The drive back was steeped in silence, the car's interior thick with tension neither Lucas nor Dimitri dared to break. Lucas kept his gaze fixed on the blur of the passing scenery, but his mind was far from what his eyes saw. A strange, unfamiliar feeling twisted inside him, unsettling in its quiet persistence, a stark contrast to the cold detachment he usually embraced.
When they reached the Mortons' house, Lucas moved with an almost mechanical precision. The car had barely stopped before he was out, his movements brisk, devoid of hesitation. He didn't glance back at Dimitri—the connection they'd shared earlier felt distant now, like a fading memory from a dream.
The door of the house loomed before him, stark and unwelcoming. He pushed it open and stepped inside, the quiet click of the door closing behind him echoing through the empty space. The familiar stillness of the house pressed in on him, heavy and suffocating, but Lucas barely noticed. Something gnawed at him, insistent and unnamed, demanding attention he didn't want to give.
He leaned back against the door, sliding down until he sat on the floor. His chest tightened, a pressure that made it difficult to breathe evenly. His heart pounded—not with anger or fear, but with a strange, persistent rhythm that unnerved him more than any violent emotion ever had.
Heat flushed his face, creeping up his neck and settling into his cheeks. It wasn't the heat of shame or anger; it was something else, something he had never felt before. It left him feeling exposed, vulnerable in a way that was both alien and frightening.
Clenching his fists, Lucas stared blankly at the floor, trying to make sense of this unfamiliar sensation. It was a pull, deep and insistent, a need that seemed to originate from somewhere within him, demanding attention. It wasn't the desire for power or the thrill of control. It was softer, more intense—a sense of emptiness that only deepened in Dimitri's absence.
A strange comfort surfaced in his thoughts of Dimitri, a quiet urge to be near him that defied reason. The feeling was gentle yet intense, like a slow-burning fire spreading through his chest. It left him restless, longing for something just out of reach.
And yet, despite its gentleness, it unsettled him. It felt as though he was teetering on the brink of something unknown, something that could either soothe the emptiness within him or shatter the fragile control he clung to. He didn't know what this feeling was, only that it was powerful enough to shake him in ways nothing else had before.
Lucas drew in a shaky breath, his thoughts returning to Dimitri with a kind of reluctant pull. It wasn't attachment, nor was it affection as he understood it, but it was something close—something dangerous in its gentleness. A quiet, persistent need lingered even in the silence of the house, filling the emptiness around him.
The warmth continued to burn in his chest, unsettling and unwelcome. It gnawed at him, twisting his insides in a way that felt dangerously out of control. He wasn't supposed to feel this way. He wasn't supposed to feel anything at all.
The more he tried to push it down, the stronger the sensation grew, feeding off his discomfort. It clawed at him, relentless and inescapable. Lucas clenched his teeth, willing the feeling to disappear, to evaporate like smoke. But it stayed, stubborn and taunting, refusing to be ignored.
Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Lucas pushed himself up from the floor with a sharp, aggressive motion, as if he could force the emotion out of him through sheer will. He needed to do something—anything—to make it go away. His body moved on instinct, driven by a desperate need to reclaim the cold detachment that had always been his shield.
He stormed into the kitchen, his eyes immediately locking onto the knife block. Without hesitation, he yanked a knife free, its weight solid and reassuring in his hand. This, he understood. This made sense.
Without a second thought, he drove the knife into his hand. The blade sliced through flesh and muscle with sickening ease, the pain immediate and intense. Blood welled up, dark and thick, pooling on the countertop beneath his hand.
Lucas gritted his teeth, breathing heavily as he twisted the knife, grinding it deeper into his hand. The pain was a brutal, grounding force, cutting through the haze of that unfamiliar warmth. It hurt, but it was a hurt he could control—a hurt that made sense in a way that strange, soft emotion did not.
The blood dripped steadily, staining the countertop in deep crimson splatters. But Lucas didn't care. He focused on the pain, letting it drown out the unwanted emotion, pushing it further down until it was buried beneath the sharp, unrelenting agony.
.