Damnatus

Chapter Eighteen

               ❝A sick thought can devour the body's flesh more than fever or consumption. ❞ ― Guy de Maupassant

                                                                           CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. Cracked Logic.

Silence. That's what surrounded him. Complete and utter silence. But his mind was chaos. A disaster. It was destroying him, driving him to the edge.

Roman stood up from the bed, restlessly pacing around the dark room. He had lost track of how long he'd been there.

He didn't know what to think, after so long, he thought she would only keep coming back. That his torture would never end but that he would keep seeing her. And that was enough. It was more than enough.

It had been too long. She had not been back. And he had started to miss her. His insides stirred. Selfish. A voice spat in his mind. If she came back, he knew she was going to die fatally, in his arms.

Guilt clawed at him.

For all he knew, the cycle could have been over, and that was why she hadn't come back. For all he knew, she could've been finally at peace. No more suffering. Tears. Weak words. Pain. Darkness. No more seeing his face at the last minute, when there was nothing else that could be done to save her.

He raked both of his hands through his hair, letting out a sharp breath and stopping by the window. The moon was high and brilliant. Just like that first night when he saw her slip right through his fingers and fall into the fathomless ocean. His chest had burned. He had felt sick, hollow, and torn apart. He still did.

Her face flashed across his eyes.

Her smile.

The memory only toyed with the strings of his sanity.

Roman suddenly heard the door open, drawing him from his thoughts.

He immediately knew who it was.

Her scent was powerful.

The door was closed softly and steps approached him.

Reluctantly, he tore his eyes away from the Moon and turned around sharply.

"Roman," she breathed fiercely, wrapping her arms around his neck faster than he could think. The scent of her wavy dark hair engulfed him.

"What are you doing here, Caroline?" He asked in a voice he himself didn't recognize. Distant. Deadly.

She pulled away just a little and looked into his eyes. Her amber orbs became vicious. "I know why you're here." She said in a calculated voice and when he didn't answer she continued. "You're worried she'll never come back."

Roman peeled her arms from around his neck harshly and stepped back, anger and despair flaring up inside him as his hands became fists. "Get out." He growled.

Caroline was a stoic, precise werewolf whose soul mate was killed the day she met him. She hadn't shed a tear, hadn't grieved, hadn't thrown her head back and fallen to her knees in agony when she saw his heart ripped out of his chest.

Instead, she had stared with no expression whatsoever and then left, never looking back.

Caroline didn't seem bothered and closed the space between them again, her red lips beside his ear. "Let me ease your pain." Her voice became softer, almost a purr. "Like I always do."

Even though Roman never told Caroline about her, she eventually figured it out. Just like always.

This only angered him even more. No one would ever sooth his pain. It was endless. Hollow. Pitch black. "No, Caroline--"