Page 54 of Ashen Souls

Harper stood on the corner, a drenched, guarded silhouette huddled under the awning. Her arms were clamped around her ribs, the rain washing the makeup down her cheeks.

My brakes shrieked against the curb. As soon as I shifted into park, she yanked the passenger door open and dropped into the seat, bringing the scent of rain and cheap bar alcohol with her.

Her fingers trembled so severely she couldn’t guide the seatbelt into the buckle. The metal clattered uselessly against the plastic housing.

“Hey.” I reached across the console, brushing her shaking hands aside, and clicked it into place. “I've got you.”

She didn’t look at me. She just stared through the rain-streaked windshield, her breathing shallow and erratic, her shoulders coiled tight.

“He wouldn’t stop,” she whispered. “I told him no, and he laughed. Like I was the punchline.”

“He’s a dead man walking,” I said quietly. “Fucking comedian.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “He just left me there. Like garbage.”

“You are not garbage,” I countered, putting the car into drive. “You’re Harper.”

She wiped a dark streak from her jaw with the heel of her hand.

“Loud, formidable, impossible Harper,” I added, steering us away from the curb. “He’s a predator who realized he couldn’t break you. And he’s going to regret the day he ever laid a fucking hand on you.”

A fractured, watery sound escaped her.

We drove the rest of the way in silence. She rested her temple against the chilled windowpane.

As the streetlights blurred past, I fought to keep my eyes on the wet asphalt, but my mind kept slipping back. Back to Daeren. My body still throbbed, hijacked by the memory of his size and the heavy friction of him grinding against me. It was sick how easily his arrogant dominance turned me on. How desperately I craved the ruthless way he ripped my control away.

I clutched the wheel tighter, forcing the warped craving down into the dark.

By the time we navigated the stairwell to my apartment, the shivers shaking Harper's body had subsided into dull, intermittent tremors.

My own hands, however, were still wired with live voltage.

She slumped onto my bed exactly as she was: rain-soaked jeans, ruined makeup, and the sturdy leather jacket. I didn’t try to strip off her clothes or offer empty promises about everything being okay.

I simply sat beside her, unlacing her boots and dropping them to the floor before pulling the quilt up to her chin.

Her breathing leveled out, her mascara-stained lashes resting heavily against her cheeks.

I stayed awake, listening to the rain beat against the window. The room smelled of soaked denim and the stale sweetness of the prosecco we hadn’t finished Sunday night.

I lay back. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving behind a bone-deep withdrawal.

Take me back.

I didn't fight the drag of sleep. I sank into it willingly, desperate for the flimsy cotton to dissolve into black silk.

Waiting for him to wrest me back across the divide.

Ready to finish what he had started.

I woke to the abrasive clatter of the bakery downstairs beginning its morning routine: metal trays slamming, industrial ovens hissing shut. The warm scent of yeast drifted up through the floorboards. Outside, Vesbridge was already in motion. Trams rattled in the distance, and gulls cried over the swollen river.

Beside me, Harper lay sprawled across the mattress, her dark hair scattered wildly across the pillowcase.

I lay on my side, keeping my eyes squeezed shut.

I had offered a complete, humiliating surrender to the darkness, and yet... the invitation went unheeded. Had the veil between our worlds been too thick tonight? Or was the rational truth catching up to me? Maybe there was no monster. No chamber in the dark. Maybe my traumatized mind had run out of fuel and refused to conjure the hallucination again.