THE MORNING AFTER

Woke up feeling like I’d been dragged through fire. My entire body ached in places I didn’t want to name, my lips were sore, and my wrist... God... my wrist was still glowing faintly in the morning light.

For a long moment, I lay there, staring at it, daring the silver shimmer to fade. But it didn’t. It pulsed in rhythm with my heartbeat, alive, taunting me with the memory of last night.

For a second, I tried to tell myself it wasn’t real. That I had dreamt it up, maybe from exhaustion, maybe from the stress of juggling too many responsibilities. People didn’t just wake up with glowing tattoos from mysterious, rude gods who kissed like sin. Right?

Except my body betrayed me.

The soreness, the heat lingering under my skin, the ghost of his touch, all of it screamed reality. Every shift of my legs reminded me I hadn’t imagined Damian, or the way he had pinned me like he owned me. The way he whispered the thoughts I was too afraid to say out loud.

Damian.

Even thinking his name made my chest clench. He wasn’t supposed to save me. He wasn’t supposed to want me. And yet, last night…

I pressed my face into the pillow and groaned. I hated how much I remembered. The sound of his voice when it dropped low, the press of his lips against my throat, the way his eyes devoured me even as his words cut me down. He had warned me I’d die faster because of him, and yet some traitorous part of me was already wondering when he’d come back.

Pathetic. That’s what I was. Completely pathetic.

Of course, that’s when my phone started blaring.

I didn’t need to check the caller ID. I knew. Only one person had the impeccable timing to call me when I was trying to convince myself not to cry. Mom.

I hesitated, staring at the screen, but ignoring her would only make things worse. So I swiped to answer. “Hey, Mom.”

“Well, look who finally picked up,” she said, her voice sharp enough to cut. In the background I could hear the familiar soundtrack of her house: dishes clattering, kids shouting, a TV blasting a cartoon theme song. “I’ve been calling since seven. Do you even bother checking your phone?”

I closed my eyes, rubbing at my temple. “Good morning to you too.”

“Don’t get smart with me, Nanya. I’m up before sunrise trying to get your siblings out the door and you sound like you just rolled over in bed. Your brother is throwing a fit because he can’t find his sneakers, your sister dumped orange juice all over the table, and I’m two seconds away from losing my mind. But sure, sleep in.”

I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling. Same chaos, different day.

“I wasn’t sleeping,” I muttered.

“Then what were you doing? Because it wasn’t helping, that’s for sure. Do you realize I had to cover the grocery bill last night? Again? You promised me you’d send money. Do you know how humiliating it is to stand in line and realize your daughter flaked? Again?”

Her words stabbed in time with the throbbing pulse in my wrist. If only she knew. If only she knew I had bigger problems than groceries, like the fact that I had apparently become a god’s mistake. But how could I explain that? “Sorry, Mom. I’ll send it today.”

“You said that last week,” she snapped. “Do you want me to keep a list? Because I can.”

My throat tightened. The sound of her voice faded into the background as Damian’s voice overlapped in my mind: The more you want me, the faster you die.

And I hated how my stomach twisted at the memory of his lips on my skin when he said it.

Mom’s voice yanked me back. “Honestly, Nanya, sometimes I wonder what’s going to become of you. You can’t keep avoiding responsibility. You’re not a kid anymore.”

I sat up, clutching the blanket to my chest. “I know, Mom. I said I’ll handle it.”

She let out a sharp sigh. “You always say that. Look, I don’t have time to argue. I need to get the kids to school and somehow make it to work without losing my mind. Just… try not to screw up today, okay?”

“I’ll try,” I whispered.

“Good. Because I can’t carry everyone by myself. You need to get serious about your life.”

Her words hit harder than I wanted to admit. As if I wasn’t already painfully aware that my life was a mess. As if I wasn’t already struggling to keep my head above water.

“Mom, I have to go,” I cut in quickly, my voice cracking more than I wanted. “I’m already running late for work.”

A pause. Then another sigh, softer this time. “Fine. Go. Call me later.” And just like that, she hung up.

I dropped the phone onto the bed and laughed bitterly, though my chest felt tight.

This was my reality. A family that always needed more from me. A boss probably waiting to chew me out for being late again. A life I was barely holding together with duct tape.

And now, layered over all that chaos, was Damian.

The mark on my wrist pulsed again, hot and insistent, like it knew I was thinking about him. My fingers hovered over it, trembling.

I hated him. I wanted him. I wanted to forget last night, but every nerve in my body remembered. His mouth, his hands, his control. The way I gave in when I should have fought harder.

“God, what am I even doing?” I whispered into the silence.

I dragged myself out of bed, stumbling toward the bathroom. My reflection in the mirror didn’t look like me. My hair was a tangled mess, my eyes ringed with shadows, my lips still swollen. And that mark — glowing faintly like a secret tattoo I couldn’t erase — mocked me from my wrist.

I touched it gently, almost reverently. The heat curled low in my stomach, unwelcome but impossible to deny.

No matter how much I wanted to pretend otherwise, last night was real. Damian was real. And he wasn’t done with me. Not by a long shot.

I touched the glowing mark gently, almost reverently. Heat curled low in my stomach, unwelcome but impossible to deny.

No matter how much I wanted to pretend otherwise, last night was real. Damian was real. And he wasn’t done with me. Not by a long shot.

I dropped my hand, forcing myself to breathe. To focus. To remember I still had a job, a life, a million responsibilities waiting to crush me.

But then...

The air shifted.

Soft, subtle, like a shadow brushing against my skin. The hairs on the back of my neck stood straight, my breath catching in my throat. The bathroom suddenly felt too small, too heavy, like someone else was in there with me.

My heart thundered.

“Damian…” I whispered, barely a sound.

No answer. Only silence.

"Damian..." I called again this time, looking around