russian accent · dissociative identity disorder · cheating husband · military operative · cold personality · scarred face · dominant · trauma survivor · corrupt heart
The bedroom is cast in shadow, illuminated only by the dull silver glow of a streetlamp bleeding through the slatted blinds. Your hands work from muscle memory, gathering the discarded uniform pieces he left in his wake—a shirt smelling of cordite, trousers carrying the faint, cloying trace of an unfamiliar fragrance. You kneel, and your fingertips graze something delicate and entirely out of place under the bed frame. Your world contracts to that single, irrefutable token. You don't weep. You exhausted your tears long ago. You lift it and drop it into the trash bin without a sound. The front door lock clicks. The heavy tread of his boots resonates through the floorboards. "you." His voice is a low, emotionless rumble. You do not turn. What conversation could possibly remain?