Tʜᴇ Pᴀᴛʜ Tᴏ Hɪɢʜɢᴀᴛᴇs

Tʜᴇ Wᴀɴɪɴɢ Mᴏᴏɴ

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 32

This was your one chance.

...but,

did you really want to?

Your body steadied, your hands staying by his pocket. You didn't want to throw your dignity away just to get something that wasn't necessary at the moment. You could get them another time. He was drunk often, wasn't he? It wouldn't be a stretch to assume another opportunity would arise. One just as tantalising as this one.

But before you could backtrack and return to bed. The Empire leaned back in his seat. His chest expanding before he blew a ragged breath out. The quiet word "Fuck," left his lips. Before his hands began running down your waist, landing on your hips.

Your eyes widened.

You had just concluded that you didn't want to do this. You were curious sure. But not curious enough to say yes. You knew that if you got your hands on those keys, you could know what was behind that iron door. But was it worth it? There was a million days in between now and eternity, one of each as unpredictable as the last. Who's to say the Empire won't get sick of himself one day, and drink that eternity away? Leaving him vulnerable and under the influence of a substance that had nothing good to offer his system. It would be the perfect time to take them. But not now, not when he was awake and conscious. Not when you were on top of him.

So then why was it that he seemed to think you were okay with losing your dignity to him?

You hadn't done anything to make it seem that way. You hadn't even said anything.

None of it made sense.

You grasped the keys from outside his pocket, then leaned back. Trying to push his arms off you. But you found that was impossible. His hands gripped you harder as his head threw back, his breathing erratic.

You brought your hands away and pulled back harder. Your nose scrunched up in a scowl while he leaned further into you. Resting his head in the crook of your neck. His voice spoke in your ear, deep and hoarse. His warm breath sending a reactionary shiver through you. Causing you to tilt your head away. "I visch I could kiss vu." He muttered. Burying his head deeper in your neck.

You could smell the alcohol on his breath. It was deep and obvious. The stench pervasive. It smelled like a toilet after a rough night at a party.

You wanted him off you. But you couldn't find the words to ask, nor could you find the better strength to push him away.

His hands rested on your lower back. His head against you. There was no breathing room for you. His embrace was suffocating you from a claustrophobia that burned your brain. That made your skin warm and blood cold.

His hands slipped slowly. Then you stopped struggling.

He had... sedated himself.

Drunk himself into a bothered sleep. His breathing slowing, his body hunched, his grip waning. It was that easy to get him to stop, huh? Just sit and wait for him to pass out, until his addiction took over his mind. Bringing him away from you.

You huffed out a sigh, then unravelled the Empire from you, standing to your feet. He slumped over in the chair, his head down and arms leaning on his legs awkwardly. He looked lifeless just sitting there.

Except for the minor detail that his eyes didn't seem to close.

Those black pinpricks stayed wide and for a moment you thought he had awoken. But he was unmoving, like a statue carved from a corpse. A stuffed cadaver embalmed from his cauterized vivisection.