CHAPTER 33

FRIA

FRIA

I found myself in a dark, suffocating room. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of sweat and fear. Yerik was there, his sinister smile stretching across his face, his eyes gleaming with malice.

"You thought you could forget me?" he sneered, stepping closer.

My body felt paralyzed, my legs rooted to the ground. No matter how much I willed myself to move, to run, I couldn't.

"You're nothing without me," he said, his voice low and venomous. "You think you're free now? You'll never be free. You'll always carry me with you."

I tried to scream, but no sound came out. My throat was raw, burning, as if my voice had been stolen from me.

Then he changed. His face twisted into something monstrous, his features warped and unrecognizable, but his eyes—the same cruel eyes—remained. He lunged at me, his hands reaching for my neck, and I woke up gasping for air, drenched in sweat.

The room was dark and silent, but my heart pounded like thunder in my chest. I sat up, clutching the sheets tightly, trying to convince myself it was just a dream. But the weight of his words lingered, heavy and suffocating.

I reached for the glass of water on my nightstand, my hands trembling so much I nearly dropped it. Taking a sip, I closed my eyes, willing myself to calm down. But every time I did, flashes of his face came back.

The guilt I'd buried—the secret I carried—rose to the surface. I'd killed him. I'd ended his life, and yet, he still had power over me, even in death.

I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold myself together. You're strong, Fria. You've survived worse than this.

But tonight, my strength felt like it was slipping away.

I needed fresh air to calm myself, to stop the storm brewing inside me. I stood from my bed, wore my slippers and headed towards the terrace.

I climbed the stairs to the terrace. The air felt cooler, freer, as if the rooftop was a space detached from everything that suffocated me. When I pushed the door open, the faint glow of a cigarette caught my eye. Derin was there, leaning against the railing, his sharp profile illuminated by the soft moonlight.

He looked up as the door creaked, and our eyes met. For a moment, neither of us spoke. There was something about the way his gaze settled on me—steady, unflinching, as if he could see straight through me, I walked towards him.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, his voice low but carrying effortlessly in the quiet.

I hesitated, then sighed. "I was sleeping, but I had a nightmare. About Yerik."

He didn't flinch or look surprised; instead, his expression softened, his brows drawing together slightly. "I see."

"And you?" I asked, stepping closer. "What are you doing up here? Couldn't sleep either?"

He took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled slowly, the smoke curling into the night. "Doesn't feel like sleeping," he replied simply.

I sat down beside him on the cool concrete, the night air wrapping around us.

"Are you okay now?" he asked after a pause, his voice quieter, almost hesitant.

I nodded, brushing a strand of hair away from my face. "Yeah, I'm okay now."

He studied me for a moment, then extended the cigarette toward me. "Do you want to smoke?"

I shook my head quickly. "I don't smoke."

His lips curved into a small, almost teasing smile. "One puff won't hurt. It'll help with the tension."

"I'm fine," I insisted, but his expression was both patient and persistent.

"You can take it," he urged. "Trust me, it'll help."

I hesitated, then reached for the cigarette, my fingers brushing against his as I took it. He shifted closer, watching me carefully.

"Okay," he said, his voice calm. "Inhale slowly, but don't let it hit your throat all at once. Like this." He demonstrated, exhaling a perfect stream of smoke.

I tried to mimic him, but the moment the smoke hit my throat, I choked, coughing violently. Derin laughed—a low, genuine sound that felt warmer than it should have.

I coughed again, waving a hand in front of my face, but I couldn't help but laugh too. "This is terrible," I said between coughs.

"You're terrible at it," he replied, still grinning.

I looked at him, and for a moment, I forgot about the nightmare, about Yerik, about everything. His smile was rare, but it was disarming, like it carried a glimpse of the person he might've been before life hardened him.

"Why do people even like this?" I asked, shaking my head as I handed the cigarette back to him.

"Because it's a distraction," he said, his tone turning serious again. "And sometimes, distractions are all we have."

I didn't respond, but his words lingered in the air between us.

There was a comfortable silence between us, the kind where words weren't necessary. The night air was cool, and the faint hum of the city below created a distant melody. But then, Derin broke the stillness.

"Fria," he said, his voice low but steady, "I wanted to ask you something."

I turned to him, curious. "Mmm, yes?"

He glanced at the glowing tip of his cigarette, then back at me. "Why are you even still in this marriage?"

The question hung in the air like a challenge. Before I could respond, he continued.

"Your father is powerful, Fria. You could tell him, and he'd get you out of this in a snap. Why are you staying in this shitty arrangement?" His tone wasn't accusing, it was laced with genuine confusion and... concern. "I know Evren's my brother, but the way he's treated you—it's not okay. You deserve better."

I sighed deeply, leaning back against the wall, and stared up at the stars. "I know I can get out of this marriage anytime," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "But I don't want to. I've seen what the rivalry between our families did to us... to my father."

He remained silent, waiting for me to continue.

"When I was a kid," I began, my voice trembling slightly, "I saw my father come home bloodied. It wasn't just once—it happened often. One night, I remember so vividly... he was bruised all over, his shirt soaked in blood, and I didn't understand then. When I was 11 years old, he almost died, and still remember that day and it still hurts."

Derin's gaze never left me, his whiskey eyes now filled with something I couldn't quite place—empathy, maybe, or regret.

"I know what it's like to live with that kind of pain, to live without a parent" I continued, my voice breaking slightly. "And I don't want Sera to experience it, losing his father. I don't want her to see the things I've seen or carry the weight I had to carry. This marriage settled the rivalry, and if staying in it means keeping the peace, then I'll bear it. I don't want my father to come home bruised and broken again. I can't."

My throat tightened as the memories flooded back. Tears stung my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Yet, something must've shown in my expression because Derin shifted closer, his presence grounding me.

He hesitated for a moment, then placed a hand on my shoulder—a simple, comforting gesture. "Fria..." he began, his voice softer now.

I turned to him, my eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "It's okay," I said, forcing a weak smile. "I've made my peace with it. This is my choice, and I'm strong enough to handle it."

I looked away, trying to regain my composure, but his hand lingered on my shoulder, steady and reassuring.

"Derin," I said finally, my voice steadier now. "You don't have to worry about me. I'll be fine."

He didn't argue, but his eyes said what his words didn't. I don't believe you.

The silence returned, but this time, it wasn't heavy. It was comforting. For the first time in a long time, I felt like someone truly saw me—not the façade, but the fractured pieces I kept hidden.

I let out a long sigh. Sadness still tugged at me, so I turned to Derin and asked softly, "Do you have more cigarettes?"

He gave me a curious look but didn't hesitate. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a pack, slid a cigarette free, and handed it to me. I placed it between my lips, the cold, unfamiliar sensation strangely grounding.

He leaned in slightly, his lighter flicking to life. The soft glow illuminated his face, his features sharp yet oddly gentle in the night. The flame danced close, and I felt the warmth as he lit the cigarette for me.

"Slowly inhale," he said, his voice low, guiding me like before.

This time, I followed his instructions more carefully, and to my surprise, I didn't cough. The bitter taste was still there, but there was a strange calmness that followed. I exhaled slowly, the smoke curling away into the night, and I could feel some of the tension easing from my body.

I leaned back and smiled faintly, trying to lighten the mood. "You know, if I'd known cigarettes worked like this, I might've taken this along with therapy."

He raised an eyebrow, smirking a little. "Therapy?"

"Yeah," I said, taking another puff and exhaling smoothly. "I went for therapy. It was necessary—otherwise, I don't know what I would've done."

His smirk faded, replaced by a more serious expression. "What do you mean?"

I glanced at him, hesitating for a moment before speaking. "After everything what Yerik did to me, I wasn't in a good place. I was a complete mess, like some serious shit. So, therapy was my only option. I needed to talk to someone, to make sense of everything."

He nodded, his gaze thoughtful. "I get it. Therapy's not easy to face, though. Takes a lot of guts."

I laughed softly, shaking my head. "I didn't have a choice. I was breaking apart, Derin. If I hadn't gone... I don't even want to think about where I'd be now."

His eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, I thought I saw something raw in his expression—something unspoken.

I took another puff of the cigarette, inhaling deeply before exhaling a steady stream of smoke. The nicotine buzzed lightly in my veins, dulling the edge of my emotions, but not enough to stop the words that were tumbling out.

"I mean, yes," I began, my voice trembling, "therapy helped me a lot. After what Yerik did to me, I felt numb and broken inside. It was my first year of college, and I just... I couldn't deal with it. I skipped two months of classes. Told everyone I was sick or something, but really, I just didn't have the courage to face the world. Even though the people hadn't done anything to me."

I looked up at the sky, the stars blurring slightly through the haze of smoke and unshed tears. "I started avoiding people. My friends, my family, everyone at home. I stopped talking, stopped eating properly. I didn't even recognize myself anymore."

I paused, my voice faltering. "I even..." I swallowed hard, my throat tightening. "I even tried to end my own life. Once. I was so close. But I don't know what stopped me. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was some small, broken part of me that still wanted to fight. I don't know."

Derin's eyes widened slightly, his expression darkening with a mix of shock and something else—concern, perhaps. He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off, my voice trembling yet firm.

"And then, finally, I decided to go for therapy," I said, my gaze fixed on the ground. "At first, I was so hesitant. I couldn't confess anything to my therapist. I just sat there in silence during the sessions. But eventually, I broke down. I told her everything. And it helped—a lot. Slowly, I started to feel like myself again. Not completely, but enough to survive."

I blinked, realizing tears had started to roll down my cheeks. I quickly wiped them away, but Derin saw. "You don't have to keep going if you're not comfortable," he said softly.

I shook my head, taking another drag from the cigarette. The smoke filled my lungs, grounding me, as I exhaled slowly. "No," I said, my voice steadier now. "I want to tell someone. I need to tell someone. This thing has been eating me alive, and I can't carry it alone anymore. I was broken, Derin. Completely shattered. And I didn't know how to put myself back together."

I paused, my voice dropping to a whisper. "I had nightmares before, but I haven't had one in so long. And then tonight..." I trailed off, shaking my head. "It felt like I was right back there again. Trapped. Helpless."

The tears came again, and I let them fall this time, my shoulders trembling. Derin moved closer, his expression unreadable, but his presence alone was enough to anchor me.

He didn't say anything, and I didn't need him to. The silence between us spoke volumes. The weight of my confession hung in the air, but for the first time, it didn't feel suffocating.

Derin's voice was steady as he said, "You're the strongest woman I've ever seen, Fria. To go through everything you did and still find a way to stand tall... that's something not everyone can do."

I took another puff of the cigarette, letting his words sink in. For a moment, I felt a flicker of pride amidst all the pain.

He continued, his tone softer now, "You don't give yourself enough credit. You've been through hell, and you're still here. That says something about who you are—resilient, determined, and, honestly, incredible."

I wiped my tears, his words wrapping around me like a comforting blanket. The cigarette between my fingers burned to its end, and I flicked the stub into the ground.

"Give me another one," I said, looking at him expectantly.

He raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Progress and impatience," he teased. "But no, that's enough for one time."

"Come on," I insisted, my tone playful but firm.

He shook his head, crossing his arms. "You're so stubborn, Fria."

"And I want it," I shot back, reaching for the pack in his hand.

Before he could react, I snatched it from him, pulling out a cigarette. His expression was a mix of amusement and exasperation as he leaned back, watching me.

"I won't light it for you," he said with a shrug.

I held the cigarette between my fingers, pretending to pout. "Please?" I asked, dragging the word out for effect.

He rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the grin forming on his lips. "You're impossible," he muttered, pulling out his lighter. Leaning forward, he lit the cigarette for me, his hand brushing mine briefly as he did.

"Thanks," I said, inhaling carefully and managing to avoid coughing this time.

"Don't get used to this," he said, leaning back against the wall, but his tone was more teasing than serious.

"I already am," I replied with a smirk, exhaling the smoke into the cool night air.

He chuckled softly, his gaze still fixed on me. "You're really something, Fria," he said, shaking his head slightly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.

"It means you're stubborn, sarcastic, and you can be really unpredictable sometimes," he said, his voice calm.

I blinked, caught off guard by his honesty. "I'm not unpredictable," I argued weakly, though even I didn't believe my own words.

He smirked, leaning a little closer. "You're getting unpredictable right now," he teased, his voice low and steady, the kind that made my stomach flutter.

"Am not," I shot back, crossing my arms defensively.

"Am too," he replied, his smirk widening.

I rolled my eyes, trying to fight the heat creeping up my cheeks again. "Fine, maybe a little," I admitted reluctantly, earning a quiet laugh from him.

"That's progress," he said, his tone softer now, almost gentle. "But seriously, Fria. If you're going to be in this house, you don't have to do it alone. You could always use me... as a friend."

I opened my mouth to respond, but his words caught me off guard again, and I hesitated. Friend?

"No," I blurted out, a little too quickly. He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by my abrupt rejection.

"No?" he repeated, amusement lacing his voice.

"I mean..." I fumbled, trying to find the right words. "Who knows? What if I joke around with you, and you take it the wrong way? Next thing I know, you're pointing a gun at me. It's terrifying."

His amused expression shifted slightly, his whiskey eyes softening. "I would rather die than point a gun at you," he said, his voice so quiet it almost felt like a confession.

The sincerity in his tone made my heart skip a beat, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. The way he looked at me—steady, unwavering—felt like he was peeling back every layer I tried so hard to keep intact.

I swallowed hard, desperate to break the intensity of the moment. "Umm, okay," I stammered, forcing a nervous laugh. "I'll... make sure not to joke too much around you, then."

I tried to divert the topic by offering him my cigarette, and to my surprise, he took it from my hand without hesitation. He brought it to his lips, taking a slow, deliberate puff before handing it back to me.

As he did, I felt a strange flutter in my stomach—those damn butterflies again. I quickly looked away, hoping he wouldn't notice the heat that crept up my cheeks again. My face felt like it was on fire, and I cursed inwardly. Fuck, what is this happening to me? We were just sharing a cigarette, but it felt... different.

He noticed the slight flush, though, and a knowing glint flashed in his whiskey-colored eyes. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "What? You're not used to sharing, Fria?" he teased lightly, his voice low and steady.

I shook my head, trying to regain some composure. "No, it's not that. I'm fine," I muttered, but my heart was pounding in my chest.

And for fuck sake I was wet.

He leaned back, looking at me with an intensity that made my breath hitch. "You sure about that?" His eyes searched mine, and I couldn't look away.

I quickly took another puff from the cigarette, focusing on the familiar act to calm my nerves, but the fluttering in my stomach didn't stop. It was like my whole body was reacting to him in ways I couldn't explain.

"Yeah," I replied, voice a little shakier than I intended. "I'm fine."

But even as I said the words, I wasn't sure anymore. The way he looked at me, the way his presence made my pulse race—it was all so much more than I was prepared for.