God Of Desire

the space you left

Madden :

One week. Seven days. One hundred sixty-eight hours. Ten thousand and eighty minutes.

And still, there's nothing. No trace of Anastasia.

I feel drained. Lost. Empty. The kind of confusion that eats away at you, twisting your gut with every passing second. I haven't worked out, gone out, or even hung out with the guys.

It's like I'm stuck in a loop...locked in my room or standing in front of the Volkov house, waiting for something, anything, to change. But nothing does.

I've even spent hours at the cliff where we used to go. The one where we shared our thoughts, our secrets. Where we laughed, argued, and found comfort in each other's company.

It feels like that place has lost its meaning, like it's just a memory now, fading into nothingness, just like her.

Anastasia hasn't reached out. I've tried everything. Called her more times than I can count, texted her until she blocked me.

I even tried reaching out from a fake account, like some desperate fool. And I am desperate. Desperate to understand why she's avoiding me. Why she's cutting me off. Why she won't even look at me.

It's fucking killing me.

I've never put this much effort into someone before. But she's different. She always was. My Ana, she's not like anyone else.

I miss her. I miss everything about her...the way her touch felt, soft but electrifying. Her voice, the one that could send chills down my spine with just a whisper.

Her challenge, the way she made me question myself, made me want to be better. Her scent...sweet, like chocolate, but so much more than that. The only scent that truly feels like home to me.

Her brown hair, those forest green eyes that held so much fire and bravery, always looking at me with that damn intensity. Every time she...glanced at me, every word she said...it was more than just attraction.

This isn't just some fleeting crush or infatuation. What I feel for her, what I've felt for her since the first time we spoke... it's real.

But she's gone. And I'm here, lost without her, trying to figure out how the hell to fix this.

Finishing the joint that had been burning between my fingers for what felt like an hour, I leaned back against the couch, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the dimly lit room.

My head felt lighter, emptier, but it wasn't enough. Her green eyes were still there, burned into the back of my blurry vision, haunting me like a ghost I couldn't shake.

A heavy hand landed on my shoulder, jarring me from my thoughts.

"Yo, man, you should've come with us," Ivarsen said, his obnoxious laugh cutting through the haze. "We had so much fun."

Fun. Right.

Aaron walked in from the kitchen, a beer in each hand, tossing one to Ivarsen before settling down across from me.

"What the hell, Mad?" he started, his tone sharp as he glanced at the empty weed packs scattered on the table. "You've been smoking non-stop. You went through the whole pack in, what, two days?"