Control (Dark Romance)

Chapter 42

Hagen's P.O.V

It's dark and quiet when we enter the packlands, but I know the moment we cross over the barrier's threshold that he's not here.

I don't have to look. I don't have to check our bond, I just know. He's not here.

Zyair whimpers tearfully as fear turns our blood cold, because if Nikola wasn't here, in the place he also called home, then where was he?

Josey keeps driving, her hand on mine while my head dips to rest against the window. It's cold and hard, and as rain batters against it, my tears join the assault. From there, it's all a welcomed blur- us arriving home with Dad and Pops waiting for us; I think they look worried as they try to speak to me-

"Hagen. Hagen?"

"Hagen, wait-"

"He's not... Josey, what happened?"

"He said he fucked up, that he said some really bad things. Nik left. He's... I don't even know."

My dads follow me, trying to get me to respond to them, but I was long past words. Besides, I didn't deserve their comfort.

With Wreck in hand, I shoulder past them and make my way through the house that's familiar, except for how quiet and horribly empty it is. Their eyes stick to me and weigh heavily as I climb up the stairs, but it's a dull ache that I can ignore with all the rest pummelling me.

I don't go to the bedroom I'd shared my whole life with Josey, the one that was technically mine. I pass that oasis straight by and go to the one she used as a closet instead. It doesn't open with a push. It takes enough force that I have to set Wreck down before I can shove it just wide enough for me to slide through.

Inside, the room is littered with dark silhouettes of clothing racks, stuffed bags and random things I don't have the energy to wonder about. I only wanted one thing in here...

Trudging through it all is like manoeuvring through the stacks of books in Peter's room, but I get through eventually. I make it to the back corner of the room where the first closet waited, the only one Josey was supposed to have. It's built into the wall and barricaded by more of her things.

I'm not strong enough to move it all- my body is too heavy, too tired, and I don't think my heart has ever struggled this much to continue each beat, but I make myself do it. I clear it all away until finally, I can open the closet doors and peer inside.

There, it's more of the same, but more organised. It's our baby clothes, the toys we loved as kids, the books we used in school, all in boxes and at the back of it all.

My lips part to make room for my shaky inhale as my eyes land on black and white cotton. At some point, I was sure I'd run out of tears, but they flow freely as I carefully retrieve the plushie I'd hidden away here years ago.

I said I'd get rid of it. I said I'd give it back to him. In the end, I hadn't been able to do any of that.

I couldn't let it go, and as I pull it from the plastic surrounding it and dust it as best as I can, the memories I had tried for so long to deny fill my mind with a vengeance. I don't bother fighting them; I'd stopped after the first few weeks when I realised it was better to enjoy the nicer memories before they were gone.

So, as I slip down to the floor until I'm hidden away in some dark corner of this forgotten room, I hold Nikola's penguin plushie close and enjoy the memories that accompany them-

The ones of the day I'd given it to him, how he'd declared it was the best birthday gift of that day, and then of when he'd given it to me, how he'd comforted me so readily, and how that night, I'd only slept because having this close was almost like having my friend close.