Darkness Ethereal | K.TH

Forgiveness Makes Change

"V?"

The letter sounds like a choked gasp from my throat as I shift my heavy arms and legs, my head blank. All I remembered was fainting after he'd pushed me, and everything black after that.

Nothing replies back to me except for pure, unadulterated silence, and fear colors my face ashen as I assume the worst.

Had he escaped again?

But when I shoot up from his bed, eyes wide with shock, I realize that I'm worrying over nothing at all.

His body is dark against the walls, but still noticeable as he breathes unevenly.  The blankets are silent as I slip out quietly from the bed, my voice dying in my throat as my bare feet pad against the cold ground.

"Hey," I whisper as I kneel down in front of his shadowed face, trying to ignore the pounding in the back of my head. "The ground isn't clean, you know."

A soft sigh escapes his lips, and I smile faintly as I draw him closer. My touches are pure butterfly— he is glass, and I cannot risk shattering him when I know I might not be able to put him back.

The smile reaches my eyes as I feel him shift his head to rest it against my shoulder. The silk of his hair graze the curve of my ear, and I let my fingertips brush against the softness of the moment.

Soft. But meaningful, with the weight of the world.

The words he utter next are so quiet I barely catch its shape, even though my ear is inches away from his lips.

"Do you hate me?"

With that single question, cracks form underneath my hands. Glass shivers and trembles as it slowly drives itself toward shatter— the waves of vulnerability washing, pushing.

The fracture grows wider.

My hands find the back of his head as I sift through the strands of his dark hair, taking pleasure as it ripples, creates way for my fingers. I wonder if it's selfish of me to want something so badly as I want him now.

I will not let him break.

"I don't think I'd be doing this if I did hate you," I admit, carefully twisting each strand over my finger before letting it unravel. "Do you think so?"

A thoughtful pause— a deep breath.

"I guess not."

"That's right." I say, smiling uncontrollably. Twist, unravel. "I don't hate you. I don't think I ever could, to be honest. You've a beautiful personality."

His body stretches taut against my touch, and I can feel the cracks widening again. I can feel him trying to pull away, trying to escape.

"Don't joke with me."

"I'm not," I say quietly, calmly continuing to play with his hair until his anger simmers down to a light blaze. "I'm not joking at all— it's what I believe."

"I hurt you."

"That's true," I say coolly, not daring to sugarcoat even the tiniest bit of emotion, feeling. I'd learned that nothing but the cold, hard truth was the way to take with V.

But I can't deny the slight pulse of regret as he flinches. I don't need to look to see the pain blossoming across his features, the hurt filling his blood.

I can feel him.

"But it's okay."

When his almond eyes widen in shock, I quickly add on. "I don't mean to say that hurting other people is perfectly fine. You still shouldn't hurt others, but I'm just saying that I'm not going to hate you because of it."

I let myself drown in his presence for a couple more blissful seconds before letting go of his hair, aiming to put some distance before his fear began to act up again.

"Wait."

My lips part in surprise as his hand presses firmly against my lower back. Until now, I hadn't realized just how large his hand was— I think it reached all the way from my one side to the other.

But maybe that was pushing it.

My heart skips a beat as his head falls against my shoulder, not daring to move a centimeter as he breathes. His arms tighten around my waist as if he's afraid to let go, like something terrible might happen.

"Just a minute."

Happiness paints my world in bright yellow and pink as my eyes crinkle into a thankful smile. It feels like I'm glowing— and I'm glad he can't see how happy he'd made me by saying that.

"Okay."

___________________________

V's POV

She's fallen asleep. Or she's gone unconscious— it's one or the other, in the end.

Her warmth and light is contagious. I've never felt so safe from my demons, never felt the cold cell feel so alive with warmth and purity. It's magical how she's managed to transform this prison into heaven— astonishing to find how she's changed me.

Me, who I thought would be impossible to save.

Her words ring in my mind for the entire time I carry her back to her room. She'd left the door open— and I know it's not by accident, with the way that she'd gotten a clear look at the unclasped lock.

Trust.

It shocked me to find that she'd done that. It shocked me to know that she still had trust left in me, when I'd done enough things to plant mountains of hatred and disgust in her.

But she never was affected. Not even once. All she had shown me were innocent doe eyes instead of ones dripping with hopelessness, bright smiles instead of scowls.

And slowly, I'd let her change me.

Her eyes are closed lightly as I reach her room, her fingertips unconsciously grasping against my sleeve. She was so delicate, so precious.

I'd found something I needed to protect.

She doesn't shift as I set her down, doesn't flutter an eye as I find the blanket crumpled up towards the corner of the bed.

Even though she doesn't make the slightest sign that she was going to wake up any time soon, I'm still careful to not make the smallest sounds as I slip out of the room.

The moment I feel the empty air against my skin, a chill tingles up my spine.

What—

"There you are."

A snarling voice sounds to my right, familiar enough for my fists to curl and blood roar in my ears. I don't need to look to see who'd spoken— I'd only touched two people in the last eleven years.

Those two people was very different.

"Where's my darling sister?" He asks, and a growl reverberates deep inside my throat as I try to keep my eyes away from the door behind me. I'd kill him first before he went in there. I'd kill him, no matter what she'd said.

When he notices my face twist, he waves his hands, own features smugly set. I can still see the bruise on his face I gave him the other day, nearly faded but still noticeable.

Dark satisfaction fills my blood.

"No worries," He says, and I can see a light sheen over his eyes, sparking dully in the fluorescent light. Drunk again— it's clear with the way he holds himself, the way crimson flushes his neck in splotches.

"This time, she's not the one I came for."