Page 115 of Shattered Obsession

Damian is gone, vanished from my world forever. And I was the one who ended his reign of terror. The gravity of that thought reverberates through my mind, a relentless mantra. I can still feel the cold, hard knife in my hand, the warm blood coating my skin, the life ebbing away from him, and the way his arrogant smirk faded to nothing. Each repeat of the memory brings forth a haunting blend of horror and an unsettling sense of relief.

Xander, ever sensitive to the storm raging within me, presses a soft kiss to the crown of my head. His thumb moves in gentle circles against my hip, as if he could somehow ease the tempest that churns within me. “You’re safe now,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm against my raw nerves. “He can’t hurt you anymore.” I clamp my eyes shut, the concept of ‘safe’ feeling alien and distant, a stark contrast to the chaos I’ve endured.

“But I killed him,” I manage to murmur, my voice cracking, raw with the strain of my emotions. “What does that make me?” Guilt and fear twist like serpents in my gut, and the weight of death presses heavy on my conscience.

Xander draws back just enough to catch my gaze, tilting my chin so that I’m forced to meet his intense eyes, a mesmerizing blend of green and brown, steady and fierce, the kind that seems to pierce right through the fear.

“It makes you a survivor,” he asserts firmly, his voice unwavering. “You’re someone who has reclaimed her power. He stole so much from you, Thalia, but you took back the one thing he never thought you could.”

My eyes shimmer with unshed tears, and I find myself nodding, as if trying to convince both him and myself that he might be right. Maybe I am more than just the sum of my actions.

Xander cradles my face, his forehead pressing against mine, an intimate gesture that grounds me. “I’ll carry this with you,” he promises, his voice low and sincere. “Every shadow, every scar. You don’t have to face it alone.”

The suffocating fear begins to loosen its grip, and the bond that ties us together tightens with unyielding strength. Driven by a sudden, overwhelming urge, I kiss him, desperate and messy but entirely real. He responds with a hunger that takes my breath away, his hands tangling in my hair, sliding down my back, pulling me closer until there’s no space left to breathe, no distance between our hearts.

Our clothes drop away like discarded worries, soft thuds against the floor marking the surrender of our boundaries. His mouth ignites a fire along my throat, his teeth teasingly grazing my skin, sending shivers down my spine. The roughness of his stubble against my delicate flesh is grounding; it reminds me I am alive, here in this moment.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he breathes into my ear, his voice low and husky, one hand wrapping possessively around my throat, not to restrain but to anchor me in the reality of our connection.

“I’m yours,” I whisper back, my truth spilling forth like a sacred vow. “Always.”

The way he takes me is a tempest of passion, fierce yet tender. Each thrust feels like a promise carved in stone, every caress serving as a reminder that I am not broken, not lost amidst the wreckage of my past. Even after everything I’ve endured, even with the weight of my actions bearing down on me, I can still embrace love, passion, and the essence of life itself.

When release finally engulfs us, it transcends mere pleasure. It morphs into liberation, a breaking of chains that have bound me for so long. Afterwards, we collapse together, limbs entwined in a web of sheets, sweat, and unshed tears. His arms encircle me like a fortress, his lips brushing softly against my temple.

“It’s just us now,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with both fatigue and fervor, carrying an unwavering conviction. “No more shadows. Just us.”

I fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

Not silence.

Not fear.

A heartbeat.

And for the first time since that night, I believe there’s a future worth waking up to. Later, maybe weeks from now, people will ask how I survived.

They’ll want a neat answer.

Strength, maybe.

Resilience.

But that’s not the truth.

I survived because I refused to stay silent.

Because someone loved me enough to fight beside me.

Because I chose myself, even when that choice was ugly and raw and covered in blood.

Survival isn’t beautiful.

But it’s mine.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

-Thalia-