Chapter9
1158 Words
The door creaked open. Ava didn’t bother turning. Her head was bowed low, shoulders trembling, fingers locked around her sister’s hand like a lifeline she didn’t want to let go of. The sound of approaching footsteps echoed softly against the sterile hospital floor.
Then, a hand came into view, holding out a can of energy drink. In the other, a small pack of tissues.
She lifted her gaze slowly. Damien stood over her, expression unreadable, like always. No warmth. No pity. Just him towering, untouchable, and yet still there.
She hesitated, her lips parting like she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the right words. In silence, she took the tissue first. Her fingers grazed his. Her hand was cold. Shaky. She wiped her eyes roughly, as though she could erase the evidence of everything she felt.
He said nothing for a while. Just watched her, his eyes lingering a second too long on her red, swollen face.
“I told you I could stay here by myself,” she said finally, voice low, hoarse from crying. “You didn’t have to come back.”
Damien slid his hands into his pockets, his tone clipped and firm. “You’re my girlfriend now. It’s my duty.”
Ava scoffed under her breath. “We’re only together when people are around. So why are you acting like it’s real?”
He took a slow step forward, closing the distance between them. “You’re my possession,” he said coolly. “And you will do everything I say.”
The way he said it so effortlessly cruelly knocked the wind out of her chest. He just kept staring at her like she was something he owned like he was just waiting for her to fall in line.
“I’m staying here,” she muttered, chin lifted in defiance. “I want to be with her tonight.”
Damien’s eyes narrowed. “Stand up.”
“I am not standing.”
His jaw twitched with irritation. “ When I say something, you do it immediately. Com’on. Don’t keep me waiting.”
She looked at him, stunned by how cold his voice had become, how quickly he could flip from quiet to command. But he had already turned his back and was walking toward the door.
Just before exiting, he paused.
“I’ll be in the car. You have five minutes to come down.”
Then he left, the door swinging shut behind him.
Ava stood frozen in place. The silence in the room was deafening. She stared at the door, her chest rising and falling rapidly, then her face crumpled.
A choked sob escaped her lips as she dropped back into the small wooden stool beside the bed. Her hands clenched into fists on her lap.
“I hate you,” she whispered, though she didn’t even know who she was talking to anymore.
Damien? Ethan?
Ethan.
The tears came again, sharp, heavy, relentless. They burned her cheeks as she tried to contain the sounds coming from her mouth.
“You ruined everything,” she cried. “You said you loved me. You said forever… and then you left me like I was nothing.”
Her vision blurred as she looked toward her sister’s motionless face.
“I hate myself,” she whispered, trembling. “I hate who I’ve become. I hate all of this. I hate everyone.”
She leaned over the bed and pressed her forehead against her sister’s hand, letting the tears soak into the sheets.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
It took a while before she could stand again. When she did, her legs felt weak, but she forced herself upright. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, smearing mascara and pain across her face.
She gently fixed her sister’s blanket, smoothing it over her small body. Then she leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“It’s going to be okay soon,” she said softly, her voice cracking. “I promise. I’ll do anything for you.”
She stood there for another minute, taking in the sight of the only person who was her family, her life. Then, without looking back, she opened the door and stepped out.
The air was cool outside, brushing lightly against Ava’s skin as she stepped out of the hospital. The street lamps bathed the lot in a pale orange glow, casting long shadows across the ground.
Damien stood by the car, his back leaning casually against the door like he had all the time in the world. One leg crossed over the other, his sleeves rolled up, hands in his pockets. His eyes found her the moment she stepped into view.
She walked with her shoulders slumped and her face drawn tight. Her steps were slow and heavy like each one took effort. There were still tears drying beneath her lashes. Her lips were pressed into a thin, exhausted line.
He straightened and opened the car door for her without a word.
She slipped inside, not sparing him a glance. Her body practically folded into the seat. She leaned against the window, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her face was pale, but her eyes, God, her eyes looked wild. Not in a dangerous way, no, this was a different kind of unraveling. She looked like someone who had screamed into a void and still wasn’t heard.
She looked like she was losing her mind.
Damien got in beside her and started the car.
The ride began in silence.
The city blurred past the windows, but Ava didn’t see it. Her head was tilted toward the glass, eyes vacant. Her hands were locked together in her lap, knuckles white, body rigid with silent pain.
She didn’t say a word.
Damien didn’t either not at first. But his eyes kept flicking to her. Once. Twice. Again. He didn’t even bother hiding it. He just watched her.
There was something different about the way he looked at her now, like a man admiring a new possession.
Halfway through the drive, his phone buzzed.
He picked it up with one hand, his tone sharp. “What?”
A pause.
Then, “When?”
More silence.
Ava’s brows furrowed. She turned her head slightly toward him.
Damien’s eyes darkened as he listened, jaw tight.
Finally, he said, “Okay. Tell my father I’ll be there.”
A beat.
“With my girlfriend.”
He ended the call.
The car filled with quiet tension again, but Ava wasn’t staring out the window anymore. She was looking at him now, her expression twisted in confusion.
“Wait…” she said slowly, voice raw and uncertain. “What do you mean… with your girlfriend?”
Damien didn’t look at her.
He just kept driving, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift.
A small, knowing smirk curved his lips.
And he didn’t answer.
- Writer
