Chapter Thirteen

T he room spins, each movement more disorienting than the last. The scent of stale air clings to everything—the walls, the bed, the very sheets beneath me. I try to sit up, but the world lurches sideways. My body feels heavy, the limbs sluggish, too slow to respond. I can barely lift my hand to my head.

Willow is in the corner, her silver eyes fixed on me with that look—half pity, half amusement. I don’t understand why she does this. What’s the point of it all?

Her soft voice fills the silence, almost like a lullaby, but I can’t tell if it’s meant to soothe or torment. "You’ll be better soon, Amir." She always says that. Her brown hair falls around her face like curtains, framing the wicked innocence she wears like a mask. She looks like someone I know, someone I used to know.

And then, it happens. Her hands on me, gentle but firm, pressing something into my veins. The drug courses through me almost immediately, like fire slipping into my blood. My vision blurs. My breath steadies. It’s the only time I feel alive anymore.

I close my eyes, and suddenly, I'm not in this room. I’m back there, in my own bed, with her— my wife .

Her voice echoes in my mind, sweet and full of warmth. " I love you ," she whispers. I reach for her, and my fingers find the soft, familiar curve of her back. Her hair smells like my menthol shampoo, and the softness of her touch makes my heart ache with longing. I breathe her in, but when I open my eyes, it's Willow standing in front of me.

But... it doesn’t feel wrong. It doesn’t feel like a betrayal. I see her— my wife —in Willow's face. The silver eyes, the soft brown hair, it’s all a blur. To me they’re cinnamon. The silk threads wears a shade of brown I am familiar with. And when she moves closer, her lips pressing against mine, I can almost convince myself that it's her, that it’s real .

For a moment, I can pretend. Just for a moment, I can feel what I lost, what I destroyed. I can feel my wife’s warmth again, her tenderness, her love. She never knew I betrayed her, and yet begged me to come back home. She never knew the guilt that eats at me every day since. But now, with Willow here, I can forget the shame for a brief time.

I lose myself in the false reality, pretending this is right, that it’s her I’m with, and not the girl who keeps me here, trapped in this house. In this twisted game.

When the drug wears off, the haze will fade and the weight of my actions would return. I’ll feel hollow again. Willow will be still there, watching me with those silver eyes, her lips curling into that cruel, innocent smile.

I can’t tell if this is my punishment for what I’ve done, or if it’s my only escape. But in these moments, when I’m lost in the drug, I don’t care. I’m with her again. With my wife , even if I can’t admit that it’s Willow standing in her place.

I look up at her, and she smiles. "Don’t worry, Amir," she says, her voice sweet and empty. "You’ll always be here with me."

She may have allowed me to sneak off, but I could never run far. She had her eyes on me since the beginning, and I doubt, I’ll ever escape them.

And I wonder, for the first time, if I ever truly left.