Throwback: vol 1
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Rome's grip was iron, his fingers digging into your arms as though he could anchor you to this moment, to him. You struggled, twisting against him, but he was unyielding, his strength making your resistance feel pathetic.
"Stop fighting me," he snarled, his lips curling in frustration. "It's pointless. You know it's pointless."
"Let me go!" you choked, kicking out wildly.
He laughed again, but this time it was quieter, darker, as though he were savoring your fear. "You think I've come this far just to let you go? After everything?" His breath was hot against your ear, the smell of rain and blood clinging to him like a second skin.
"Rome..." You barely recognized your own voice, shaky and broken. "Please."
He tilted his head, his expression softening in a way that only made him more terrifying. "You don't get it, do you? I'm not the enemy here, baby. I'm the one who loves you."
His hands shifted, sliding down your arms to grip your waist. The movement was jarring, almost intimate, and it sent a fresh wave of panic through you.
"This... this isn't love," you whispered, trembling.
His lips twitched, the corner of his mouth curving into a smirk that didn't reach his eyes. "You don't get to decide that."
The tension in the room was suffocating, the storm outside fading into a distant hum as every fiber of your being focused on him. On his words. On the switchblade gleaming under the faint kitchen light.
"Please..." Your voice cracked, your chest heaving as you tried to keep the tears at bay. "You don't have to do this. You don't—"
"Do what? Protect what's mine?" His voice was calm, eerily so, as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. The gesture might've been tender if not for the blood smearing across your cheek from his fingers.
The sharp whistle of the kettle broke the moment, steam curling into the air as the water inside boiled over.
Rome glanced toward it, his smirk returning. "Tea's ready."
He loosened his grip just enough for you to take a shaky step back. It wasn't much, but it was enough. Your eyes darted toward the back door, calculating your odds.
Rome's gaze snapped back to yours, and he saw it—the flicker of defiance, the glimmer of hope. His smirk twisted into a sneer.
"Don't even think about it," he warned, his voice low and dangerous.
But you didn't think. You acted.
In a flash, you grabbed the kettle by its handle and swung it toward him.
The scream that tore from his throat as the scalding water hit his chest was guttural, primal. He stumbled back, clutching at his shirt as steam rose from his skin.
You didn't wait to see what came next.
Your bare feet slapped against the floor as you bolted for the door, adrenaline propelling you forward. The rain hit you like a wall when you burst outside, the cold biting into your skin, but you didn't stop. You couldn't.
Behind you, Rome's roar echoed through the night. "You think this is over? You think you can run from me?!"
Your feet pounded against the rain-slicked grass as you sprinted into the night. The storm raged on, lightning illuminating the backyard in brief, blinding flashes. Each time the darkness returned, it felt thicker, heavier, like it was swallowing you whole.
