HELL WAS MISERABLE. Hell was disgusting and unchangeable. At least that was the opinion almost everyone I'd met over the past week had. From Ian and Vanensera to her male friends with whom I'd spent a few sleepless nights with, drinking stale ale and eating whatever we'd been given to. If I'd been here for decades, I would have had the exact same opinion. But I wasn't and I didn't want to stay here for a day longer.
After my short talk with Vanensera, I'd been restless, in need of something to take my mind off the things that had happened here and made everyone either turn to weeping mourners of their luck or drunk crooks. I took the long way to Ian's room, giving myself some time alone. Staring at the creaks in the floor, a cold wind brushed my cheeks and I stuffed my hands in the pockets of my coat. God, I'd been wearing the same exact clothes for weeks and the last time I'd taken a bath was nine days ago. At least now I knew why the whole building had that horrid reek dancing in its atmosphere. I'd almost gotten used to it as well.
"Damn, miracles can happen even in Hell!" I almost shouted in excitement as I walked into Ian's room and found him not holding a blade or a knife, which was surprising since his terrors had been more intense these days.
Bracing his hands on his hips, he cracked up a reserved, tired smile and said, "Sometimes I wonder why I still let you sleep in my room."
"Because you're kind, and I'm awesome."
He blinked, then took his casual spot on the floor. I watched him turning his back to me, unzipping his black jacket, handing it to me without even turning his body, and then taking off his black shirt as well.
"Is that a new way of torturing yourself, or what?" I asked when he was left shirtless, his hands visibly shaking from the cold. He didn't reply.
How tired I was of his mindless games . . .
"What's wrong now?" I asked, knowing that I was being annoying. But that had to stop. He would freeze here.
I flicked his wrist, urging him to look at me, but he was stronger and bigger and he didn't even shift. So I crawled myself to his side, giving him no other option but to face me.
"Why are you shirtless?" I asked again. His blue eyes narrowed slightly, his jaw tightened, but he didn't reply.
Stubborn. Stubborn. Stubborn.
I grabbed his shoulders, shaking him. "I'm not bringing Vanensera here tonight."
She couldn't deal with his nightmares all the time, especially after the way I'd seen her today. So downhearted.
"I'm just trying to follow your damn advice. So stop looking at me like I'm crazy and you're the only reasonable here," he hissed.
Gritting his brows, he put on his shirt and then snatched his jacket from my grasp again. His movements were swift, like I had infected it by touching it. He put it on faster than he'd taken it off.
I sighed. A dozen questions sprung up in me, but I only said, "My advice about what?"
"About---about focusing my attention on something other than my thoughts. It's not working."
We'd talked about that many nights before, about how he should find a way to break free of the images that flashed before his eyes, images that were probably sent by the Devil. Being blessed by the darkness had offered him infinite power, power that ruthless emperors would sell their souls to the Devil for a sparkle of it. But for Ian it had been his greatest curse.
I laid a hand on his shoulder, smiling sadly. "I'm tired, Ian."
It was the truth. I knew that it made me seem like a selfish monster. I'd accepted that I was one. I was Hell's Leader after all. What else could I be other than heartless? I didn't deserve to be in the Gap World. I should freeze in Hell, bounded by chains so that I couldn't touch anyone and ruin their day, a gag in my mouth to prevent me from destroying their pessimistic mindset. But I had enough of their blackness. I couldn't sit around all day crying about how unfair everything was. I'd done that once. But never again would I be so ungrateful.
Taking a shuddering breath and with his eyes stuck on the floor, he murmured, "I'm tired, too. Of everything. There was no point in trying to get better anyway. Not everyone can get better."
There was anger in his voice even though it had come out as a silent whisper. And the way he threw his jacket on the floor in total disgust and rage made him look even more wrathful.
Taking a step back, my back touched the wall and I stood still. Not knowing what to expect.
"Hurting and torturing yourself isn't exactly trying to get better," I fought back.
He angled his head to the side, rolling his eyes like I'd just made the stupidest comment, like I was the stupidest person he'd ever met.
"If I'm freezing, I'm not going to think about---" he paused, his hands now messing with his curly hair. I looked at the ceiling, giving him time and space to find the right words.
"About these things," he continued.
Another pause. That time I eyed him warily but forced myself to soften my features so that he wouldn't feel like a burden.
"And?"
He lifted his brows with irritability again, too tired to further explain himself. I was too tired to listen. But as he opened his mouth to enlighten me, I urged myself to nod my head with compassion because even though he was wrong, I was the only one he had to talk to right now and if I was being ignorant toward his emotions, he would forever lock himself in the darkest place of his mind, not letting anyone come in.
The line I had to walk on was as breakable as the delicate hours of the night, when the moon had finally adorned the sky. Carrying myself with grace and kindness toward him and toward myself as well, that was what I had to do. But I was too tired to listen to his endless monologue about his unsolvable problems again. I'd done that countless nights before. Tonight, I just couldn't.
"And I'll be focused on the way my body will be shaking from the cold and forget about everything else. Can you understand it now?"
His lips were slightly trembling even after he'd stopped talking, his eyes almost watery.
I surveyed his face, his body posture, the way his fingers were toying with the ends of his shirt while the jacket still lay in the corner of the room. He focused on the wall when I didn't reply.
The worst kind of silence lingered in the air.
"Okay," I said at last.
He'd been like that for decades, or maybe more. Change didn't happen overnight, and I couldn't expect anyone to become instantly a completely different person.
In the Gap World I'd been overwhelmed by the amount of people that couldn't stand living in that place anymore. But the vast majority of them was still trying their best. They weren't overflowed with heartache; even though they had every right to be swarmed with grief and devastation. So when someone, whether it would be Denfer or Cloudien or Jersen or someone on the streets, experienced a bad day I'd been more than glad to try to help them.
Here everyone was like that all the time. And I was tired of trying to change Ian's mind.
Groaning, I lay on the floor, using my arm as a pillow and stared blankly at Ian, who cut a glare in my direction. His black hair was shimmering in the dim light. As for me, every muscle of my body felt taut and the floor was so cold that I had the suspicion that an icy lake would be warmer.
"Of course, Denfer would love you," he mumbled.
My stomach churned at that, but I schooled my features into neutrality.
"What are you even talking about?" There was nothing in my voice or my body posture suggesting that my heart rate had started to rise.
He didn't know Denfer. And Denfer didn't love me.
"Denfer's always there for everyone. Of course, he would love someone who didn't need to be taken care of," he paused, but I could understand that he hadn't completed his thoughts.
It took him a long second to continue. "Of course, he would love someone cruel."
Time stopped. And his last word started echoing in my head. Cruel, cruel, cruel. The word that had marked my existence in such a memorable way. Cruel. I'd been considered cruel in Lantra for not appreciating Josh and all the nice things he had done for me. I was also cruel here for acting like all the things they had done to me hadn't affected me in the slightest. Maybe I was cruel in general.
"They've been doing all these things to you, all these . . . monstrous things. And I have never seen you crying. Don't you care, Velian? Aren't you ashamed of what you have become?"
Cruel. Cruel. Cruel.
My face started heating because of what he'd just said. But I didn't respond. I couldn't respond. Not when he stood up and dragged out of his boot a dagger longer and sharper than the one I had. Not when he walked toward me with the confidence of an assassin and the insanity of a sadist. The guy of my dreams wasn't like that. No. He'd been afraid; he'd never been the one who provoked fear. He'd been wise, ordering me to trust the sun whenever I was left in the darkness.
But maybe Hell changed people in the worst possible way.
"Let's fight. It will be better than crying, right?" he said, and I reached for my dagger. I'd never thought that I would use it against Ian.
Rising on my feet, I almost lost my balance for a heartbeat and rested a hand on the cold wall behind me. I didn't dare move.
He let out a wicked grin, and for a heartbeat fear overpowered my senses. Fear that he was insane, mad, crazy, ill and he could do monstrous things in this messed-up state of mind.
Something in his eyes told me that he wouldn't step back. I was right.
He came closer to me, so close that a few more steps and I would feel his breath on my face. Raising his dagger, the flame of the torch made the blade shine. I followed his example, getting ready to defend myself.
"You're a whore, Velian. And I'm a slave. You can avoid thinking about it for as long as you want to. But it will hit you eventually, the realization that this is the truth. A truth you can't change," he said, his blue-gray eyes emitting something between despair and hate.
He would regret the moment he'd said these things. My throat tightened. "I know you're hurting, Ian. But don't try to pick up a fight so that you can forget about everything that has been haunting you," I said back.
His sharp cheekbones were like blades now, his cold eyes throwing knives made of ice at me.
I deliberately took a step to my left and slowly walked away from him, letting the silence devour me. I didn't want to fight. There was no reason to fight.
"Why did you mention Denfer?" I asked instead. He could call me cruel; he could call me a whore. I didn't care.
He took a step closer to me. Our height difference more visible than ever before. He didn't look powerful, though. He looked mad.
"You want me to be better, to do better. But what you really want me to do is stop talking about my feelings. You can't stand listening to them because you can't even handle your own."
He was shouting now, his dagger pointed at me. If he tried to hurt me, it would be his emotions that would have driven him. But emotions never made someone faster, deadlier, cleverer. He would only make a fool of himself, and he would deserve that humiliation. Especially now, that we had a crowd around us, waiting for a fight to explode, for something to entertain them.
I walked closer to him. His warm breath fired up my face as I said, "Again, don't try to pick up a fight with me so that you can distract yourself from your problems."
He laughed, his lips revealing crooked teeth; a deep, malicious laugh that I'd never thought that could come from someone like Ian.
Breathing. That was what I had to do to calm my nerves, to rise above that part of myself that wanted to punch his oh-so-handsome face.
In and out. In and out.
So many pairs of eyes were on us. On Ian. On me. Waiting for my next move, waiting for me to throw a tantrum and offer them a spectacular, unforgettable show. I wouldn't.
Holding my dagger against his, now one breath away from him, I asked again, "Why did you mention Denfer?"
When he didn't reply, I pushed him back with my free hand and he almost lost his balance.
What followed was a wave of silence.
Deadly silence.
And then . . . applause.
I looked around me and found so many people clapping and shouting and smiling. I followed their stares and found them on me. They were clapping for me. Their eyes filled with excitement, their mouths open in surprise. It was an effort to keep myself from grinning. Their thrilled voices billowed through the room, electrifying the ambience. It seemed like I was the champion of their hearts. But I hadn't won any battle, nor had I done something worth admiring.
My clothes were filthy, my hair a messy braid. What a nightmare I'd become. I couldn't be the one they were clapping for. But here I was, claiming the victory of a battle I didn't want to be a part of.
"It's so clear why he loves you," Ian yelled, and the crowd silenced. The final combat had arrived.
I didn't move. Ian didn't deserve my energy anymore. I just let a dark grin decorate my face and said, "Don't you ever mention Denfer again."
With his cuffs rolled up to his elbows, I could clearly see his veins pointing out, his fists clamped. He was furious. And I didn't know if I preferred him that way or melancholic.
It was when he took a step toward me with feline's speed and monstrous rage that two steady hands were wrapped around his shoulders, stopping him from letting the dagger meet my flesh. I would have avoided it, but I still silently thanked Vanensera for that.
"Enough," she whispered to him, her voice low so that the crowd couldn't hear her. I did.
"No, it's not enough!" he barked. The muscles of his jaw tightened as he tried to get away from her touch.
She didn't let him go. "The show's over," she shouted, her face now turned to the gathered people who seemed shocked, not knowing what to do. "What are you still waiting for?"
That turn of Vanensera's head was enough for Ian to break free of her grip and dash to me. Yet as he stepped closer, he emitted an abnormal kind of calmness. How could someone's mood change in seconds?
His lips were almost touching my face, his breath warm against my skin as he murmured, "I'll talk about Denfer as much as I want to. Do you know why?"
I didn't answer.
"Because he's my brother," he said, and my heart stopped for a second. "And every time we were in each other's dreams and thoughts, I caught glimpses of him as well."
And then silence.
And stillness.
Denfer's brother. He was Denfer's brother. Shit.
The one who had killed himself. The one who was responsible for Denfer's sleepless nights and his dry tears on silky pillows. The one to whom Denfer was talking that night on his balcony, begging for forgiveness, eyes filled with sorrow and regret and grief and pain. He'd been blaming himself for Ian's suicide. He'd thought that it'd been his fault.
But the guy who was responsible for Denfer's pain was standing in front of me now.
And what I knew was that no one deserved to dwell in sadness forever, blaming themselves for someone else's inability to think straight. No one deserved to experience that kind of heartache. The one that made you so mad at yourself that you didn't want to look yourself in the mirror because you hated who you were and the way you had been so blind to see the signs.
But the only truth was that Denfer hadn't been blind. Maybe Ian had been afraid to speak about his feelings and then do something to change them.
And I couldn't stand watching the person who would forever haunt my friend's life grinning at me with hatred. I couldn't stand thinking that someone could be so self-absorbed that had forgotten his impact on other people's lives. On the life of his twin brother.
You didn't just kill yourself. You killed me, too.
I'd never seen anyone so disappointed in themselves, so disgusted at their own existence as Denfer had looked that night.
"I hope you're better than that," I spat at him as I walked past him to exit the room. "Because what you did today wasn't okay," I added and left the crowd behind me.
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