Darling, Clementine

12| Worthlessness

I watched as fear stole into Clementine's expressive ebony eyes, casting shadows that betrayed the hurt and bewilderment swirling behind them. My heart thudded heavily in my chest, and it was as if the world had slowed down, granting me space to navigate the murky territory of emotions in agonizing detail. Swallowing hard, I stepped closer to her, like a magnet pulling me. I encircled her with my arms, taking solace in the proximity that offered comfort despite its dubious nature. A shiver rippled through her, her stillness a testament to the maelstrom of emotions that battered her core. The involuntary shiver that coursed through her frame as I pulled her against me spoke volumes to the disillusionment swimming beneath the surface of her emotions. Her head drooped in frustration and emotional turmoil. It was heartbreaking and sobering to witness. My fingers ghosted over her delicate jawline, coaxing her face to turn upward, the moment imbued with urgency and purpose. I trailed my hand along the curve of her soft cheek with the slowness of a man relishing in hallowed territory, my fingertips grazing the soft flesh hungrily. And as she quivered under the weight of my scrutiny, I was struck by the hypnotic pull of her magnetic gaze, a tangle of dark lashes encircling eyes that promised danger and allure in equal measure.

"Clementine," I whispered my voice an enigmatic melding of soft gentleness and raspy grit that begged for obedience. My whisper, laden with a strength betrayed by its tender cadence, seeped into her ears like a poisonous serpent, halting her turbulent emotions. With a flicker of resignation, she gazed into my eyes, flickered of loathing and angry condemnation mirrored forthright, unguarded keys to the complex workings of her psyche. Before I could utter another word, Clementine's lithe fingers snaked underneath my suit jacket in a swift, calculated move. She retrieved the firearm from the holster strapped to my lower back, her grasp confident, her movements belying a newly discovered aptitude for handling weapons. As if sensing a threat in my proximity, she shoved me away, her eyes ablaze with outrage and determination. Now she stood alone before me, the gun firmly gripped in her small, graceful hands, the weight of the situation seemed to settle heavily upon me like an oppressive fog. The sudden shift in dynamic was both jarring and exhilarating; a veritable dance of power between us, in which she now held the upper hand. Our gazes locked, neither dared to break the electrifying tension, that suffused the air between us. I found myself scrutinizing the features of her pretty, flushed face, her thick lashes desperate lines against the brown, freckled skin. The curl of her painted lips, usually reserved for fake smiles, now twisted into something far darker and dangerous, mirrored in the depths of her honey-brown russet eyes.

My breath hitched, fingers plunging nervously through my dark, gelled hair. The adrenaline that had propelled me thus far began to ebb, replaced by a rawness I hadn't felt for years, since my thirst for vengeance knew no bounds. Here, before me, was the embodiment of my obsession, now transformed into an enforcer of justice, and I found myself frozen in her intense, hateful gaze. The world telescoped down to a single point, with us suspended in an indeterminate space, on the edge between violence and peace.

Clementine POV

My trembling index finger pressed firmly against the trigger, ready to unleash havoc. The metallic taste of fear pooled at the back of my throat as I watched Nero's head tilt to the side, accompanied by a sickeningly small smirk that curved his sculpted lips. The cockiness that dripped from his very pores sickened me, but I couldn't deny the shimmer of fear that glinted in the depths of his striking sliver-black eyes. Ignoring the threatening gun choked in my hand, he took one deliberate step forward, the dark soles of his dress shoes thudding against the office floor. It felt like I was being treated as a wild, untamed animal—a beast to be studied, tormented, and tamed. His tone, smooth and coaxing, rang in my ears as he posed his question. "Are you going to shoot me? Kill me, little one?" I swallowed the motion a clicking affair in my suddenly dry mouth. My body trembled, betraying my attempt at maintaining composure, sweat trickling down my temple and stinging my body in a way that sent little pinpricks of pain racing down my neck. I licked my lips, my eyes fixed unwaveringly on the beacon of power in my trembling grip.