10. Dagon

10

DAGON

I 've been drawn to Callista from the moment I saw her dip into that alley that first night. I can't explain what it is about her that compels me to start opening up to her.

Maybe it's the way she listens to me without judgment in our late-night meetings in the kitchen. Or maybe it's the way she anchors me when my temper and trauma rise to the surface and threaten to pull me under. Whatever the reason, I find myself slowly revealing more about my blood-soaked past than I ever have with another living soul. The moment I start to speak, I'm acutely aware of the way those violet eyes take me in.

The confessions begin to spill out, transforming the kitchen into a sanctuary where shadows from my past seem less daunting. Callista's silence during these moments isn't empty but filled with an empathy that wraps around me, a silent support strengthening me against the ghosts of my memories.

This unexpected catharsis, driven by Callista's serene acceptance, challenges the walls I've built around myself. Each story shared not only lightens my burden but also subtly stitches the frayed edges of my spirit back together. In her presence, I am both vulnerable and strong, haunted yet hopeful.

One night, I feel the urge to tell her the details of the things I've done. The gory memories of my past linger at the tip of my tongue, and I feel compelled to let her in, to let her see there's nothing fucking redeemable about me.

Maybe that's why I tell her. Maybe I want to push her away more than I want to pull her close. As I sit across from Callista, the shadows of the room seem to creep closer, eager listeners to the horrors I'm about to disclose. The memories I've kept shackled in the darkest corners of my mind begin to break free, each surfacing with vivid, relentless clarity.

"The first time," I start, my voice rough like gravel, "it was in the heat of battle. An enemy warrior stood before me, all snarling rage and swinging steel."

I pause, the image so clear I can almost feel the weight of the damp, blood-soaked earth beneath my boots. "Our swords clashed, sparks flying. But it ended with my hands, not my blade."

My fingers twitch unconsciously, remembering the feel of crushed bone. "I grabbed his helmet, twisted... until," I swallow hard as the sound of his skull giving way echoes in my mind like a gruesome symphony.

Callista remains silent, her face a mask of moonlit marble, eyes wide, reflecting a morbid fascination and horror.

"And the screams," I continue, the words tumbling out like dark whispers. "The cries of the warriors I captured, tortured for information. Their pleas, their sobs... they begged for death long before I granted it." The ghostly echoes of their despair fill the room, and for a moment, I'm back there, in the stench of fear and iron.

I look away, focusing on a crack in the wall, but it's no use. Another memory surges forward, unstoppable. "There was a medic," I murmur, "young, too young. He stumbled upon a scene of carnage, trying to save those beyond saving." My hand goes to my throat, mimicking the motion I used on him. "He looked at me, eyes wide, understanding too late. And as I slit his throat, the life faded from his gaze, leaving nothing but a blank nothingness."

A single, heavy breath escapes me as I finish, the silence after feeling more oppressive than before.

Callista shifts slightly, her voice a soft, strained whisper, "How do you live with those memories, Dagon?" I lock eyes with Callista, the weight of my past igniting a fierce anger that simmers just beneath the surface.

"Live with them?" I snap, my voice laced with venom and pain. "They claw at me, every fucking day, tearing me apart from the inside! There's no living with this. There's only enduring, only surviving what I've become because of them!" My words come out as a growl, the trauma manifesting as raw, unbridled fury.

But she just listens, her eyes calm and infinitely sad, yet without condemnation. Her quiet acceptance soothes an ache in me I didn't even realize was there until her unspoken forgiveness begins to fill it.

You're not recoiling in fear?" I ask her, angered that she's listened unflinchingly to me detail the horrors of my past.

"No, I'm not," she answers evenly, yet there's still an undertone of defiance as she shakes her head.

"Why?" I finally ask, my voice hoarse, almost afraid to hear her answer.

"Because pain recognizes pain, Dagon," she replies softly, her gaze steady. "You're not the only one with horrors. Not the only one who's done things... regrettable things. We all have our battles, our shit to face."

Her words, simple yet profound, envelop the raw edges of my soul. At that moment, I realize that Callista's strength lies not in overlooking the horrors of my past, but in acknowledging them and seeing beyond them to who I could still become.

The silence hangs heavy between us after Callista's words. The kitchen, dimly lit by the flickering flame of a lone candle, feels like a confessional.

"Why don't you fucking fear me?" I push harder, my voice a low tortured growl. I need to understand, need to see the crack in her armor.

She meets my gaze squarely, unflinching. "Fear you?" Her voice is steady, but there's a tremor of emotion that betrays her calm exterior. "Dagon, fear is a luxury I can't afford. You think I haven't seen what horrors the world holds? I've seen enough to know that fear doesn't keep you safe."

Her defiance stirs something within me, a mix of admiration and frustration. I clench my fists, feeling the old urge to smash something beautiful just to witness the breaking. But I resist, focusing instead on her words, her courage.

"You're not the monster you think you are," she says quietly. There's something about the way she says it, as if she thinks she truly sees me, not the me who threatens her and chokes her, but the me behind the fucking rage.

Her words slice through the thick air, sharp and unexpected. I want to laugh, to roar in her face that she's fucking wrong, that I am exactly the monster I seem to be. But the sincerity in her eyes stops me.

"What if I am?" I challenge, my voice barely above a whisper. "What if I can't be anything else?"

Callista steps closer, her presence bold and unyielded. "Then we're all damned anyway."