God of Pain

7.Alec

Sitting at the table, I stared at the plate of food in front of me, trying to steady my breathing. The familiar, gnawing anxiety began to creep in, tightening my chest and making my hands tremble. I forced myself to pick up the fork, but my hand felt heavy, the simple act of eating becoming an insurmountable challenge.

It had been years since that day, but the memories were as vivid as ever. I could still taste the bitterness of the poison, feel the burning in my throat as it went down. The betrayal, the pain—it all came rushing back every time I sat down to eat. Food, which should have been a source of comfort and sustenance, had become a symbol of fear and mistrust.

I took a deep breath, trying to focus on the present, but my mind kept dragging me back to that moment. I remembered the look on my father's face when I collapsed, the panic in his eyes. I had trusted him implicitly, and he had been the one to save me. But the damage was done. The seed of fear had been planted, and it grew stronger with every meal.

Every bite felt like a risk, every swallow a potential threat. I knew it was irrational, that the food in front of me was safe, but my body refused to believe it. The trauma was ingrained, etched into my psyche so deeply that no amount of logic could erase it.

My stomach churned, not from hunger but from the anxiety that gnawed at my insides. I glanced around the room, trying to ground myself, but the shadows of the past loomed large, making it hard to focus. I hated this feeling of helplessness, the way it reduced me to a shell of myself.

I picked up a piece of food, my hand trembling slightly. My mind raced with questions. What if it's poisoned? What if something happens again? The thoughts were relentless, a torrent of fear and doubt that I couldn't control.

I forced myself to take a bite, chewing slowly, trying to push the thoughts away. The food tasted bland, my senses dulled by the overwhelming anxiety. I swallowed, the lump in my throat making it difficult.

This was my reality, a constant battle with something as basic as eating. It was exhausting, wearing me down day by day. I longed for the time when food was just food, not a source of fear. But that time felt like a distant memory, something I might never get back.

I took another bite, determined to keep going. I had to face this, to confront the fear head-on, no matter how hard it was. Because giving in meant letting the trauma win, and I wasn't ready to surrender to it. Not yet.

.................................................................................................

I sat in front of the canvas, brush in hand, staring at the blank expanse. Usually, painting was my escape, my way of pouring out the thoughts and emotions I couldn't express in words. But today, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't find the motivation or inspiration. My mind was a chaotic mess, and every time I tried to focus, it inevitably drifted back to that moment.

That kiss.

It had started as a dare, a stupid game we were all playing to pass the time. But the second my lips touched Tara's, it was like the world stopped. The softness of her lips, the warmth of her body so close to mine—it was electrifying, unlike anything I'd ever felt before. I couldn't shake the feeling, the sensation of being completely and utterly consumed by her.

I tried to shake it off, tried to focus on the canvas in front of me. But every stroke felt wrong, every color off. All I could think about was her. Her teasing smile, the way she looked at me right before our lips met, the way she tasted. I was obsessed, unable to get her out of my mind.

I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated. This was ridiculous. It was just a kiss, one kiss. But it didn't feel like just a kiss. It felt like something more, something deeper. And the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to experience it again. I wanted to kiss her again, to feel her lips against mine, to hold her close and lose myself in her.

I closed my eyes, trying to block out the thoughts, but it was no use. I could still feel the press of her lips, the heat of her body. It was driving me insane, this need, this desire that I couldn't seem to control. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her. Every time I tried to focus, I felt her.

I wanted to kiss her again, desperately. I wanted to pull her into my arms and feel that connection again. It was all I could think about, all I could focus on. The painting in front of me was forgotten, the brush in my hand useless. My mind was consumed with thoughts of her, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't think of anything else.

I stood up, pacing the room. This was pointless. I couldn't paint, couldn't focus, couldn't do anything but think about her. About that kiss. I needed to see her, to talk to her, to figure out what this was. Because if I didn't, I was going to lose my mind. I needed to kiss her again, to feel that connection, to see if she felt it too. Because right now, it was all I could think about, and it was driving me crazy

...................................................................................................

I found myself wandering aimlessly through the boutiquel looking for her. If my men's information is right, she is here. And then I saw her

Tara.

She was standing by a rack of dresses, her smile radiant as she chatted with a man who looked to be in his mid-twenties. The sight of them together sent a surge of jealousy coursing through me, dark and all-consuming. Who was he? Why was he with her?

I watched from a distance, my mind spiraling into dark, obsessive thoughts. Was he her boyfriend? Did he know about the kiss we shared? Did she even think about me the way I thought about her? The questions gnawed at me, each one more painful than the last.

I couldn't stand seeing her with him, the way she laughed at something he said, the way he stood so close to her. It felt like a knife twisting in my gut. I wanted to march over there, to pull her away from him and demand to know what was going on. But I knew that would only make things worse.

Instead, I did the only thing I could think of. I ducked into a nearby trial room, hiding from view. My heart pounded in my chest, and I clenched my fists, trying to control the surge of emotions threatening to overwhelm me.

Why was she with him? The jealousy burned like a wildfire, consuming every rational thought. I hated the way he looked at her, the way he seemed to command her attention. I wanted to be the one making her laugh, the one standing close to her, sharing secrets and smiles. Not him.

I peeked through the slats of the trial room door, my eyes fixed on them. She looked so beautiful, so happy. It should have been me standing there with her, not some random guy. The urge to confront him, to stake my claim, was almost unbearable.

I leaned back against the wall of the trial room, my mind spinning. The jealousy was suffocating, a dark cloud that refused to lift.