The Lies Of Dawn

C H A P T E R 21

All Celia was able to do after Ax took off was stare at one of the posters that decorated her bedroom’s beige walls. The image seemed to be mocking her. It was a painting of a young woman. Her eyes were shut in ecstasy while her mouth was wide open accepting the fingers of an unseen male. She observed the poster without paying any real attention to it, her mind was too focused on trying to forget the dreadful words he had uttered moments before she sent him away.

If only it were that simple.

If only his words didn’t fill her ears even minutes after he had thrown them at her.

Every word he had spat at her was tearing her to pieces but she wanted nothing more than his presence.

She cursed herself for being foolish enough to believe that they were making progress, that they were becoming something more. Nothing about that pair was normal, and nothing would ever be.

She was slowly losing all the hope she possessed in her small body.

All traces of Serotonin escaped from her brain, leaving her number, not realizing that she had previously felt happiness.

In the few weeks she had known him, he had been able to, unknowingly, heal some of her old wounds. He had cared for her, he wasn’t repulsed by the sight of her few uncovered scars, he had been the only one she could trust fully. But she was still so broken.

Her pieces were being held together by a thin string of frayed rope and his words had been sharp enough to scatter them to the four winds.

Ax would never apologise for the hurt he had caused and even if he did it wouldn’t be because he truly understood that his words were knives. She couldn’t blame him for the way he had learned to live his life. He wanted something and he managed to possess it, no matter what the cost.

He had wanted her and, eventually, took her.

Inside that stubborn head of his, there was the notion that he had nothing to apologise for. He was just defending himself.

It was plain to see that he was used to being defensive.

He only knew how to defend himself from those who cared for him.

It must have been a talent.

And to think that she had almost swallowed her pride and run downstairs so that she could catch him before he was able to walk out the door. She wanted to push him against the door, screaming at him for being such an inconsiderable asshole. If she was lucky the doorknob would jab him on his ribs and perhaps even leave a celebratory bruise.

But she didn’t move.

She remained on the bed, exactly as he had left her. She sat still and waited. The front door opened and closed with an audible thud. After that, there had been the sound of his bike roaring to life until that too faded, leaving her in a state even Erebos would have been jealous of.

She got up from the bed with the tangled sheets, practically running towards the ivory tiled bathroom. The scene she found her self in had become oddly familiar those last few days. She knew exactly what followed, it was a choreography she had been following with ease. In just seconds she was emptying the contents of her stomach until all that was left in her body were the tears that had not yet managed to stain her cheeks.

Her body fell on the floor, seemingly weightless. Her arms wrapped themselves around her stomach, rubbing the area soothingly.

She had known for a few weeks that what was happening to her body was not a product of a stomach bug or the common flu, however, she had been too afraid to recognise it for what it truly was.