[Book #2 in the Nystrom series]
[18+TW: mature content, heavy topics, language]
I push the feeling away and ultimately concentrate my gaze on his upper body, which still bears the traces of my lipstick. "You did not remove them?" He smirks and close...
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AMAYAS POV
It's impossible to imagine that the devil could suffer injuries, but when I put my hand on my chest to check that my heart is beating normally, I am aware that it is possible.
It is as possible as all the awful things that come with love. Love tore at my skin, almost like barbs, therefore I gave it a chance, but I am not sure whether I have mastered the sophisticated emotion.
I took off my shoes once I entered my house, the same house I loved because it could not haunt me like my previous ones did. I thought I was over that night, I thought I was over the demon's visage that scarred my body like it was his all along, I thought I forgot about the alcoholic scent he wore, I thought I forgot the feeling, I thought it was over, I thought I thought I thought.
My nails scrape over my flesh and it burns, it burns too much but I can still sense his hands on me again and again and again and I cannot breathe. I almost rip the sweater I am wearing, throwing it on the ground as my nails dig into my flesh.
I know the feeling won't go away, I know and yet I cannot help but scratch my skin until the tears make it hard for me to see, cannot help but let my skin suffer until I bring my hand and the red liquidized color meets my eyes.
I thought he only took my dignity with him, I thought he took my body and everything linked with it. Never did I believe he took something that vital, never did I think that having children could be ripped away from me because of a man and his actions.
Never yet always, and maybe it's the universe's way to tell me I should not be a mother, maybe it's doing my unborn children a favor.
I almost trip over my feet trying to walk up the stairs and I cannot help but wonder why me? Cannot help but let my nails scratch the fictitious dirt off my skin even when it's almost peeling off, even when the blood is clear evidence that underneath my skin I am just a human being, too.
And then out of nowhere, I find myself prying open the door to my bathroom and gazing inside as though I am trapped in a maze with no way out, as if I am in someone else's home instead of mine.
My hand moves for the bathtub, and I turn the water to the coldest setting as I submerge my hands in the stream. I then run the same hands over the scars on my body in an effort to make them feel less painful as if I had previously been burnt.
I let out a sob, a sigh, or maybe it was a laugh? Either way, it seemed as though I was pleading to God for sympathy yet he did not answer, it sounded like I was praying to all the Gods out there but the sky was empty and no one was listening.
