Absolution | +18

Chapter 26

Val

I'm sprawled on my bed, the soft hum of the city outside the window barely reaching me through the thick, cocooning silence of my apartment. The steam from my shower still lingers in the air, mingling with the faint scent of lavender from my body wash. I'm wrapped in a plush towel, my hair damp and loose around my shoulders. My thoughts drift through the fog of my mind, reflecting on the chaos that has become my life.

The aftermath of everything—Silas, the tension, the unspoken anger—has left me feeling hollow and disoriented. I know I need to cut him out of my life. The brief and tumultuous interactions we've had have only left me more tangled in confusion and frustration. It's clear now that whatever he was or whatever he could be, he's not good for me. I can't keep doing this to myself, getting swept up in something so fundamentally flawed.

As I lie there, the weight of the decision presses down on me, a heavy cloud that I can't seem to shake. I need clarity, to be free from the mess he's brought into my life.

A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts, jolting me back to the present. I sit up, my heart racing with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. Who could it be at this hour? I glance at the clock—nearly midnight. The timing feels wrong, unsettling. I move slowly, the weight of the towel around me a comforting reminder of the safety of my home.

I open the door, my breath catching in my throat as I see him standing there. Silas. His presence is almost overwhelming—he looks disheveled, his usually immaculate hair wild and tousled, his clothes sticking to him from sweat. The sheen on his muscular frame is like an accent to his already formidable presence. His piercing gray eyes are shadowed with something I can't quite read, but it's clear they're filled with an intensity that makes my pulse quicken.

For a moment, I'm frozen. He's here, and I don't know why. My instinct is to shut the door, to shut him out and protect myself from whatever storm he's bringing. But as I move to close it, he's faster, thrusting his foot in the way, preventing me from slamming the door shut.

"What are you doing here?" My voice is firmer than I feel, tinged with a mix of frustration and fear. I try to keep my gaze steady, but his presence is disorienting.

He doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he stands there, his eyes locked onto mine, as if he's waging an internal battle. I can see him struggling with something—maybe with himself, or with whatever he's come here to do. The seconds stretch into an uncomfortable silence, heavy with unspoken words and unresolved tension.

Before I can react, his movements are swift and decisive. He steps into my apartment with a force that takes me by surprise. In one fluid motion, he scoops me up into his arms, my towel barely clinging to me before it falls, as he carries me effortlessly across the room. My body tenses, a gasp escaping my lips as I'm carried towards the bed. His grip is strong and unyielding, and the close proximity only heightens the confusion and anxiety roiling inside me.

The bed is suddenly beneath me, he sets me down gently, but his touch is still firm, his hands lingering for a moment longer than necessary. I look up at him, my mind racing as I try to process what's happening. His eyes are filled with a myriad of emotions—intensity, frustration, something darker that I can't quite place. It's a storm of feelings I can't decipher.

He stands over me, his breath coming in heavy bursts, his body radiating heat and tension. The room feels too small, too intimate, with him so close. My heart pounds in my chest, the initial shock of his arrival slowly giving way to a surge of adrenaline. I'm caught between the urge to flee and the desperate need to understand what's driving him.

In the silence that follows, I realize that the turmoil he brings is not just his own but somehow intertwined with mine. I can't escape the reality that he's here, that he's forcing me to confront something I thought I'd managed to distance myself from.