Their Midnight Obsession | 18+

Chapter 41

SALVO'S POV

I entered her dimly lit room, my heart laden with trepidation. The air bore the heavy weight of unspoken pain, and as my eyes adjusted to the shadows, I spotted her standing under the shower.

Her body, a canvas painted with scars, testified to the battles she waged within. A shiver ran down my spine, realizing that each scar told a chapter of her anguish, a chapter I had unwittingly penned with the ink of my own sin.

My gaze traveled downward, widening in horror. Fresh cuts adorned her thighs, and a consuming fire of rage ignited within me. Her pain manifested in the cruel language of self-inflicted wounds, and the crushing weight of responsibility pressed down on me.

"Luna," I whispered. The room seemed to close in on me, the only punctuation in the silence being the echoes of our tortured souls.

Her eyes, wide and haunted, looked up from her scars, hands tenderly caressing the small life within her. The bathroom flickered with dim light, casting an ethereal glow on her face. Her lips quivered, as if on the verge of uttering a profound truth.

"He's here," she mumbled, rubbing her baby bump gently, as if imparting knowledge to the tiny soul growing within. "He's here, watching over us."

My heart skipped a beat. The realization that she believed me to be dead was heart-wrenching.Grief carved lines of torment on my face as I grappled with the knowledge that her suffering had become a reflection of my own sins. My heart ached with remorse as I approached her cautiously. The distance between us held the weight of a thousand unspoken apologies, and as I neared, I could see the raw pain etched on her tear-stained face.

I reached out, gently cupping her face in my hands, our breaths mingling. Her eyes, swollen from endless weeping, met mine. The world seemed to pause as our foreheads pressed together.

"You're not real," her voice quivered.

I closed my eyes, a silent prayer for strength, and then whispered, "I'm real." She, caught between the realms of reality and illusion, hesitated.

 Closing her eyes tightly, as if attempting to shut out the haunting specter of her own grief, she uttered, "No...you're not real. You died. I killed you."

My heart shattered into fragments. The burden of her grief, with the knowledge that she saw herself as my murderer, weighed heavily on me. I gently wiped away her tears with my thumb.With a shaky breath, she opened her eyes, meeting my gaze once more. The truth, a formidable force, flickered in her eyes—a kaleidoscope of fear, confusion, and a glimmer of disbelief.

Her hands trembled as they tentatively touched my face. The warmth of my skin beneath her fingertips clashed with the chilling certainty that had gripped her heart. She shook her head, denying the impossible truth. "No...you're not real. This is a trick. A cruel, cruel trick."

"I'm alive." I watched as she recoiled in fear and confusion. Tears flowed freely as she spoke, each word a painful admission of the wounds that had festered in the depths of her soul.