𝘿𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙡 𝙄𝙣𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙛𝙩 - 𝙔𝘼𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙍𝙀 𝙓 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍 ✓

47.

━━━

"You need to eat something."

Silence.

"Y/N."

Silence.

"Can you please talk to me."

Silence.

He sits by the end of my bed, my body turned to the side facing away from him. I haven't left my bed in over a week. This week is slowly becoming two weeks, the hours moving slowly and painfully. 

"I don't want you here." My voice is quiet, flat and blunt. Straight to the point. His eyes boar into my back, head turned to face me. "You haven't eaten in a long time, Y/N. You need to." 

"I don't want anything from you."

"What will you eat then?"

"Nothing, leave me alone...!" I grumble, holding my bandaged, wrapped hand. He sighs quietly, slowly reaching over and placing his hand over my arm, before I instantly jolt and flinch away. "Don't touch me." I hiss, his hand retracting to my rejection. 

"You haven't spoken to me since that night," He sighs softly, standing up slowly from my bed to begin to leave. I hear him open my door, his feet pausing by the door before he exits completely. 

"I'm sorry."

He mumbles shortly, before exiting and closing the door behind him. I feel my face immediately contort into painful, restrained frown of sadness. Gripping the sheets, I hold them against myself in angry, confused sadness. I want to forgive him with all of my might, I want to sleep in the same bed as him and eat with him, but I just can't, and I fear that I won't be able to for a long time. Or even ever. 

I want to make this work. 

More than anything in the world, and I know that for an undoubtful fact. 

I trace the bandage wrappings sprawled over my hand and wrist, already stained with dark, old blood. I haven't been able to change the bandages for a few days. I've been rotting in these sheets for God knows how long, staring at the walls, waiting for the pain to pass by each hour. 

I don't know how to truly feel. No feelings towards Stanislav are definite, they are never in black or white. I need time to think, breathe. But I know only one thing, being that he will not let me leave. I can only spend the next hours rotting in the sheets, letting my self-esteem and feelings take me down and void me. 

I consider leaving my bed, assuring him with my pathetic dependency that I forgive his erratic and violent actions, with a large smile and my wounded palm hidden from view, but I suffice with sulking. Maybe then he'll understand that his uncontrollable violence needs serious attention and psychological care. 

It just hurts, it's a lot to process mentally and emotionally. Especially when there is no way to run from it, the evidence is quite literally sliced against my skin with an after-burn. That's the worst part, I can't just ignore it. I can't front and act as though the issue hasn't scared or hurt me in any way, it's there and it will most likely scar harsh enough to remind me of the incident every single time I look at my hand. 

It will always be there.

And as he said,

He will always be there. 

At least he lived up to his word.

It makes me speculate if he genuinely feels sorry as well, or if he meant what he said when he told me he loved me that night. One dark memory will wash over a thousand light memories, and that's something I've learnt the hard way. Stanislav can truly be a kind man. He can be a sociable, charming man with warm, welcoming expression and words, I can see him place this front over himself millions of times and befriend every single person on this planet, but one things for sure.