really could’ve.
And if it was? What would I have done? Killed everyone? Or just buried myself alive in silence, the way I’ve been doing ever since?
Nobody knows. Nobody sees.
Everyone buys the version where I’m cold, cocky, untouchable. But truth is, I’m just as fucked up as the rest of ‘em.
Maybe worse. I remember everything. And I carry that shit alone.
What happened… it’s buried deep. And it needs to stay there. If he ever finds out—if the truth ever hits him—the hate he feels now? That’s gonna look like child’s play. And maybe, just maybe, he’d be right to feel it.
I step out of the shower and get dressed without thinking. Black tee. Dark jeans. Leather jacket that’s seen more shit than most people ever will. My boots still got dried blood on ‘em, but I don’t bother cleaning it off.
I glance at the mirror, quick, just enough to make sure I still look like I’ve got my shit together. Even if, inside, I gave up a long time ago.
Almost ten. Time to see him again. Time to fake it, again. Time to hold it all in. Because if I slip, even for a second, it’s over.
Sometimes I feel like an ungrateful asshole. I’ve got Grace. I’ve got Zion. We’ve known each other way too long to pretend we don’t give a damn. They hold me up when the world tries to knock me flat. Defend me without asking why.
But even then, I can’t open up.
There’s a kind of pain you don’t share. One that gets buried so deep, it fuses with your skin. And no matter how much I trust them, no matter how much they deserve to know what the hell’s going on inside me… I just can’t.
I don’t know how to put it into words. Whatever this thing is, it’s still got its claws in me.
