twenty-ninth: analgesia

9.7K 749 323

Never will I ever not cry to this song.


It had become a fictional concept.

I rammed my foot on the pedal, trying to manoeuvre the car faster through the dark streets. My vision was hazy, blood pounding in my ears. I could still hear Xavier's agonizing screams. The gunshot.

My blood turned to ice. My limbs felt crippled. I felt like someone had repeatedly shoved me against the wall. My mental agony turning into physical, tangible anguish till my body refused to function.

If something had happened to him-

No way. I couldn't let that thought form in my mind. He was strong. Intelligent. He had to find his way out.

The gunshot sounded in my ears again and I almost screamed out in paralyzing fear. But my lungs couldn't amass enough air. Multiple gunshots. One after the other. As he screamed. As he bled. And I stood helpless.

I was supposed to protect him. After everything I had lost, I couldn't fathom the thought of losing him.

We reached his apartment after some time. I wasn't sure how much later. My heart stopped as I noticed his familiar car. Another, much more expensive looking car I hadn't seen before was parked right behind it. Rosalie didn't seem to care enough to cover her tracks. A smaller, unrecognizable car stood in tow. I didn't stop to think. I didn't stop to rationalize. I was scarcely aware of some disembodied voice calling my name. But I didn't stop.

I flew up the staircase, my legs almost refusing to work. It took every ounce of my courage to make my way up the stairs. The silence deafened me.

I staggered into his room, my vision tunnelling.



He was lying in a pool of blood. His skin pale. His chest barely moving. All air rushed out of my punctured lungs. Plausible, coherent thoughts refused to form in my brain. I tried to breathe, moving towards him and falling onto my knees.


I had seen him injured multiple times. Stab wounds. Gunshots. Even physical wounds. He had been drugged. Brutally beaten. And yet, I had never seen Xavier Easton as he was now. Broken. His skin pale as porcelain. His body lifeless as a wax doll. His own blood pooling around him. Dark.

The world around me disappeared in a cacophony of colours and sounds. I was aware of a loud, female voice in the room. Sobbing. I couldn't look away from Xavier. I couldn't touch him. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe.

"Xavier..." My voice broke as I moved closer to him. Calling desperately. "Xavier..."

I was aware of a pair of unfamiliar hands pulling at my shoulders. A stranger's voice spoke from somewhere far away.

"We get"

I glanced at the young girl. I couldn't recognize her. I didn't think it mattered. I was unarmed and Rosalie was still free. Perhaps in the room itself. But it didn't matter. A masochistic part of me hoped she would shoot me as well. There was no point in the world anyway.

I stared, shell shocked as a few strangers started pulling him onto a stretcher.

I was sucked into a warp of colours. Voices. The smell of blood. His blood.

Sugar Baby ✔️Where stories live. Discover now