After the Storm | LadaEarn

Silent Reckoning

The sunlight crept through the thin curtains, casting pale slivers across the bed, where Earn lay, eyes barely open but wide awake. Her body ached, not just from the physical remnants of last night, but from the weight of everything unspoken. The room was eerily quiet, save for the steady rise and fall of Lada's breath beside her. It felt surreal—too quiet after the storm of emotions that had crashed between them only hours ago.

Earn shifted, her skin tender in places where Lada had been rough. Bruises, she thought, though she hadn't yet dared to look at them. Her breath caught in her throat as she turned to glance at Lada, half-expecting her to be gone already.

But she wasn't.

Lada lay on her back, her face turned toward the ceiling, eyes shut tight as if she were bracing herself for something. The rigid set of her jaw told Earn everything she needed to know—this wasn't a peaceful rest. Lada was still in that moment, still somewhere in the emotional whirlwind they had created.

Earn's fingers twitched at her side, wanting to reach out, to touch her, to break the silence. But something held her back. Was it fear? Regret? No. It was something darker—something that still pulsed between them, unresolved, unfinished.

"Lada," Earn's voice came out rough, hushed, like she wasn't sure she should say anything at all. But she needed to. The tension was too thick, the weight of the night before hanging over them like an invisible noose tightening with every second.

Lada's eyes opened slowly, but she didn't look at Earn. Instead, she stared blankly at the ceiling for a long moment, her breathing steady, controlled, like she was trying to keep everything inside.

Earn swallowed, the silence pressing on her. "Last night—" she started, but her voice trailed off when Lada finally turned to face her, eyes sharp, unreadable.

Lada's gaze flicked over her, catching the faint marks on Earn's skin. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, something flickered across her face—remorse, anger, maybe both. But she didn't say anything. She didn't have to. The memory of last night was still raw, imprinted on both of their bodies.

"Don't," Lada finally said, her voice low, almost too controlled. "Don't say anything." It wasn't an order, but it was close enough. There was a plea in her eyes, one that Earn recognized immediately.

But Earn wasn't ready to leave it hanging in the air. "You don't get to just... shut this down," she said, her voice wavering between frustration and the lingering desire that still coursed through her veins. "We can't keep pretending like—"

"We're not pretending," Lada cut in, sharper than intended, her hand twitching at her side as if she was about to reach out but held back. "We never were. You know that."

Earn sat up, the sheets falling away as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, her back to Lada. "Then what are we doing?" The question hung between them, thick and dangerous.

There was a long pause before Lada answered, her voice rougher now, less composed. "We're doing what we've always done. Fighting. Needing. Hurting each other." She let out a bitter laugh, though there was no humor in it. "That's what we do, isn't it?"

Earn turned to face her, eyes flashing. "It doesn't have to be like this," she said, softer now, the edge in her voice fading into something more vulnerable. "It doesn't always have to hurt."

Lada's eyes darkened, the tension thickening between them again. She sat up, the sheets pooling around her waist, and for a moment, they just stared at each other, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on them.

"You think I don't know that?" Lada's voice cracked, her hand finally reaching out, fingers brushing against the bruises she had left on Earn's skin. There was something desperate in the way she touched them, like she was trying to understand how far they had gone, how much damage had been done.