He carried me to the bedroom. The chaos faded behind us, but it stayed in my mind-a storm that wouldn't settle.
He set me down gently on the bed and the mattress sank under me as I stared at the floor, at nothing. My legs burned. I knew I shouldn't be that reckless, but I didn't flinch. I didn't care. The part of me that cared was dead. I believed so.
I watched as he disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of water running faintly reached me. For a moment, I thought he wouldn't come back, that he'd leave me there to deal with the mess I'd made.
But he returned with a first aid box in hand but wearing a mask of indifference. He didn't speak. Didn't meet my eyes. Or he simply didn't want to. Maybe I was not worth it.
He knelt before me. His dark presence pinned me against the void. I flinched when he lifted my foot with care and rested it on his knee. The sting of his touch against my burned skin sent a jolt up my spine, but I stayed silent, watching him through a haze of confusion.
Why?
Why did he care?
He dabbed at the burns with the gauze and it seemed like it was his first time tensing to a burnt person. The antiseptic stung, and I hissed through my teeth, but he didn't react. His jaw remained set though I sensed a muscle feathering in his jaw.
I studied his face, searching for something-anything-in his stone-cold expressions. But there was only stillness. A quiet that made my chest tighten.
He wrapped the bandage around my leg carefully. Even with kneeling, he managed to look as intimidating as ever. The blood on his shirt caught my eye again, stark and bright. A reminder of the violence that resided in him like blood.
But this? This care? It felt foreign. Out of place. Or maybe he didn't want to break his toy yet.
Neither of us spoke.
When he was done, he stood, setting the box aside with a quiet click. He turned his back to me, as if to leave.
The words escaped before I could stop them. "You care more when I'm wounded."
He froze.
So did I.
But then a laugh bubbled in my throat. My fists clenched on the sheets and I chuckled. "Rather than… when I'm… whole."
He turned slowly. As if everything held its breath and his gaze met mine for the first time. His eyes were unreadable. Pale? Yes. Dark? Yes.
Something flickered across his face-anger, regret, disgust? I couldn't tell.
For a second he stood there, and when I thought he would not speak at all. He took a step closer, towering over me as his hand found my jaw before tilting it up to meet his smouldering eyes. What I saw in his eyes was just the reflection me and I hated how breakable I looked in his.
Did he notice how ruthless he looked in mine? Or how much I was scared of him?
The bandages on my legs felt heavy like he had just chained me to him more.
I didn't know what hurt more-the burns or the way he looked at me.
His hand caressed my jaw as his thumb brushed the corner of my mouth as his stormy gaze bore into me. But instead of feeling whole, I felt hollow. A deep ache that twisted tighter with every second of silence.
I licked my lips, tasting the remnants of his dominance, and then the question escaped before I could stop it. "Do I look ugly to you now?"
His brows knitted for the faintest moment. His jaw ticked. Eyes glowered.
I held his gaze and broke another part of me. "Now that I have these…" I gestured vaguely to the bandages on my legs as my throat tightened. "These burns. These scars."
He didn't answer immediately and I would be lying if I say his silence didn't cut deeper than any words could. The air thickened as his thumb stilled against my skin.
"Is that what you think, ptichka?"
I flinched. "Isn't it true?" My voice broke as a bitter chuckle slipped through. "Why else would you look at me like that? Like I'm… less. Like I don't matter unless I'm bleeding or broken."
His jaw tightened and the muscle feathered beneath his skin. "Don't put words in my mouth."
I shook my head.
The emotions I'd buried for so long rising to the surface.
"And what about before?" I whispered shattering once again as I avoided his gaze. "When I thought-when I entertained the idea that I could be…" My chest heaved with self-loathing. "That I could be pregnant. Did you laugh at me then? At how pathetic I must've looked, hoping-"
His grip on my jaw tightened. His eyes blazed with something savage. "Stop."
I didn't. I couldn't. The dam had broken, and the words poured out like a flood. "Was it disgusting to you? The idea of me carrying your child? Was it-"
"Enough!" he roared.
I froze, my breath hitching as his grip softened, but he didn't let go. His forehead dropped to mine, his breath hot against my skin as his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.
"Do you think I laughed because I didn't want it? Because I didn't want you?"
My heart pounded as he pushed me back and crawled on the bed caging me between his arms.
"You think I don't see you?" he growled. "You think I don't feel every goddamn scar, every ache, and every fucking wound you carry? You think I don't-"
"Then why?" I whispered as more tears threatened to spill. "Why do you make me feel like I'm nothing? Like I'm just… a toy for you to break?"
His eyes burned into mine and a tempest of emotions swirled within them. "Иначе я растворюсь в тебе и потеряю себя навсегда."
(Because if I don't, I'll lose myself in you.)
I blinked.
"Ты думаешь, что ты хрупкая?" he continued, his thumb brushing a tear from my cheek. "Ты даже не представляешь, насколько я хрупкая, когда дело касается тебя."
(You think you're fragile? You have no idea how fragile I am when it comes to you.)
I hated it. Hated how he twisted the situation by changing languages.
"What… did that mean?" I whispered.
His lips curled into a dark yet bitter smile. "I hate you, ptichka."
And then he leaned and kissed me. Hard and bruising, as if he could pour all his anger, all his pain, into that single kiss. I didn't kiss him back. But despite everything-despite the burns, the scars, the chaos-he was the only thing that made me feel alive.