𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 || 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐯𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐬𝐬

𝙎𝙄𝙓𝙏𝙀𝙀𝙉 + 𝙑𝙊𝙄𝘾𝙀𝙈𝘼𝙄𝙇

365 DAYS LATER

Striker expected some miracle to happen.

He thought you would wake up, hug him and call him a crybaby. Maybe joke about how he's a softie because he was torn up over your near-death.

But you never woke up.

The moment Striker realized you were gone he came to a realization that his life wasn't one to be happy in. He was given something that made him happy, something he loved and still it was ripped away from him. Striker was going to be better, he promised himself and the God that foresake him from conception that he would be good.

If you survived he would have come clean and done anything to win your trust back. If you survived he would have spent centuries trying to fix things just to end up with you. Happy and together, in love.

But you didn't survive and Striker realized love was for the weak. He let himself love, he let himself care and what did he get? The only woman he's ever loved dying his arms absolutely terrified. Dying getting his revenge for him. Dying caring for him.

Striker presses your contact again. This has become routine. Every hour he presses your contact and the dial tone rings on. He listens to your phone ringing beside him and his eyes stare ahead at the expensive fireplace in his expensive home.

When your phone goes to voicemail he exhales shakily.

"You've reached Y/N L/N, sorry I can't get to the phone right now. You can leave a voicemail but I won't listen because I'm not a hundred. Oh and if this is Striker you don't need to remind me we had sex every four hours. Bye!"

It's so pathetic. It sort of feels like you're talking directly to him now. Telling him to stop paying for your phone bill just to keep your number so no one can ever take that voicemail away from him.

Tears roll down his cheeks and he wonders where you are now. He wonders where you all are now. You, Blitzø, Stolas, Moxxie, and Mildred. Where are you all now that you're gone? Striker always wondered what was beyond life for those born in Hell.

Those who weren't given so much as a chance to be good or bad-just born in the birthplace of evil. Destined to be evil.

"Where are you, Y/N?",he asks aloud while tilting his head back. His spiral eyes stare up at the ceiling. "I'm sorry I broke my promise. I hurt them all...but the house is nice isn't it?" Striker laughs in a dry and humorless manner as tears continue to roll down his temples and he shakes his head.

"Do you ever wonder what it would be like to be a human? To...not have been born an imp but created as a human."

He no longer wonders what you meant by that. Humans are disgusting and nasty creatures. But they are given the highest privilege of having a life where they can choose their own paths. They aren't doomed from birth and even when they die there's a life awaiting them after.

Striker clutches the fabric over his shattered and empty heart. Where did you go? Where did all of you go?

His eyes look down to his hellphone and he looks at the contact photo he took of you the day you had slept with him and Blitzø. When you slept you looked so peaceful, so effortlessly beautiful.

You made Striker warm, you filled a gap without even trying and you made him feel not alone. He fell in love with you.

But here he is again. Filthy rich, his past dead and buried-and all alone.

A part of him wonders if you felt anything for him?

He smiles as more tears roll down his cheeks. You trusted him...you told him so.

Maybe in another lifetime-one kinder to the both of you-will you be able to be together.

Striker swallows hard and without looking he begins to call you.

Your phone rings and he clutches his chest while tears roll down his temples.

"You've reached Y/N L/N..."

$

End.