Shadows of Helvete

Chapter 13

The days that followed the bathroom incident were filled with a thick, uncomfortable silence between Emilie and Euronymous. Despite their best efforts to act normal, the atmosphere was laced with an undeniable tension, one neither of them was willing to acknowledge. But it hung in the air between them, crackling like electricity, sparking at the slightest interaction.

Every glance felt charged. Every accidental touch sent a jolt of something neither of them could name through their bodies. The way they avoided each other's eyes, the clipped conversations, the awkward movements—it was clear to anyone paying attention that something was going on. But Emilie and Euronymous were both stubborn in their denials, pushing down the rising heat with everything they had.

Yet the more they tried to suppress it, the more it consumed them.

One night, after the store had closed, the others had gone out for drinks or to hang out at someone's place. Euronymous and Emilie were left alone, cleaning up after another long day. The silence between them was almost suffocating, broken only by the occasional scrape of a chair or the clink of glasses being put away. Emilie was wiping down the counter, her movements slow and methodical, trying to focus on the task at hand, anything to keep her mind off him. But it was impossible.

Euronymous stood just a few feet away, scribbling something in a notebook, pretending to be engrossed in whatever plans he was making for the store. But his mind wasn't on the page in front of him. Every now and then, he would glance up at Emilie, catching her in his peripheral vision. The way her hair fell over her shoulders, the delicate curve of her neck—everything about her seemed to draw his attention in ways he hadn't allowed himself to notice before.

He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to look away. Get a grip, he told himself. But it was getting harder to ignore the pull he felt toward her.

The tension between them was unbearable, like a storm building on the horizon, waiting to break.

Finally, Emilie couldn't take it anymore. She slammed the rag down on the counter, turning to face him.

"This is ridiculous," she said, her voice strained. "We're not going to pretend there's nothing going on anymore, are we?"

Euronymous stiffened, his grip tightening on the pen in his hand. He didn't respond right away, his mind racing with thoughts he didn't dare voice. But Emilie was right—they couldn't keep pretending. It was too obvious now. Too real.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked, his voice low, guarded.

"I don't know!" Emilie shot back, frustration bubbling up inside her. "Just—say something. Acknowledge it. We can't keep doing this."

Euronymous put down the pen and looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time in what felt like days. Her cheeks were flushed, her chest rising and falling quickly, and he could see the same frustration, the same confusion, reflected in her eyes. He didn't know what to say because he didn't fully understand what was happening himself.

But before he could form a coherent thought, something in the air between them shifted.

Without warning, Emilie took a step forward, closing the distance between them. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and for a moment, she wasn't sure what she was doing. But it was like her body was moving on its own, drawn toward him like a magnet. She could see the conflict in Euronymous's eyes, the way his body tensed as she got closer, but he didn't move away.

They were just inches apart now, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife.

And then, before either of them could stop it, it happened.