Till Death Do Us Part

Chapter 8

The room was dim, bathed in the faint glow of the bedside lamp. He worked in silence, his movements precise, careful, and unhurried—an exactness that belied the darker currents beneath. his hands deft as he unwound the bandages from her head. The white gauze, now tinged with faint streaks of dried blood, unraveled smoothly, exposing her bruised skin to the cold air. He didn’t flinch at the sight of her injuries; he had grown used to the sight of damage, though never hers.

She didn’t stir, her face serene in sleep. His gaze, however, wasn’t serene. It lingered on the angry discoloration along her temple, the faint swelling on her jaw, the fine cut just above her eyebrow. Evidence of her fall, her recklessness. He hadn’t wanted this, not this damage—not to her.

All because of him

With the bandages removed, he turned to the bowl of warm water he’d prepared earlier. The faint scent of antiseptic wafted into the air as he dipped a clean cloth into it, wringing out the excess. He crouched by the bed, leaning close as he gently dabbed at her wounds. Her skin was soft beneath his touch, warmer than it had been days ago, a sign that her body was fighting to heal itself.

His jaw tightened as he worked, methodical but tense. There was no room for error. Infection would be a mistake, one he wouldn’t allow. She was already fragile, more fragile than she should ever be, and it gnawed at something in him, something primal.

He finished cleaning the cuts and bruises, setting the cloth aside. Then his fingers moved to her hair. The dark strands were tangled, falling haphazardly around her face. He gathered them gently, his touch surprisingly soft as he combed through the knots with his fingers. Once her hair was smooth, he twisted it into a loose braid, tying it at the end with a small elastic band he had pocketed earlier.

She’d eaten dinner with him tonight, spooning the soup without hesitation, even meeting his eyes occasionally. It was a subtle change, but it hadn’t slipped past him. He didn’t trust it. Not for a second. She was his little flame, unpredictable, fiery, and when fire dimmed like this, it often meant it was readying to burn again.

His gaze flickered to her face as he worked, brushing a strand of hair away from her forehead. Her lips, split and healing, were slightly parted in sleep, her chest rising and falling steadily. The bruises along her jawline had started to yellow at the edges, a sign of healing, but the faint swelling remained. She was fragile now, breakable, but he wouldn’t let her shatter. Not fully.

With the bandages secured, he leaned in close, his lips brushing against her temple in a feather-light kiss. He whispered, his tone almost tender, “Sleep now. You’ll need it.”

She stirred faintly at the touch, murmuring something incoherent, but then she nestled deeper into the pillow. The corners of his mouth twitched, just enough to form the faintest trace of a smile—one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

He stood, smoothing her blanket over her shoulders. For a moment, he lingered, his gaze heavy as it roamed over her still form. Then he turned, walking to the door. The lock clicked softly behind him as he stepped out, pocketing the key.

Downstairs, his footsteps were quiet, purposeful. The kitchen was his first stop. He opened the drawer by the sink, One by one, he removed the knives, the scissors, anything sharp. Each object went into the small safe he had installed behind the pantry door. The drawer shut with a dull thud, and he slid the key into his pocket beside the one for her door.

Next, the basement door. He stood there for a moment, his hand resting lightly on the frame. The soft click echoed in the silence, The faintest grin ghosted over his lips before he moved on.

Outside, the air was cool and sharp, the kind of night that carried whispers if you knew how to listen. He stepped into the shadows, his mind ticking like clockwork. Her game had begun; he could feel it. The feigned compliance, the quiet obedience—she thought she was clever, thought she could slip through the cracks he had so carefully sealed.

Let her try, he thought. It would make it all the more satisfying when the walls closed in around her.

For now, he would wait. He always did. Waiting was the art of control, and control was something he excelled at. He tilted his head toward the house, his gaze lingering on the faint light from her room. His flame was flickering, yes, but he wasn’t afraid of being burned. Not anymore.

The embers were there, faint but alive. And soon, he would stoke them back into fire.

He waited. An hour passed, the silence stretching thin across the house like a taut string. The stillness didn’t bother him—it was patience that mattered now. Time had a way of revealing truths, and he’d always known how to wield it.

His fingers tapped idly against the car's seat as he glanced at the faint glow of her bedroom window. Someone wasn’t keen on repeating their past mistakes, it seemed. He almost chuckled, shaking his head. Too bad for her. Mistakes had a way of compounding when desperation crept in.

Almost an hour and a half later, the entire house plunged into darkness. Every light extinguished in an instant, swallowing the familiar structure in a veil of black. His grin widened, sharp and pleased.

Finally, he sighed looking at the house, his cunning little hell cat had decided to come out and play.

He reached for his phone, his fingers steady as he dialed. The line connected almost immediately, but he didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Do it,” he said, his voice low, before ending the call without waiting for a response.

Sliding the phone into his pocket, he rose to his feet, his movements smooth and deliberate. The faint creak of the porch under his boots was the only sound as he approached the house’s back entrance, his steps unnervingly soft for someone his size.

The darkness was no hindrance—it never was for him. It only heightened his focus, every sound and shadow sharpening under its weight. She believed the darkness of night would be her shield. He knew better.

His hand hovered over the back door handle, his smile still lingering. Tonight, she’d learn that every game she played only led her further into his.