Emptiness. I woke up to it. The bed was cold, the sheets whispering of the weight he left behind, now gone. Silence smothered the room, heavy and suffocating, a static charge humming just beneath the surface. My breath hitched, caught somewhere between my throat and lungs, as my eyes swept the dim space. Shadows pooled in the corners, dark and watchful, as though holding fragments of his lingering presence.
He wasn’t here, but he never truly left. His absence carved itself into the walls, the air thick with the memory of him- always watching. The thought wracked and grappled my spine pulling me to attention as I sit up looking over the sheets- my bed. The place where my head was supposed to rest in peace, but it reeked of him. And in the very place I was meant to feel safest- my skin prickles. As though he was still here-
He most likely is, somewhere- out my window or in the shadows of the room. My hands clenched the sheets, twisting them into knots as if I could anchor myself against the storm brewing within me. It was awful- clawing at me.
The room felt hollow, like a shell abandoned by the sea, still ringing with the echo of him. I was unravelling ropes frayed, threads snapping. I clung to the last fibres of control, but they slid through my fingers, slipping, slipping.
His presence, though unseen, still stained the air, a reminder- everything he took from me. My skin burned where his hands had been, the ghost of his touch still alive against my flesh. It wasn’t just a memory—it was a mark, an invisible brand that tied me to him in ways I couldn’t escape.
I hated him. I hated the way his breath brushed my neck, setting fire to me. How my nerves reacted- spreading chills from his caress across my skin- prickling it like some kind of rash. How his exhale stirred shivers- My body betrayed me to him. Responding when my mind screamed resistance. It wasn’t just a violation of space—it was an invasion of self. He’d hollowed me out.
My hands drew over the sheets once more, itching to destroy them. To match the destruction, he left behind. I grabbed the bedside lamp, yanking it from the wall with a savage jerk. But catching it just before it falls, throttling it between my fingers refusing to let is shatter on the floor. He was watching- and I didn’t want him to see it. See the impact he had on me- and so instead of letting fragments of glass spread on the floor I pushed it back into place. Just as I had with everything in my life.
Back into place. Into position. Although it would be fitting- It would be right. Broken things for a broken person.
My chest heaved, I wasn’t always like this my breath shallow and erratic. Each inhale dragged against my lungs, heavy with anger, with despair. I wanted to scream, to tear the air apart with my voice, but I couldn’t. He was here to hear it. And I couldn’t bear that. No, he was in the walls, the air, the shadows. He was in me.
My nails scraped over my skin, desperate to scrub him away, to peel back the layers of memory he’d left behind. But no matter how hard I pressed, how sharp the scrape, it wasn’t enough. He was there, tangled in my veins, woven into the fabric of who I was.
And the worst part? A piece of me craved it. Craved him. Even through the ire, through every jagged edge of disgust, I wanted the way he unravelled me, the way he tore me apart. It was a twisted longing, a sick need for the way he consumed everything—my control, my life, my companions and trust, my sense of self- leaving nothing untouched.
He was a storm, building and relentless, his weight pressing down on me like thunderclouds about to burst. Every time he came near. His eyes—sharp, unrelenting hunters—pinned me down, stripped me bare, and I couldn’t escape. I didn’t want to escape.
The air thickened. He’d etched himself into my world. He was the solvent, dissolving the boundaries I’d fought so hard to create, leaving behind a fractured, distorted version of who I was. The pieces didn’t fit anymore, shattered and scattered across a life that was entirely mine and broken. A confused mess from the elegance I’d crafted, although somehow, he was a part of it.
And in his absence, I wasn’t alone. I could feel him—, unseen but undeniable. The shadows shifted, moving when I wasn’t looking. The room felt alive with him, alive with his silence, his presence stretching through every corner like a sickness I couldn’t purge.
I hated him. God, I hated him. And wished him dead, but even now, with the night pressing in and the emptiness devouring me, the truth was undeniable. He’d stolen the air from my lungs, the strength from my bones, and replaced it with himself.
And I’d let him.
I clenched the sheets tighter, feeling the tremor in my hands, the thundering pulse in my ears. My body was a traitor, trembling not just with fear but with want.
I was already undone.
And he was the one pulling the threads.
51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1BxYaCRRlb
-o- -o- -o- -o- -o-
Hello! Welcome to A Taste Of Sunshine!
Hope you enjoyed the prologue to A Taste Of Sunshine, this book has been a work in progress for a long, long while and I hope you enjoyed the very first part of my book. There is SO much more to come.
I'm currently planning on posting 3 parts per week so save my story and keep up to date.
I really appreciate you supporting and reading this far, for my first book posted online.
-Mianto =)
-o- -o- -o- -o- -o-
51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdQGj6pmdWH
51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlC1sDmEM88
