sinners of the night

Drunken love

Lila's POV
The door slammed so hard, the house trembled. I could feel it in my bones, that deep, aching tremor of dread that always followed him home. Late again, and drunk. So drunk. I should've known better than to think tonight would be any different. I should've known by the silence that came before—the kind that suffocates, that coils tight around your chest.

My breath caught, heart racing. I tried to keep it together, but the fear was like poison, spreading fast. His footsteps were heavy, erratic, each one a countdown. I could hear the jingle of his keys hitting the floor, his jacket thrown carelessly onto the table. He was closer now, closer than I wanted him to be.

I should've gone to my room. Should've disappeared like I always did when he came home like this. But I was frozen, rooted to the spot in the living room. A part of me still held on to some desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, this time wouldn't be so bad.
But that part of me was stupid. Foolish.

"Lila!" His voice was a growl, slurred with alcohol and dripping with venom. "Where the hell are you?"
My heart slammed against my ribs. He was angry. More than usual. I tried to breathe, tried to calm the panic rising in my throat, but the sound of his footsteps—getting closer, heavier—was choking the life out of me.

He stormed into the living room, and the sight of him made my stomach turn. His tie was crooked, shirt wrinkled and stained with whiskey, eyes bloodshot and wild. He looked at me like I was a problem, like my very existence was a personal insult.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" His words slurred, but the fury was razor-sharp. He stepped closer, looming over me, his presence suffocating.
"I—I wasn't—" My voice faltered.
"Just standing around like a goddamn statue, huh?" His lips twisted into a sneer,

and his hand shot out, grabbing me by the arm. His fingers dug into my skin so hard, I knew there'd be bruises. Not that it mattered anymore. Bruises were a part of me, a language he'd carved into my flesh over the years.
"You think you can stand there like a little princess while I bust my ass out there? You and your brother—useless. Both of you."

His face was so close now, the stench of whiskey clinging to him, making me dizzy. His grip tightened, and I bit down hard on my lip, refusing to make a sound. I couldn't give him that. I couldn't let him hear me break. Not again.
"Dad, please..." My voice came out in a whisper, shaking. I hated how weak I sounded.
"Please?" His laugh was bitter, cold. "Please what? What do you want, Lila? Huh? You want me to feel sorry for you?"
Before I could answer, his other hand came up and slapped me across the face. The crack of his palm against my cheek was deafening, and I staggered, my vision swimming as the pain exploded in my head. I tasted blood—sharp and metallic.
"Goddamn waste of space," he snarled, shoving me hard. I hit the floor with a sickening thud, my knees scraping against the hardwood. But I barely felt it through the haze of pain, the ringing in my ears

drowning out everything else.
I didn't get up. I couldn't. My body wouldn't move, and even if it could, what was the point? This wasn't new. This wasn't a surprise. It was just another night in the nightmare that was my life. Another chapter in a story I never asked to be a part of.

He kicked me once, twice, each impact duller than the last. My body was going numb, sinking into the floor as if it could swallow me whole. I closed my eyes, focusing on my breathing, trying to disconnect from the pain, from him.
Eventually, he left. I heard the front door slam again, his footsteps retreating into the night.
Silence.

The kind of silence that feels louder than the chaos before it. I stayed on the floor, curled up, blood trickling from the corner of my mouth. My whole body felt like one giant bruise, each breath sending waves of pain rippling through me. But I couldn't cry. I wouldn't. Not anymore. I

didn't have any tears left.
I lay there for what felt like hours, too tired to move, too numb to care. Time slipped away, and the world around me faded into a blur of shadows and distant sounds. All I wanted was for it to stop. For everything to just stop.
Then I heard it. The door. But it didn't slam this time. It creaked open slowly, carefully, as if whoever was entering knew they didn't belong here. My heart lurched, fear sparking in my chest. Was he back?
Footsteps. Lighter this time, but still with purpose.

"Lila..." The voice was low, hesitant.
Felix.
I tried to move, but my body refused to obey. I was too weak, too broken. I heard him come closer, felt the weight of his presence before I saw him. And when I finally managed to look up, his face came into view—dark, intense, and filled with something I couldn't quite place.
"Fuck..." His voice was barely a whisper, but I could hear the anger behind it. Not

at me. At something else.
He knelt beside me, his eyes scanning the bruises, the blood, the mess I'd become. For a moment, he didn't say anything, just stared. I hated that look in his eyes. Pity. Concern. It made me feel small, like I was a fragile thing that could shatter at any moment.
I didn't want him to see me like this. Not

him. Not Felix.
But then, before I could push him away, his arms were around me, lifting me gently off the floor. I winced, the pain flaring up again, but I didn't fight it. I couldn't. I didn't have the strength.
He carried me to the couch, laying me down as if I were made of glass. His touch was careful, almost too gentle for someone like him. Felix wasn't gentle. Felix was dark and dangerous, a storm waiting to break. But in this moment, with his hands on me, he was something else. Something I couldn't understand.
"Stay here," he said, his voice rough. "I'm calling for help."
I
wanted to protest, to tell him not to, but the words wouldn't come. I just lay there, staring up at him as he pulled out his phone, his jaw clenched, his eyes burning with a fury I hadn't seen before.
He was angry, but not at me. Not at the world. At my dad. At what he'd done.

I closed my eyes, the darkness creeping in around the edges of my vision. Maybe it was the blood loss, or maybe it was just exhaustion, but I could feel myself slipping away, sinking deeper into the abyss.
The last thing I heard before everything went black was Felix's voice, sharp and urgent.
"She needs help. Now."

When I woke up, the sterile smell of the hospital hit me first. The blinding white lights overhead were a harsh contrast to the darkness I'd been drifting in. My whole body ached, but it was different now—duller, more distant. I was numb, sedated by whatever drugs they'd pumped into my system.
I blinked, trying to focus, my mind still

foggy. The room was quiet, save for the faint beeping of machines. I tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through my ribs, and I groaned, collapsing back onto the bed.
"Easy," a voice said softly.
I turned my head, and there he was—Felix, sitting in the chair beside my bed, looking more tense than I'd ever seen him. His dark eyes were locked on me, a

storm brewing behind them.
"What...?" My voice was hoarse, barely audible.
"You're in the hospital," he said bluntly. "Your dad..."
He didn't finish the sentence, but he didn't need to. I remembered. Every detail. Every moment of pain. It all came rushing back, and I felt the bile rise in my throat.

Felix stood, moving closer to the bed. He looked angry, but there was something else there too—something I couldn't name.
"You should've told someone," he said, his voice low, almost accusing. "You didn't have to go through that alone."

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing down on me. But what could I have said? How could I have told anyone about the nightmare I lived in?
I looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "It doesn't matter."
"The hell it doesn't," Felix snapped. "Lila, look at you. This is fucked up."
I clenched my fists, trying to ignore the

way his words cut through me. "You don't get it, Felix. You don't understand."
"I get more than you think," he shot back, his voice hard.

His words hung in the air, heavy and full of promise. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to respond to the intensity in his eyes, the anger that wasn't directed at me but at the world that had let this happen.
And in that moment