Chapter 11

— Varek's POV —

The session had barely started when he said

"I know you're not a patient,". "So why are you here?"

Straight to the point.

I tilted my head, let the silence stretch long enough for his jaw to tighten.

"Did you eat this morning?" I asked instead, voice calm, soft even.

His brows furrowed. "What—? That's not—"

"I asked you a question, Nolan."

"That's not your concern."

"It is now."

He sighed, already exhausted. "Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?"

I smiled — just slightly.

"I want you to stop pretending you don't remember me."

He flinched. Just enough for me to notice.

He shifted in his seat, looked away, fingers twitching on his lap. He was lying. Or doubting. Both worked in my favor.

"Were you with that friend of yours last night?" I asked suddenly.

His eyes snapped back to mine.

Zade.

The idiot who hovered around him like a loyal dog. Who dared to keep him company when that space belonged to me. Who dared to make him laugh.

Nolan looked caught, unsure what to say.

"No I—I wasn't," he said finally. "He just… stopped by for a bit."

He was lying again.

But the way his throat bobbed, the sudden stiffness in his posture — that was better than a confession.

He was scared. Maybe not of me. But of the memory. The club. The blood.

Good. Let it haunt you a little.

I leaned forward slowly, hands clasped between my knees. "You know, I was patient with you. I waited. I watched. I gave you space. And yet…"

He blinked, guarded.

"…you still let him touch you."

"I didn't—"

"Didn't you?"

My voice dropped. "You smiled at him."

Nolan went quiet.

And that silence said more than words.

He reached out, maybe to push the conversation away, maybe just for the glass of water on the table. But his fingers slipped. The glass hit the floor with a sharp crack.

Water spilled. He flinched.

I stood, slowly. Walked over. "You need to be more careful," I said, crouching to pick up the pieces. "You're always too careless. With things. With people."

With yourself.

That's when I noticed it — the faint line beneath his sleeve. A flash of pale, ridged skin. Then another.

My hands froze.

He sat there like nothing was wrong. But something inside me twisted so violently I almost couldn't breathe.

Those weren't old. And they weren't shallow.

He had done that to himself.

I straightened. My voice was low. Tight. "What happened to your arm?"

He looked confused. Panicked.

"I—I don't know what you're talking about."

He tugged his sleeve down quickly, but I was already moving. I caught his wrist before he could hide it.

"What is this?" I demanded.

"Let go," he hissed. "You're hurting me."

I loosened my grip, but not by much. "Why would you do that?"

"It's none of your business."

"I've protected you," I said. "Watched over you. Burned for you. And this—this is how you live when I'm not there?"

His eyes widened at that. At the way I said burned.

He struggled. "Let. Go."

I leaned in, voice low enough that only he could hear.

"If you talk like that one more time," I whispered, "I'll kiss you right here. In front of your precious friend waiting outside."

His breath hitched.

He turned toward the door — and just as I expected, Zade was there. Watching. Pretending to check his phone.

I tilted my head. "Then they'll know who I am, Nolan. They'll know you're mine."

He stared at me like I'd gone insane.

Maybe I had.

He looked shaken. Breath unsteady. But more than anything — I saw something else.

Something he tried to hide.

Shame.

Fear.

That made my chest hurt in a way I hadn't expected.

He tried to hide it.

Like I wasn't supposed to see.

The sleeve slipped from his fingers, trembling, desperate to cover those lines carved into his skin. Not one. Not two. Enough that it made my stomach twist.

I didn't speak.

For a second, I couldn't.

Because what kind of guardian… what kind of monster watches someone for years, swears to protect them, and doesn't notice this?

He looked at me like a child who had been caught doing something shameful. But it wasn't shame I felt.

It was failure.

I should've known. I should've seen. I thought I knew every breath he took. Every blink, every moment. And I missed this?

He was hurting himself.

And not once did I stop it.

The pain that flickered in his eyes — I'd never seen that before. Not like this. Not from him.

It made me want to break something.

But I didn't.

For once, I didn't tighten my grip. I didn't lean closer. I didn't whisper the cruel comfort I was so used to.

I let go.

Let the fabric fall back over his wrist.

Let him pull away.

Because this time, he wasn't running from me. He was running from something inside himself — something darker, deeper, and older than I could reach in one breath.

But I would reach it.

I would find that hollow place in him.

And I would never let it swallow him again.