FOR MY LOVE | WINGS OF FIRE AU. ✓

11 - I'm Sorry.

✶ CHAPTER 11 - QIBLI & WINTER ✶

CW: self harm (burning self)

Qibli stumbled into his bedroom, eyes bleary and sunken with red eyebags. He rubbed his eyes with the side of his palm, feeling the itchy grittiness of his eyes after crying for so long. 

He had one more day.

With the liquor flowing through Qibli's veins, infecting his never-stable mind, he was dragged into the haunting memories that he had tried to push away. He collapsed to the floor, taking a drink of a bottle, and tossed it aside noisily. Qibli held his tear-stained face in his hands as overwhelming guilt overcame him with each memory.

Qibli, wielding a gun, watching as bullets fire into an already-dead man, caving into cold flesh. He would later dump the body into a river, with the instructions of his grandfather.

Qibli, holding the same gun to the skull of Prince Winter. The prince trembled before him as Qibli's finger rested on the trigger, hesitating. He would think of the reward, but also how much this would wreck him. 

Qibli, sitting in bed, conducting a plan to murder Lynx as she slept. There was no reason whatsoever for his plan, other than his own selfishness and obsession.

Qibli, yet again holding a gun to Winter, with fingers threaded in his hair, pulling him towards the ground. Tundra, Narwhal, and Cobra hovered over him, encouraging him to kill the boy he had vowed to protect.

Each memory was stained with blood and misery. He was a disgusting, selfish psycho. Who was he? A sick freak who was always on the verge of killing someone, apparently. He hurt everyone who got in his way. He hurt everyone except for himself. Qibli needed to know what their pain felt like.

The drunk boy stood up on wobbly legs and wandered over to his little wooden desk. He grabbed a candle and lit it with a lighter he had found in the drawers. He remembered seeing Winter burn himself with the candle once-- he never told Qibli why. He would only say that it was a punishment. 

Qibli stared blankly at the little flame, watching it dance around, twisting and flickering around. He watched it until an odd fascination overcame him. He reached a hand out to slowly approach the flame, fingers outstretched, yet tentative.

Qibli could feel the heat washing over his fingertips, growing hotter as his hand neared closer. The flame occasionally flickered towards his fingers as if it were testing him. He reached closer.

A flash of pain spread through his hand as the flame made contact with his skin. He jumped back and pulled his hand away from the candle, hissing in pain. But he continued to watch the flame, eyebrows furrowing. He didn't blow it out. Instead, a minute later, Qibli held his hand to the candle again.

It hurt. It burned. The flame lapped at his hand. Qibli gritted his teeth, trying to keep his hand there as long as possible, even if he couldn't take it anymore. No matter how his body protested, Qibli would have to press on. He couldn't chicken out. He had to teach himself how others felt.

His vision blurred with tears and his whole body was screaming with pain, begging Qibli to stop. But he persisted with gritted teeth, and stuck a fingertip cautiously into a part of the hot wax.