Page 91 of My Dark Obsession
I was back in Lyal’s basement. I had been away for such a short amount of time, yet here I was again, muscles seizing in utter terror at the thought of seeing his face again. I was waiting for the angry blows, the pain. But I wasn’t the same as I was just a few weeks ago. No, I was Amaya of the Dark Mountain. I was a full-bloodedDark Witch. I was powerful. And I was here for my boys.
I waited for the magic in my veins to heal the wound the portal had given me, but nothing happened. My body throbbed as the ache in my skull grew with each uneven breath.
Why wasn’t I healing?
I shoved myself to my feet. The basement was dark, and I was barely able to see in front of me, just the small glow from the streetlight peeping through the filthy basement window casting a small orange streak across the floor.
Rushing to the rickety stairs I slipped and slammed back down to my knees, the pain vibrating through me as my hands slid in a warm stickiness.
What the fuck?
Squinting down at my hands, I tried to make out what it was in the dark. Rubbing my fingers to my thumb, I smeared it, its familiar thick wet slide, a memory I was never able to forget:
Blood.
My heart dropped down to my churning stomach as I closed my eyes and asked my magic to bring me light. Peeking through one eye, my shoulders slumped when the dark basement came into view.
Where were these damn powers of mine?
Shuffling on my knees, I reached up to the dangling string that pulled on the dull orange light above me. Bright red blood smeared all over my hands and pooled around my knees and legs.
A high pitch screech started to ring in my ears; this was not old blood. It was still liquid. Still warm.
I knew who it belonged to.
Everything slowed down. I couldn’t hear through the screeching ring. My vision wavered as I stood to my feet.
Turn around Amaya.
Turn around.
Face it.
TURN AROUND.
Forcing my body to turn, I froze.
No.No.No. Nonono.
No.No.No. No
NO.
My heart ached; the blood pumping through thin veins circulated pain throughout my body.
Grief was supposed be a mental struggle, not utter torture that caused physical pain. This was a different kind of pain to being beaten within an inch of my life. This was a cold ache spreading and stretching through every morsel of my being. A hole was opening in my chest where the obsession and new happiness had been building. An empty dark pit that held nothing but loss. Loss and loneliness that only that one person could hold in their warm embrace, an embrace that was now cold, stale and lifeless, their body empty of the soul that swirled light and warmth.
A strange lump clogged my throat, a scream begging to be released and heard. The pounding of my shattering heart echoed in my own ears as my breathing became shallow. I couldn't move. Couldn't speak.
I didn't want to.
Didn't need to.
Blinking dry eyes I unclenched my fists. Wetness coated where my nails had dug in half-moon shapes intomy palm. It didn't hurt, because all I could concentrate on was that coldness. I showed no emotion, just an expressionless mask, but inside I allowed the emptiness to spread and curl around my own darkening soul.
I always knew I was cold, dark and practically void of emotions. But this...this was something else entirely.
Breathing in deeply I expected to smell and taste the stench of death, but a nothingness greeted me. Nothing to smell, nothing to taste. There was nothing left for me here anymore. Swallowing the scream of utter agony that was my being, I forced myself to stare and take in every detail before me: the colourless blood that pooled around my frozen feet, the little toes that poked from beneath the stained sheet that covered the tiny, emaciate body, the lifeless soulless body of my best friend, my family. Everything was now a dull black, white and grey. Because my life had no colour left within it. It had floated away with his soul.
