It was a dark moonless night, I was running. My feet slapping against the broken asphalt of the old service road— the forgotten shortcut only locals used in daylight. At night, it was a ghost of a path, and I was its only specter.
The road felt cold to my bare feet. My flight was in 30 minutes. It takes exactly that to get there. I know I bet too high on luck. My feet were scraped raw, and time was ticking. So was my heart.
I knew no one would look for me. I never mattered enough to be noticed.
Still, I wondered. If he would be any different.
It doesn't matter to me. I have to leave today even if.
I thought I was going crazy when I heard the footsteps. I knew no one would come after me. I was the family failure after all. Everyone wanted me gone anyways.
I felt like my nose would freeze because of the cold breeze. Which helped ignoring the sounds. As well as my thoughts.
Now I know for a fact, it was just my pathetic attempt to assure myself.
Next thing I knew, my feet were in the air. I felt my stomach scrunch and pinch. With the weight of his grip. I shouted in surprise. Of course I did. But I knew who it was. Those hands… I could recognise them with my eyes closed. They were like the ocean. Just as gentle. Just as cruel. Azkail Rowmoth. The man I was married to. I didn't know why he, of all people, would look for me. His grip was firm. But his heart was unsteady. Beating so loud. How could I not see it? The way his eyes looked at me. Unbothered, unashamed, entitled.
Perhaps it's because of that— that I couldn't understand if he hated me or loved me.
His breath was hot against my ears.
"Looks like I need to buy chains, huh?" (Azkail)
I clenched my jaws at the mocking tone of his words. "I hate him. I hate him. I hate him." I repeated in my head countless times. Like I needed to remember that I did. That too, was his fault. He wouldn't let me hate him. He wouldn't let me love him. What was I supposed to do?
At that point, I was fighting more with myself than him. Or anyone else.
"Like an untamed pet. Running away when you see the door open."
"I'm not your pet. And let me go!!" I shouted. At least my voice had some conviction. Something my heart lacked. "Pet" did he really call me that?
"I know. No one fucks their pet after all, right?" A shiver ran down my spine as he said that. After a pause he spoke again.
"Did you have fun?" He asked. The genuine questioning tone only made it worse.
"This isn't my place to be." My hand gripped his. My voice was a cracking trembling mess.
"Here, where everyone hates me. Where I can't call the place I live in, my home." It was meant to be a statement. But it came out to be more of a question.
He didn't bother with a response. His grip loosened on my waist. One hand sliding down to my knees. He scooped me up before I could blink.
I froze. Flushed against him. His heart was beating right in my ear. Something about the way he carried me— like catching a glass mid air from falling. He started taking slow steps towards his car. One I hadn't noticed being there.
"My flight is in 30 minutes" I felt his grip tightening at the mention.
"You love testing my patience, don't you?" His voice had that taunting tone. One that never failed to furiate me.
Before I could respond he threw me on the passenger seat.
"Tell me, what should I do with you?" His voice, almost a purr against my ear.
I felt a cold metal biting into my cheek.
I looked into his eyes. With a conviction to fight him to death. But I saw a sparkle in his eyes, one that disappeared before I could figure out if it was real. His eyes looked like he was already defeated. His brows lower. But his face still had that smug look.
This is what he does. I can't even trust my own judgement with him. The gun slid lower on my neck. Right above my pulse point. He pressed it harder.
"You don't even care! Why can't you let me go?" Like anything would change if he did care. I tried pushing him away, but he grabbed my wrists.
"What matters is that you are mine. And you are not running anywhere." He punctuated his words by sliding the gun down, under my shirt. I felt the coldness pressing on my stomach. Contrary to that, his hands were trembling.
"But–" he didn't let me finish. Sliding the gun lower at an extremely slow pace.
There was a hint of anger in my eyes. To my surprise he stopped. The gun. Not himself.
He leaned closer. Closer till his tongue was invading my mouth. His hand let go of my wrists only to grab my neck. His fingers were vibrating against my skin. He was the one holding me. So why did he look terrified?