by Bea Paige
“What fucking colour is it?” I repeat.
Her chest heaves on a sob. “Brown,” she whimpers.
“Brown? I don’t know what that is!”
Back and forth I go. Colour after colour. I ask the same question each time, hoping that at some point I will see for myself.
But, of course I don’t.
Eventually I stop when almost every part of Amber’s body is covered in paint. The only place I’ve left unmarked is her face.
Standing before Amber, my own chest heaving in time with her sobs, I take one last look at the girl I’ve destroyed.
“I love you, Anton,” she repeats. Her teeth are chattering now, her body shaking with adrenaline and sadness.
And you know what? Instead of feeling pity, guilt, shame. All I feel is envy.
I envy her ability to see what I cannot.
“Don’t you get it? It isn’t enough…” my own agony cracks, leaking from me now and as we stare at each other, two broken souls bleeding their hurt and pain, I understand one simple fact.
There’s no point to any of this.
I’m chasing a ghost.
And with that thought the last piece of my sanity disperses, floating off into the air whilst inside something far more dangerous comes to life.
“No more,” I murmur, folding her into my arms that are no longer controlled by me, but by someone, something else entirely.
The darkness gives her comfort, when all I want to do is hide inside myself like her.
It soothes and murmurs, the falsity of that sound wrapping around Amber in an invisible shroud. She clutches onto me, her body relaxing as a long sigh releases from her mouth.
“That’s it, hush now.”
I lower my head to her cheek and press my lips against her cool skin. It’s a gentle kiss, but all the more dangerous for it, because it doesn’t come from me. It comes from the darkness lulling her into a false sense of security.
She whimpers, clutching me tighter.
“I love you,” she whispers, tears cascading from her eyes.
I feel the wet warmth of them as I slide my lips across her skin, tasting her essence in every salty drop. My hand rubs gently up and down her back, soothing away the tears, blending the paint. The monster inside thrives on her vulnerability and the misplaced trust she shows me.
Without contemplating further what I’m doing, I lift Amber off her feet and flip her around so that her back is pressed against the cold stone wall. Her eyes widen in surprise, quickly replaced with desire and yearning.
“Anton,” she whimpers, wrapping her legs tightly about my waist.
She looks at me with such devotion, such love that it sickens me because I’m about to use her despite how much of a sick fuck that makes me.
I’m not strong enough to fight the darkness.
I’ve lost, and so has Amber.
Look what I’ve done to her. She’s skin and bone. She’s shattered, broken, and yet despite all the shit I’ve put her through she craves my love and attention so badly that she’s still willing to give herself to me. Even now, like this.
I reach down for the zip of my fly, undoing it with a quick tug. Yanking down my trousers and underwear with one hand, my cock falls free.
I’m hard.
Despite my self-loathing, despite how the real me feels about what I’m doing to Amber in this moment, I’m still fucking hard. This woman is unravelling before me and according to my cock I want to fuck her.
The darkness billows inside, blossoming outwards as it relishes the thought of taking something precious from this woman and not giving anything back in return.
What’s wrong with me?
Who the fuck am I?
You’re the darkness that breathes despair, the demon that draws on light.
I lean my forehead against Amber’s, drawing on her soft breaths. Finding strength in the frantic beat of her heart.
“Anton,” she whispers, her hand sliding up my arm before tangling into my hair.
I absorb her breathlessness as though it’s my oxygen. Breathing in her need and desire, the darkness taking over, consuming me, us.
Amber lets out a little moan as the tip of my cock slides against her entrance. She mewls against my ear, the sound of a broken woman clinging on to the last remnants of her soul. I squeeze my eyes shut on what I’m about to do.
She believes I’m giving her a gift.
But I’m not.
The darkness swirls within as I steel myself, hoping against hope that when I open my eyes she’s filled with colour.
Please let her be. I need to end this. A far away voice echoes inside my head.
“Anton, look at me,” she begs, not knowing that it’s better for her if I don’t. “I need you to fuck me, Anton. Please.”
My body tenses as I battle against myself and the darkness intent on swallowing us both whole.
“I love you,” she sobs.
Her words are like daggers to my heart and an unreasonable anger unfolds as I open my eyes to take one last look at the girl I’ve destroyed.
She’s still fucking grey.
I lose what little piece of hope I have left.
“But I don’t love you. I never will,” I grind out, sliding into her with one quick thrust and severing the last frail connection of her sanity.
Her head falls back against the wall, her mouth parting on a whimper. She looks at me as I fuck her, knowing that I do so without affection, without love.
And it isn’t enough that I see all hope slip from her gaze. It isn’t enough that as I fuck her against the wall, the sounds of her pleasure a stark contrast to the light in her eyes that dims with every thrust, her heart shatters.
I still need to fuck her into oblivion.
She couldn’t give me what I wanted, and I can’t give her what she wants either. There’s a twisted kind of symmetry to that.
My hand reaches for her throat and I squeeze. Air loosens from her mouth in a puff as her eyes glaze over. The last flickering flame is gone, put out with the strength of my touch and the force of my will. Crushing my mouth against hers, I draw on her breathe whilst my fingers squeeze, heightening her pleasure and my pain.
Amber trembles in my hold. Her core tightening around my cock as she milks me with her body. Her eyes roll back in her head as her orgasm explodes on a breathless kiss. And as I grind into Amber with bitterness and self-hatred, she unravels in my arms leaving behind nothing more than a ghost.
Just like me.
Chapter Twelve
Rose – present day
I sit next to Anton feeling numb.
So many colliding thoughts and emotions make it difficult for me to clear the sudden fog that’s entered my head. It’s as though the white mist from outside has made its way into my mind and covered everything making it impossible for me to see straight, let alone think straight.
Anton is watching me. I can feel the heat of his stare burning into my skin. I’m acutely aware of the sound of his breathing as he draws in a deep lungful and I’m suddenly gasping for air myself.
I can’t breathe.
“Rose?”
He reaches for me. I feel his hand settle on my arm, but I pull away from him. It isn’t because I don’t want his touch. It’s because I want it more now than ever before.
So, what kind of person does that make me?
He locked Amber up. He hate-fucked her. He used her, then discarded her when she didn’t give him what he wanted. Anton got into her head and he destroyed her.
He’d suffocated Amber, not with love and affection, but with an absence of it.
Anton described a demon within himself not dissimilar to a man who almost destroyed me, and it terrifies me. I’d be lying to myself if I said it didn’t.
I should walk away now.
But even knowing what I know, I don’t want to.
I won’t.
I can’t.
He was right before when he said that I’m already leaking col
our, that this thing between us is inevitable. I can almost see it leaching from me now. I wonder, briefly, what colour I’m losing.
“You could have killed her,” I blurt out. There’s so much more that I want to say, but these are the only words that come.
He looks at me in confusion. I know what Anton’s thinking, he’s just admitted that he ruined Amber, and here I am concentrating on the fact that he cut off her oxygen in some twisted, fucked-up sexual encounter. A sexual encounter that turns me on, that makes me feel more than just pity and heartache for Amber, that makes me feel envious for what she shared with him.
What the hell was wrong with me? I swallow hard, the realisation of how messed up I am like a knife twisting in my gut.
“I did. I have, Rose. Amber’s fucking dead,” Anton says quietly.
I bite down hard on the remark I want to respond with. I feel myself catapulting into a place that is darker than anything I’ve ever experienced before. I don’t want to be locked up, that much I know, but I do want to be consumed by Anton. I want him to devour me, just like he devoured Amber.
Only I’m going to be the one to survive it. I must.
His dark eyes widen as he reads my thoughts. “You’re not disgusted? You’re not afraid? You won’t run, even now, will you?” he asks.
Disbelief tracks across his features which is soon followed by hope, then quickly snuffed out by fear. Fear of me, or fear of the possibility I might be the one to change everything? Who knows.
“Rose, who are you?” he asks, lifting his fingers to trace lightly over my chin.
“I have no idea,” I respond, truthfully. All I know is that in front of him I’m naked, stripped bare. For some reason with Anton, I can’t hide so easily. “Perhaps you can tell me?”
He tips his head to the side, confusion now replaced with understanding, with recognition. Anton looks and sees the truth within me. I know it’s just as dark as his own.
I snatch my gaze away, wondering for a moment who’s beside me. Is it Anton, the man that feels remorse, guilt, pain, or the darkness within him, the demon that draws on light and bleeds a woman of colour?
For a moment, I wonder which of the two I’m drawn to the most.
Always the darkness, Rose, a familiar voice responds.
I push it away, not willing to acknowledge the truth, not here, not when I’m about to meet the woman he hurt so badly she withdrew inside to save herself.
“Mr Sachov, thank you for waiting.”
My head snaps up, a woman who looks to be in her early fifties, strides towards us. Her sharp gaze assesses me. She reminds me of another woman I dislike.
“You’ve brought your assistant?” she asks, making a decision about me with one quick glance. Immediately my hackles rise, as if it’s any of her fucking business. Anger boils. I’m more on edge than I’ve ever been before. Inside my demon paces, wanting out.
“Maryanne, this is Rose. She’s Ivan’s personal assistant, and my friend,” Anton responds, standing. He looks down at me, hope lights his eyes, but it’s gone just as quickly as it appeared.
I almost laugh.
There’s no hope for the damned. I should fucking know.
“Nice to meet you, Rose,” she says insincerely.
I stand. “Likewise.”
Maryanne nods, unconvinced. She turns on her heel. We follow.
A couple of minutes later, after passing through several communal rooms filled with residents and their visitors, we reach a door numbered 1003.
“Amber awoke about an hour ago. She’s doing well today. I think you’ll agree just how well when you see her for yourself,” Maryanne says, patting Anton on the arm. She nods at me before walking away.
Anton waits until Maryanne has walked out of sight before turning to me. He reaches his hand out, his fingers gripping hold of my arm.
“Last chance, Rose. Walk away.”
It’s insincere. He no more wants me to go than I want to leave. We’re beyond this bullshit now. He knows that as well as I. Raising my gaze to meet his, I allow myself a knowing smile.
“Why, so you can chase me? No fucking chance,” I respond, reaching for the door handle.
Anton moves aside, and I enter the brightly lit room. There’s no colour.
Everything is white.
Stark.
A blank fucking canvas.
The floorboards are a weathered white, the walls white, the furniture, bedspreads and curtains all white. White, white, white.
It reminds me of a padded cell. It’s clinical, utterly impractical but it also speaks of purity and somehow, innocence. White is everything before the multicolour of life happens. I wonder if all the rooms are like this.
“Hello?” I ask tentatively, walking further into the room.
After a few steps, I stop in my tracks. Sitting in an armchair wearing a long white nightie is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
Beautiful in a whimsical, fragile way. She has delicate features made starker by her thinness. Despite her fragility, she exudes a kind of inner calm, peace even, and that intrigues me. It wasn’t what I was expecting.
“This is Amber,” Anton says, drawing in a sharp breath, his gaze settling on her too.
Out of the corner of my eye I see him raise a shaking hand to his face, holding it over his mouth. A simple gesture showing me his regret more than any words can. A strangled noise releases from his mouth, muffled by his hand. He can’t take his eyes off her.
“She’s worse,” he manages to say as he takes a step towards her. But I don’t see what he sees. I see a woman who has retreated into herself, yes, but I don’t see pain or anguish. Just acceptance of what is. I see an empty calm.
Amber stares at a spot on the far wall, unaware that we’ve entered the room.
“Amber, it’s me, Anton,” he says.
Something about the way he moves towards her has my throat closing over. He approaches her with reverence, as though she’s a mythical creature to be worshipped, adored.
How can I compete with that?
Jealousy spikes in my chest. It’s so powerful that I must clamp my mouth shut on my need to tell him not to touch her, the greenness of my jealousy drips from my fingers onto the bleached white floorboards beneath my feet, marking her private sanctuary with my envy. If only he could see. If only he could understand… an idea begins to form in my head, interrupted by Anton as he kneels before her.
He looks up at Amber from his position on the floor and another surge of jealousy spirals up my spine, snapping it straight.
He’s mine.
Inside my demon roars.
“Amber, it’s me, Anton,” he repeats.
I look at him, trying to regain some control over my wayward feelings. The overwhelming sense of ownership washes over me and I scramble to hold onto my demon, so she doesn’t try and take what’s hers.
Not here, not now.
I have to remind myself what I’m dealing with. This man before me forced Amber into the shadows of her mind with his need to garner the impossible, his need for colour. How ironic, given here in this stark, white room, the only colour of any significance is Amber and her fiery red hair.
“Amber, sweetheart. I’m here.”
Sweetheart?
I watch with a sick kind of fascination as he pushes a strand of that beautiful hair behind her ear. The colour is like the sun setting over the horizon, it’s a deep orange with natural blonde lights that shimmer in the sunlight attempting to break through the mist. Selfishly, in this moment I’m glad he can’t see colour because hers are so very beautiful, utterly alluring in fact. Next to her I pale in comparison.
Anton’s palm cups her cheek and I half expect her to disperse, his touch disturbing the fragile molecules holding her ghostly figure together. Yet she remains, and part of me, that small dark voice I try hard to ignore, starts to laugh.
Another woman you’ll never be able to replace, Rose. He’s still obsessed with her. You couldn’t replace th
e woman Roman had loved, and you won’t be the woman Anton needs either.
I shake my head, not wanting to think too deeply about what I see before me. Their connection is a fragile one, barely visible, but often those are the hardest to break. I can almost see it, a thin ribbon of smoke curling around Anton’s chest and wrapping around Amber’s wrists, binding them together forever.
I need to sever it.
He must let go of his past if he has any chance of living in the present.
“How are you?” he asks, taking her hand in his.
Her gaze flicks to his face, but there’s no recognition. Nothing but emptiness.
She stares into him, not at him, as she holds his gaze with her sea-green eyes.
Anton was right, she’s empty. There’s no life left within her.
I feel equally relieved and horrified by the thought.
Now who’s the monster?
“I’ve brought a friend with me, Amber. This is Rose,” he gestures to me, urging Amber to turn and face me. She responds robotically as though she hears his instruction somewhere deep inside, but isn’t conscious of it. Eventually, her eyes meet mine.
I reel backwards, gasping for air at what I see in them.
“No!”
Turning on my heel, I blindly run from the room, the sound of Anton calling my name following me out.
Chapter Thirteen
“Rose! Rose, wait!”
I quicken my steps, needing fresh air, needing to escape the sudden feeling of suffocation. Finding myself in a conservatory I rush towards the doors, not caring that half a dozen people are gaping at me. Flinging them open, I half-stumble, half-run into the gardens beyond.
“Rose, come back!” Anton shouts, but I ignore him and run, allowing the mist to swallow me, wanting to hide from what I saw in Amber’s eyes.
I don’t know where I’m going, I just head deeper and deeper into the mist. It’s worse now than before. For a moment inside I thought the sun was finally dispersing it, but out here it thickens like a great rolling cloud, the kind that sits heavy and white in the sky.