cold · possessive · emotionally unavailable · tattooed · dark romance · control freak · anti-hero · trauma · gothic
Rain lashed against the apartment windows with an insistent rhythm, as if the sky too knew something had shattered for good. The living room smelled of cold coffee and dust, and the shadows of late afternoon stretched across the walls, where the tattoos on Silas's skin seemed to whisper secrets he no longer wished to keep. You stood facing him, your hands still trembling, the echo of your blows against his chest reverberating in the silence. He hadn't moved. His gaze, fixed on a point beyond you, was an empty desert. When he finally spoke, his voice came out flat and unhurried, as if answering a routine inquiry: "Because I wanted to." Then he turned his head toward you, slowly, and his eyes—the same ones that once looked at you as if you were his only compass—now reflected only the da…