He slept on the sofa. Every single day, without fail. Whenever I woke up, I saw him reading in the armchair or just… watching me, like I was a puzzle he didn’t know how to solve. He checked if I was okay, warm enough, in pain, or needed anything.
And yet, with all their kindness, a part of me couldn’t stop wondering when the other shoe would drop, the mask would fall, and the truth would slap me awake. When their soft voices would turn sharp and the touches cold. No one was this nice without a reason.
I woke up earlier than usual today. The light hadn’t even broken across the windowsill yet. The room was quiet, Sargis was no longer on the sofa, which was not surprising. Probably off attending to another duty. Hasmik and Maravek wouldn’t show for another two hours or so. For once, I wanted to do things myself. I didn’t want to wait for Hasmik to help me with my morning routines like a child just learning the ropes of the world. I was tired of feeling like a parasite.
I pushed back the covers and pulled the IV needle from my arm, careful not to touch the inlet still taped down. I winced at the sting but didn’t stop. My legs were wobbly, but I made my way to the en-suite bathroom. The beauty never failed to surprise me with its gold-accented sinks, marble floors, and a tub the size of a small lake.
I walked straight to the mirror.
I still looked pale. But my eyes weren’t as hollow, and the whites weren’t as red. But what always drew my attention was the strange symbol burned into the center of my forehead. Like a crescent moon surrounded by spirals. I’d stared at it countless times since I first saw my reflection, and I’ve since tried to remember how it got there. But no matter how hard I searched my memories, all I found were blank spaces and black holes.
I sighed, suddenly feeling the urge to shave my parts and cut down my matted hair. I dug around the drawers under the sink and found what I needed, scissors, a manual shaving stick, some hair ties, and a sealed bar of floral-scented soap. I spotted an electric razor, too, but I didn’t know how to use it and didn’t feel like learning today. Manual it is.
I glanced at my reflection once more, then turned to the tangled mass that had become my hair. It had matted in places. My scalp ached when I ran my fingers through the strands. Some locks clung to each other like they didn’t want to let go.
Grabbing a small comb, I began detangling slowly, cringing as the knots resisted and eventually gave way. I worked through each snarl with patience.
Pull. Comb. Snip. Repeat.
Hair began to fall around my feet in uneven curls. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t aiming for pretty.
After what felt like hours, my head felt lighter.
I took a moment to sit on the closed toilet seat and just… breathe.
I cleared all the hair from around me, swept it into the trash can with trembling hands, and flushed what I could.
Then I turned the shower on. Steam curled up immediately, kissing the air and wrapping me in softness. I stepped in slowly. The water ran over me like silk, soothing muscles I didn’t realize were sore. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, letting the stream pour down my scalp and over my face to wash away the lingering scent of antiseptic, the sweat of fevered dreams, and the invisible grime of fear. I scrubbed gently, running soap over my skin.
Afterward, I wrapped a soft blue robe around my damp frame and padded barefoot to the mirror again.
I looked… slightly better. I had always avoided looking at my body because I didn’t want to find out the extent of the damage done to my body. I took a deep breath and let the robe fall open, and turned to the side. Exposing my body to myself fully for the first time in what felt like forever.
The scars were everywhere.
Some were small and faint. Others were simply too deep to ignore. But the one that stole my breath was the jagged, ugly gash that ran from my lower abdomen all the way to just beneath the swell of my left breast.
I reached for it without meaning to. Traced it slowly with my fingertips. The skin was tight and shiny. It pulsed beneath my touch like it had a heartbeat of its own.
I knew exactly how I got it.
Joe.
He had tried to flay me.
Not all at once. No, that would have been too merciful. He wanted me to feel it. He drove the silver-coated blade into my stomach and dragged it upward. And he took his time.
He made sure I felt it all.
The silver made my skin hiss and bubble. The pain had been blinding. I remembered the smell. The iron tang of my blood mixed with the sterile rot of the cell. I remembered the sound of his humming while I screamed, and the cruelty in his calmness.
My breath hitched, and my hand dropped to my side. The mirror suddenly blurred before me.
And then, I was there again. I was back in that cold, damp cell. I could hear the water dripping from the ceiling, smell the mildew, the blood, and the echo of his voice…
“Let’s see what monstrosity you’re hiding beneath this flesh.”
“No…” I whimpered. “No, no, no, not again…”
I crouched with my arms wrapped tightly around myself. My heart slammed wildly against my ribcage as if trying to escape.
“Please… I’ll be good… I’ll be good…” I thought to myself, trembling, rocking slightly in place. My throat burned with the taste of bile.
I didn’t realize I was crying until I felt the warmth streak down my cheeks.
I wanted to scream, but nothing came out.
I pushed the robe away from my skin like it had scalded me.
The door burst open with a sharp crash.
I snapped my head, and I froze in place as Sargis rushed in. He skidded to a halt as we locked eyes. His gaze dipped just once, and he jerked away as if slapped by fire.
He spun on his heels so fast, I barely caught the blush climbing up his neck. “I… I’m sorry,” he stuttered.
“I didn’t think before barging in. I… I heard your heartbeat. It became erratic, I thought…shit.” He raked his hand through his hair.
That’s when I looked down.
Oh.
I was naked. The robe pooled around my hips, and the air clung cold to my skin. I didn’t even realize I was curled in on myself on the floor. I scrambled to pull the robe back around me, cinching it tightly like armor.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “It won’t happen again. I just… Are you okay? Is there… anything you need help with?” He sucked in a deep breath. “Why are you crying?”
I froze. My hands went instinctively to my face, wiping the evidence too late.
He shifted on his feet but didn’t turn. “Please… put some clothes on. I’ll be outside.”
And with that, he slipped out, shutting the door softly behind him.
I laid there for a moment, breathing in the silence. Eventually, I dressed in a pair of shorts and a loose shirt, his, again. For some reason, the only clothes I’ve been dressed in by Hasmik were his.
When I stepped out into the room, he was standing by the window, with one hand braced against the glass.
I simply padded past him and slipped into bed, curling beneath the duvet, exhaustion was tugging at me hard now. My limbs were heavy from the shower, shaving, and panic attack.
SARGIS’ POV
The moment I shut the bathroom door behind me, I dragged a hand over my face in frustration.
Narine always remained in bed until at least ten. But this morning… I returned from a long, soul-draining morning handling court petitions, land disputes, and territorial concerns, the usual noble whining about borders and status. None of it held my attention. My mind had stayed here, with her. Like it always did.
So when I stepped into the room and found the bed empty, every instinct in me screamed, and my heart dropped straight into my stomach.
Then I heard the shuffle of feet behind the bathroom door. Relief flooded me so quickly it was dizzying. I leaned forward slightly, inhaling, and there it was.
Her scent.
Citrus with hints of lavender soap clung to her skin.
She was in the bathroom. Alone. And doing things… herself.
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