"We never had to force love, we were drowning in it the moment we met"

Arabella Karve The masculine voice bounces off of the walls in the solemn room, hanging in the air like a brewing storm.

The one time I didn't lock my door.

"I'm starting to doubt you have them, considering you're talking to me right now."

Eros cocks his head, staring at me as if I just said the dumbest thing I could have possibly managed. "Yeah, because I'm the one who's survival instincts should be doubted."

I scoff, "I'm still alive, aren't I?"

"By some fucking mircale."

He side steps the book that comes hurling in his direction, looking just as bored as always. The sound of the hardcover hitting the wall doesn't seem to affect him whatsoever, obviously unimpressed with my display.

He clearly doesn't value his life.

"Out."

Completely disregarding me, Eros walks further into the room like I am nothing but a persistent buzzing in his ear. The only sign that he heard me was the muscle that visibly feathers in his jaw, the small movement almost unnoticeable.

"Eros, I am going to freak out if you aren't gone within the next three seconds."

One side of his lips tugs upwards just a little, clearly thinking the threat is amusing.

"Can't wait to see it." He pulls his eyes away from me, doing little to dissolve the tension thrumming throughout the room. Asshole.

My room is the closest thing I have to a home. It's lifeless, and dark, and somehow always cold, but it's mine—and the only thing that truly is. So the thought of a man who already drives me halfway to insanity standing in it, contaminating everything with his unwelcome presence, is far from appealing.

"What are you even doing here?" I snap, refusing to let him see the agonizing pain that follows raising my voice. The tenderness in my throat is almost blinding, feeling like roadburn everytime I swallow. I've been in pain countless times before. This is one of the more torturous ones, but not the worst—not even close to the worst.

The scar on my jaw hums to life in response, the trail of jagged skin feeling as if a match was put to it, setting the path ablaze.

"Stop talking." He shoots me a sharp glare, his tone leaving no room for argument. If I had another book, I would throw it at him just to wipe that stupid look on his face.

"Try me."

"Fine, make the pain worse for yourself. I don't care." He sets down the few items he brought with him on the vanity beside me, everything landing with a soft clatter. The ice pack, water bottle, and what I now realize are two pills—probably for pain relief.

I don't know why he brought all of this up here, and I am not going to waste my time questioning his ulterior motives in helping me.

"I'm not in pain." I lie effortlessly through the agony, knowing I've always been a good liar. And it's become something I've mastered throughout my life—thanks to the environment I've grown up in— showing me that lying is a necessary skill of survival. My father practically taught me everything I have ever needed to know about the art.

"Liar."

Oh.

"Well it's nothing compared to the pain you're going to be in if you don't take your leave."

"We'll see about that." He turns back towards me, extending a large hand in my direction. The two small pills placed in the center of his palm look like a joke in their size. I scrunch my nose.

"Either stop being a child and take them by yourself, or I will do it for you."

I glance up at him, and for a moment, it feels like a sin to look at him, as though his beauty carries a weight too heavy for mortal eyes. Every feature is dark and alluring, a dangerous type of perfection that stops people in their tracks and reduces them to lustful beasts, just begging and needing to see more. I feel like a sinner standing in the Garden of Eden, captivated by all of its forbidden gloriousness. I know I should look away, but I'm a fallen angel of God who can't help but praise the devil.

Murderer, a soft voice echoes in the back of my mind. But deep down, I don't know if the voice is reminding me what he is, or what I am.

"I hate you," I grumble under my breath, begrudgingly reaching for the small capsules.

My fingertips brush against his skin for a split second, the sensation of touching someone's skin so incredibly foreign to me, small sparks ignite across my skin. I pull away quickly.

"Noted. Now drink," he hands me the opened water bottle, his jaw set in a tight line, even though it wasn't just a moment before.

I can feel his vehement gaze on the side of my face, watching every movement as I throw back my head and swallow the pills. Willing the water to go down past the tender injury embedding itself in my throat, I bite back a soft wince.

He somehow seems to notice, his eyes so cunning I almost believe the facade I wear like a second face has never once fooled him.

"Why are you feeling so generous this morning?" I cough rawly, carefully shifting my body. I sprawl out sideways across the cushion, my head tilted back against one armrest and my legs thrown over the other. My eyes threaten to close, exhaustion still buried deep in my bones from all of the sleepless nights.

But I refuse to fall asleep while someone else is in the room, especially a man who would bask in my vulnerability. I have known very few men in my life, and though not all of them have been bad, enough of them have been. We don't trust any bears because even though some of them won't hurt you, some will. So why should I trust any man?

"Generosity is not a flaw I possess, Bella." His voice is rough with experience, the sound detached from all emotion."But if you get yourself killed, it defeats the entire purpose of what I'm here to do."

"You don't get paid to make sure I'm not in pain."

"And you don't get paid to state the obvious."

I narrow my eyes at him, picturing all of the different ways I could push him down a flight of stairs and dance over his dead body.

He doesn't even seem to notice.

My gaze stays locked wearily on him after a while, bracing myself for the moment he might spin around and shoot me with one of the many guns I know are strapped to him.

Every muscle in my body ridgid with doubt as I wait for him to finally betray me, but instead he only wraps the ice pack for my injury in a random hand towel he found.

He finishes wrapping it and takes another step towards me—a step too close. I recoil instinctively, my breath getting caught in my throat and trapped beside the injury caused by a man just the night before.

I don't like how close he is, in a room with just us where I have nothing to defend myself.

He doesn't take another step, just tosses the ice pack onto my stomach. I grunt at the sudden impact, glaring daggers in his direction as I pick it up.

"Keep that on your neck for fifteen minutes at a time."

"Stop ordering me around."

"You're right, I apologize." Just from his tone, I know he's about to be an arrogant pain in the ass. "If it would appease you, your highness, I would greatly appreciate it if you would find some time in your busy schedule to ice your neck for fifteen minutes." He looks almost amused with himself.

I, on the other hand, do not.

"Out."

The room is too tight with him in it, everything too small in comparison to the sheer size of him, along with the atmosphere that seems to cling to him. The atmosphere that feels like walking through a silent forest under the night sky, everything dark and silent and dangerous. Maybe it's from the smell that clings to him, or the color of his dark hair and crystal eyes.

"In an hour, the physician is going to be waiting for you in the medical wing for an examination. Do you need me to come with you and supervise, or are you going to be able to handle this like a big girl?"

He raises a single eyebrow, everything about him painfully condescending.

"I didn't schedule an examination."

"Hence why I did."

"I didn't schedule it, and I'm not going."

"An hour, Arabella." Is his only response to my declaration, the way he says it almost daring me to argue back.

I watch angrily as he turns away from me and begins moving towards the door, every step seeping with confidence and power.

"You are the most infuriating man I have ever met."

"I'll try not to lose sleep over it," he says over his shoulder without looking back.

The door falls shut behind him, and he is gone.

I slump back in my chair with relief, my muscles automatically relaxing from being alone once more. But after a few minutes my relief is already long forgotten. I'm alone again, alone with my thoughts that are possibly more dangerous than the entire 6 '3 reincarnation of danger itself standing in the middle of my room just a few seconds ago.

I can't remember the last time someone other than me has been in this room, and I never realized just how quiet it is.

Around an hour passes of fading in and out of consciousness, before I finally get up with at least a sliver of motivation. I am on the cusp of just ignoring what Eros said entirely, and instead hide out in my room for the rest of the day, but the more logical part of me knows he wasn't joking. If I don't go down there willingly, Eros will most likely show back up at my door and drag me down there himself.

"There she is," Dr. Mei Lin's warm smile is the first thing I see as I push the door to the infirmary open, the natural light from the windows beaming down on my face. "I was worried you weren't going to show up for a minute there, Miss. Arabella."

"I thought about it," I make my way across the familiar room, not making eye-contact with the sweet woman jotting something down on her clipboard. Her notes are the epitome of doctor handwriting, looking close to hieroglyphics everytime I see it.

"You wouldn't surprise me." She just smiles unbothered, nodding towards one of the two hospital beds pushed against the stone wall. The twin beds are placed straight across from the granite counters, littered with all the medical supplies someone could ever need.

Everything about the room is engulfed by a warm light beaming down through the skylights, a golden glow filling every object and the kind doctor who has made this place her second home.

Dr. Mei Lin has been the physician for my parents for around thirty years, so I've known her my entire life. And she doesn't let me forget that, especially since she was the one who delivered me. I am told what a perfect baby I was at least every time I see her. I do wonder sometimes what I looked like when I was born though, since she seems to think I was the most beautiful thing ever gifted to this world, and since my parents don't seem to think I was anything noteworthy.

She was hired back at the beginning of my father's term inorder to take care of any medical needs for our family, along with any injuries that his men incur while on the job. Therefore she usually has her hands full with bullet wounds and broken bones. But today is exceptionally quiet, and thank God for it since the last thing I wanted to do was socialize anymore than absolutely necessary.

I watch her closely while sitting down on the edge of the thin mattress, letting my long legs dangle over the edge. She slides on a pair of latex gloves, looking back over at me brightly, "you've really grown into yourself, you know that?"

I look down at my hands the second she smiles at me, picking away at the edges of my nails where the skin is flaky and sliced open from the bad habit.

She is too nice to me.

"So you aren't going to call me gangly anymore?" A small smile tugs at my lips at her laugh that follows my words.

"Well you've always been a tall girl. What are you, 5 '6 now?" She walks towards me, positioning the bright pink stethoscopes earpieces in her ears. "But you finally put some meat on those bones, so now you're very proportionate." I tense as she lightly touches me, thankful she doesn't say anything and just continues on with the procedure.

"Flattering," I mumble sarcastically as she moves the chest piece across my ribs.

"You young girls always take that as a bad thing," she has me lift my arms outwards, moving the small piece along my skin. "Being healthy is good, and you're a woman now so you have to grow into the body of one." She pulls away, patting my cheek affectionately in an almost motherly way. I pull away awkwardly, looking out one of the palladian windows.

I memorize the scene on the other side of the glass, looking like a moment out of a painting. An endless collection of dying trees scattered throughout the woods I've grown to know so well, each adorned by autumn leaves in the soft colors of a sunset soon to end.

"So, do I even want to know what caused this one?" She tilts my head up to inspect the damage, gently running her thumb over the sensitive skin. I shake my head, a dark piece of hair falling loose from where it was tucked behind my ear.

She sighs, picking up some kind of wipe off of the stool beside her. "Well, have you had any difficulty breathing since the incident?"

"No," I answer honestly, the word seeming to be the answer I hand out to the rest of her questions that follow.

"All right," she nods sweetly once I answer the rest of her questions, seeming pleased that I haven't had most of the symptoms she was worried about.

Humming a soft melody, she begins cleaning off the layer of foundation coating my neck from earlier, a flicker of sadness in her eyes when she notices that the makeup isn't only to cover the bruises.

"You know this doesn't change how beautiful you are, right?" She says genuinely, her voice like silk. I know she's referring to the scar, and I hate the pity in her voice.

I don't say anything, refusing to meet her eyes.

"This wasn't your fault, and it breaks my heart that you wear it like it is."

"Don't," I whisper, despising how broken the single fragment of a word sounds on my lips.

But it's enough for her to listen.

She forces a smile before pulling away and continuing the examination, not bringing it up again.

She was there that night. I remember the look in her eyes when she saw me—the look in everyone's eyes when they saw me. The way she winced as I screamed and sobbed through the blood loss, trying to fight my way out of everyones holds until they sedated me and I could no longer move, yet somehow could still cry.

"Please save her!" I scream, clawing at whatever arms are pinning me down. Warmth seeps down my neck like a bloody waterfall, becoming a pool of death all around me.

"Let me go!" I sob hysterically, kicking and swiping at all of the people holding me down as the familiar woman tries to soothe me. She runs her hand through my hair, the smell of the latex and disinfectant filling my senses. And blood, so much blood.

The feeling of his weight as he pinned me down, knife, run, woods, gunshot. Gunshot.

My screams are all I can hear.

She's not dead, he just hurt her. She's going to be okay.

The sound of the gunshot plays over and over again, the sound of her body hitting the floor following each time.

She's okay, they just need to help her.

"Please! She's hurt!"

Someone holds me down on the bed, more people run into the room, so many voices, so many shouts, so many gasps. Everything becomes a dark blur behind my tears, colors and movements no longer distinguishable.

The tears are beginning to burn like acid trailing down my cheeks, almost stinging as bad as whatever he did to my neck.

"She's losing too much blood, we can't get through to her." I hear someone's voice so far away as I try to claw my way out of the group surrounding me. Eveyones talking, no one's listening.

My parents aren't here, my mommy isn't here.

I think they're talking about me, but they can't be. They need to go save Tara, she's hurt. She's hurt. She needs help.

"Stop fucking touching me! She's hurt!" I don't recognize my voice any longer, the girl screaming unrecognizable. But I don't care, she needs me. I'll apologize once she is safe.

"Hey she's okay," the same voice whispers softly in my ear, trying to distract me. I try to look for her, to make sure they're not lying to me.

It's then I feel the sharp sting in the back of my arm and I scream. I'm pretty sure the room shakes around me, tilts upside down, spins, shatters.

"Please, she needs help. She's hurt," I repeat so many times as my body starts fading away from me, all feeling becoming nothing but a distant memory.

I repeat the words again, and again, and again.

"You're pretty lucky, young lady." A large smile pulls me out of my thoughts, and I now realize Dr. Mei Lin finished her procedure. "I don't hear any stridor, so there is most likely no long term damage."

"So can I go?" My eyes flicker up to hers. I thread my fingers together, hoping she doesn't notice the slight tremble.

She just laughs, the sound so distinctly happy as she shakes her head. "You're always in such a rush."

I shrug, "I'm just tired."

"Well if you're running out of here already, can you at least plan on coming to visit me later this week?"

"It's that bad?" I subconsciously lift my unsteady fingers to my throat.

"No, no," she seems a little solemn as she pulls off her gloves. "You just—you used to come around a lot more often before. You used to come see me, and I miss you."

I bite down on the inside of my cheek, willing away the unexpected burning sensation behind my eyes.

"I'll try to find time." I whisper, the sound so soft it's almost swallowed by the rest of the noise in this unceasing world. But she hears me, a glimmer of hope dancing across her dark eyes.

She gives me a few more tips on how to help the healing process with my throat, and I mumble some sort of thanks before silently slipping out of the room, my body strung with tension.

She doesn't realize that I'll never show up.

Every time I've shown up for someone, they're the ones who will end up hurt in the end because of me. Hands dirty with blood aren't hands equipped to hold another's, and no more bodies will be buried just because I want them to be.

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