Dangerous beginnings

De Mane Post - The Morning After

Aslanov

Tick tack, tick tack, tick tack, tick tack.

Tick

Tack

I haven't slept a fucking minute.

I watch as she draws in a longer breath and exhales again, her red hair staining the white pillow case.

I twist the red elastic around in between my fingers.

My mind is racing.

I sit in the shadowy corner of the room. The dim light from the bedside lamp throws faint shadows over my chiseled features as I unscrew the cap of a bottle of whiskey. The clear liquid sloshes quietly as I lift it to my lips, taking a long, burning swallow.

I don't bother with a glass. Tonight, the burn of the whiskey feels necessary—a sharp contrast to the warmth of Isabella's body still lingering on my skin. My green eyes, usually so calm and impenetrable, now flicker restlessly as I watch her sleep. Her peaceful face is a stark reminder of the storm of emotions I'm trying to manage.

With every gulp, the alcohol numbs me a little more, but it's not enough to stop the torrent of thoughts. Guilt, desire, a fierce protectiveness—it all mingles in my mind, forming a tumultuous blend that I can't quite name. I know I'm playing with fire, with forces that might consume us both, but in the quiet of the room, with Isabella's soft presence soothing the sharp edges of my world, I have allowed myself vulnerability.

The bottle is half-empty now, resting loosely in my hand, forgotten for a moment as I lean back in the chair. My eyes never leave her, tracing the contours of her face illuminated by the moonlight seeping through the window.

I'm obsessed with her.

I'm scared.

I clutch the bottle tightly, my knuckles turning white.

What if something happens to her if I look away? What if I'm not good enough to protect and shield her? What if I lose her out of my sight?

My eyes burn from watching her.

The bottle sits neglected now, my interest in it lost as my mind spins faster. I know that dawn is approaching, bringing with it the reality we must face together. Decisions will need to be made, ones that could endanger both our lives. The underworld I'm entangled in is unforgiving, and Isabella has become my weakness—a vulnerability some enemies won't hesitate to exploit.

The protectiveness I feel is overpowering, transcending any selfish desire.

I'm fucked.

My chest heaves with each ragged breath, the conflicting emotions swirling inside me like a violent storm. My mind, already teetering on the edge of madness, finally succumbs to the overwhelming weight of it all.

I make my way towards the living room and drop the now empty bottle onto the floor. Glass shatters everywhere.

With a primal roar, I sweep my arm across the kitchen counter, sending glasses crashing to the floor in a symphony of shattering glass. The room echoes with the sound of destruction as I hurl objects against the wall, uncaring of the chaos I'm creating.

Isabella is knocked out cold anyway after the sleeping pill I mixed in her water. I didn't want her to wake up from another night terror. She looked exhausted.

I'm going insane.

I can't deal with these feelings or emotions.

This shouldn't have happened. She was supposed to be a plaything, a mere pawn.