With a sharp exhale, Lucas finally released the knife, letting it clatter onto the blood-streaked counter. He stared down at the mess, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The ache in his chest had dulled, replaced by the throbbing pain in his hand.
He moved with a detached efficiency, pulling open a drawer to grab a kitchen towel. Wrapping it tightly around his injured hand, he barely flinched at the sting of the fabric against the wound. The blood soaked through quickly, but he didn't seem to care. His actions were careless, almost mechanical, as if going through the motions would help him regain his composure.
The feeling that had driven him to this point still lingered, but it was subdued, buried beneath layers of physical pain and emotional numbness. He clung to that numbness, letting it wash over him like a balm, quieting the turmoil within.
Lucas stumbled to the sink, rinsing the blood from his hand with cold water. The crimson streaks swirled down the drain, leaving faint stains on the porcelain. He watched them go, his mind blissfully empty, the chaotic thoughts that had plagued him earlier now distant and muted.
Wrapping his hand more securely with another towel, Lucas stepped away from the sink. The pain throbbed in time with his heartbeat, grounding him, keeping him anchored to something tangible. It was all he needed for now.
With a final glance at the bloodied countertop, Lucas turned and walked out of the kitchen, the detachment he craved slowly settling back into place. He wouldn't allow himself to feel whatever it was that had threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn't. Not now. Not ever.
_____________
Lucas didn't know how long he was standing in the doorway of the dimly lit bedroom, his eyes fixed on Dimitri's sleeping form. The room was silent, save for the faint sound of Dimitri's steady breathing. It was a peaceful scene, but Lucas's gaze was anything but peaceful. His expression was tense, almost predatory, as he absorbed every detail—the rise and fall of Dimitri's chest, the slight furrow in his brow even in sleep.
Clutched tightly in Lucas's hand was a pillow, its white surface stark against the darkness. He had entered the house with a single purpose: to suffocate Dimitri. The unwanted feelings that Dimitri stirred in him had become unbearable, and this was the only solution Lucas could think of.
Moving silently, Lucas stepped further into the room, his eyes never leaving Dimitri. He could feel the pull again, that strange, insistent urge that had driven him to the kitchen knife earlier. But now, standing so close to Dimitri, the sensation was different. It was sharper, more focused, and it terrified him.
He stopped at the edge of the bed, staring down at Dimitri with a mix of emotions that he couldn't name. He didn't know what it was—only that it made him want to reach out, to touch, to hurt, to comfort. The contradictions swirling inside him were maddening.
Lucas's hand hovered over Dimitri, the bandaged one trembling slightly. He wanted to shake him awake, to see those wide, vulnerable eyes staring back at him. He wanted to see fear, to feel the power that fear gave him. But at the same time, there was a gentler urge—a desire to brush the hair from Dimitri's forehead, to feel the warmth of his skin under his fingers. The conflicting urges warred within him, leaving him frozen in place.
His breath hitched as Dimitri stirred, his head shifting slightly on the pillow. For a moment, Lucas held his breath, waiting to see if he would wake. But Dimitri only turned onto his side, settling deeper into the pillow with a soft sigh. The movement brought him closer to Lucas, close enough that Lucas could feel the warmth radiating from his body.
It was too much. The combination of warmth and vulnerability, of power and weakness, sent a jolt of something electric through Lucas's veins. He clenched his hand into a fist, the bandage tightening painfully around the wound. The pain was grounding, but it wasn't enough to quell the storm inside him.
Before he knew what he was doing, Lucas reached out, his hand hovering inches above Dimitri's face. His fingers twitched, longing to make contact, to feel the softness of Dimitri's skin. But he didn't dare. The risk of breaking whatever fragile control he had left was too great. Instead, he let his hand drop to his side, the movement heavy with reluctance.
Lucas stepped back from the bed, his eyes never leaving Dimitri. He felt like a coward, retreating from something he didn't understand, something that terrified him more than any physical threat ever could. He wanted to lash out, to destroy something, anything, just to regain a sense of control. But he knew that if he did, he would lose whatever tenuous grip he had on himself.
With a final, lingering glance at Dimitri, Lucas turned and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He stood in the hallway, his heart pounding in his chest, his mind a chaotic mess of emotions. The emptiness was still there, gnawing at him, but now it was tinged with something new—something he didn't know how to deal with.
But the more he tried to push it away, the more it grew, threatening to consume him from the inside out. And for the first time in a long while, Lucas didn
't know if he could stop it.