Woven Shadows

Part 1: The Forsaken Flame - Chapter 1

The sensation was numbing.

I knew his hands were roaming all over me, sliding across my skin, gripping my hips as he drove himself as deep as he could. But I couldn't find any feeling or physical response to give him. My body, though moving, felt detached from my mind. I saw his head thrown back, eyes closed in some kind of bliss as I rode him. He was pleased with himself, clearly. His heavy breaths filled the room, his lips parting in groans of satisfaction.

I glanced at his temple—sweat trickling down the side of his face. Why the hell was he sweating? I was the one doing all the work.

I had sucked him off earlier, relentless until he had begged to be inside me. Then, when he had perched himself on the bed, his body stretched out with that cocky, smug look on his face, leaning back on his elbows, I knew exactly what he expected. He wanted me to do his bidding, to fulfill whatever fantasy he had conjured up in his mind. I obliged because I didn't care. I had no real desire, no interest in pleasure. I was just going through the motions.

He started to tighten, his grip on me becoming desperate as he released with a guttural moan, body locking up underneath me. Great. He fucking came inside me. Asshole. But no worries. I was on a tonic, and nothing was going to be created inside me today—or fucking ever, for that matter.

As he shuddered beneath me, basking in the afterglow of his release, I glared at him. I could see him trying to catch his breath, eyes lazily opening to look at me like I had done something amazing for him. I hopped off him without a second glance, the bed creaking under the sudden shift of weight.

I found my oversized t-shirt—practically a dress on me—and slipped it over my head, yanking on my underwear and sliding into my shoes in one fluid motion. He was muttering something, probably asking me not to leave, but he didn't have the energy to chase after me. I could feel his gaze on me, probably confused, maybe a little hurt. But I didn't give a damn.

I walked out of his room and into the cold night air, the door slamming behind me. The cool breeze hit my face, but it did nothing to shake the emptiness inside me. My skin felt as cold and distant as it had in his bed.

As I walked through the quiet streets, I didn't think. I couldn't. My mind was void, and my heart even more so. The silence of the night suited me. It was as if the world around me had ceased to exist. I didn't glance into the windows of the shops I passed, didn't acknowledge the few passerbys walking by. I was just... there. Existing but not living. I had taken it too far tonight. I knew that. But even that realization couldn't stir anything inside me. No guilt. No regret. Nothing.

Whether it's one month or ten years, I knew I would always be alone. He was gone, and nothing could change that. No amount of meaningless fucking could fill the void he left behind. My father's absence had carved something out of me, leaving a hollow shell where my heart used to be. There was nothing good about life anymore. Nothing worth feeling.

So, I wouldn't. I wouldn't feel. I wouldn't care. And I sure as hell wouldn't participate in whatever twisted game life wanted to play with me.

I thought maybe fucking that guy would give me something—anything—to feel today. Maybe it would bring me back from the dead space inside. But instead, it had just helped me drift further away. Further into the numbness. Further into the void.

The shadows along the cobbled streets seemed to beckon to me as I passed. I felt their familiar pull, the darkness that had always lingered inside me, waiting for me to give in. I ignored it, just as I ignored everything else.

I was just a ghost wandering through a world that had long since ceased to matter.

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