❝Goddammit! I hate you! I hate you and your dumb voice! and your stupid muscles and your awfully attractive face!❞
❝You think I'm attractive?❞
❝Fuck no!❞
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Dangerous, wild and rebellious.
Calm, cool and collected.
Darya just wan...
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My eyes are fixed on the door, now closed behind Ethan, the sound of his footsteps fading into the distance. The room feels emptier, heavier.
I look down at my hands, still clenched into fists, and feel a pang in my chest. The words I hurled at Ethan replay in my mind, each one a dagger.
"You really think that little of me?" he'd asked, his voice broken.
A wave of regret washes over me, making my stomach twist. I feel a lump form in my throat as I think about the hurt I've inflicted.
Why did I say that?
The pain and anger I felt spilled out, but at what cost? Our relationship?
I think of Ethan's laughter, hollow and full of hurt, and my heart aches.
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I realize I've gone too far.
The flash drive on the table catches my eye, a stark reminder of what just transpired. I feel a sob well up inside me, but I swallow it, my eyes welling up with tears. I've hurt him, maybe irreparably.
My gaze drifts to the door, my mind racing with what I've done and what I can do to fix it. But for now, I'm left with the weight of my words and the emptiness of the room.
I push the wheelchair into lock, standing up and picking up the flash drive and connecting it to my laptop.
I click the only video on the drive, and a chill creeps down my spine. The camera pans across a gruesome scene; figures hang limply from a metal rod, their wrists bound above their heads, legs twisted at unnatural angles. Kneecaps are dislocated, bones protruding at odd angles. The scene made me gag.
"Please..." One of their broken scream fills my ears and I gag. "I beg—"
I squint my eyes, watching the faces of the men hanging from the rod and my stomach drops.
Rushing to the restroom just in time, I heave forward, retching violently as the images I was staring at few minutes ago sear into my mind. My stomach convulses, emptying its contents into the toilet in a messy, uncontrolled gush.
I splash water on my face, rinse my mouth, and wipe my lips with the back of my hand. My eyes are red-rimmed, but I steel myself to turn back to finish watching the video, the images still waiting for me.
That—
Oh God.
That's them. The assaulters, that's them.
"Beg." The cold voice comes from somewhere behind the camera and my body shakes, eyes glued to the screen.
"Darya!" One of the guys screams, the sound tearing from his throat like a raw wound. "I'm sorry!" The words are hoarse, desperate, and laced with anguish.
