Chapter 4: Drifting into the Void

The rhythm had gone on for two hours, hard, and tiring. He didn't slow down, didn't get tired, and not one single drop of sweat came off him. While her skin was hot and burning up like fire, his body stayed cold and smooth. It left her feeling empty inside, just holding onto the echoes of what he had just done to her body.

When he finally reached his finish, it happened fast and hard. A deep sound ripped right out of his chest, shaking the whole room before he dropped down on top of Jane for a minute. That heavy weight reminded her that even though he felt strange and cold, he was still flesh and blood.

Jane held onto him tight, her fingers digging deep into his shoulder muscles while her chest went up and down fast. She tried to pull enough air into her lungs to stop the room from spinning, feeling her hot body cool down next to his freezing skin. Silence rushed back into the room like a heavy wave—thick and quiet, with no sweet talk or promises to fix the gap between them.

He pulled back, his eyes dark and blank. He stared right through her like his mind was miles away, leaving her with a sharp pain in her chest. She just wanted him to look at her and say something about what they shared, but his face stayed shut tight.

Standing up smooth and easy, he scooped Jane into his arms like she weighed nothing at all. He carried her out of the warm bedroom and into the cold bathroom made of white marble and shiny chrome. He didn't say a single word while he took care of her. He soaked a thick towel in warm water and started wiping the sweat and all the mess off her skin with slow, careful moves. He cleaned her like she was something valuable and delicate, but his touch still felt empty of human warmth.

As she looked up into the big mirror, something made her pause. For a second, she could have sworn the man behind her wasn't the same one staring back at her in the glass. She blinked hard. Everything looked normal again. She shook her head, telling herself she was just tired.

When he was done, he wrapped her up in a silk robe and stood behind her at the big marble mirror, putting his heavy hands on her shoulders so she had no choice but to look at both of them together. His tall, dark body towered over her small frame like a king looking at his prize, while she looked like a shadow fading away behind him.

He dragged a cold finger down her neck, making her gasp out loud, but she didn't pull away. He was showing everybody this was his place, making Jane realize she already handed him the keys to her life. She knew deep down she would probably do it all over again, even with all the scary shadows hiding in the corners of the house.

Once she was clean, he carried her back to the bed where the silk sheets felt like ice. As he pulled her close against his chest, tiredness took over. Jane rested her head on him, listening close to hear if his heart was beating.

There was nothing at all. Just an empty silence where a life should have been knocking.

Her face pressed against his cold skin, and she couldn't help noticing how freezing he still was, even after everything they just did. But she didn't care to fight it anymore.

Lying there in the dark, her eyes drifted around the room. She took a little peek out toward the big living room space. The house looked well furnished and rich, but she hadn't seen the whole building yet since they got there around nine at night and the lights had been dim and quiet.

Her mind started racing as she stared up into the dark. She began wondering: what if he actually takes her serious? What if this wasn't a one-night hookup? She was sick and tired of the Lagos streets. She was bone tired of going from one club to another club every single night, hunting for some rich man who would take her home for the night and kick her out by morning. She wanted a real break. She was hoping, really hoping deep down in her heart, that this weird rich man would keep her around for good.

The thought of how empty he felt should have sent her running straight out the front door, but she was too drained to care about warning signs. She let out a long, shaky breath, pressing her cheek harder against his cold chest, and fell fast asleep within seconds, dropping into a deep, dreamless sleep wrapped in the arms of a man who felt less like a husband and more like a walking mystery.

Jane didn't worry about the dark empty house, or the way the rooms felt like a cold tomb. In that moment of giving up, she was happy to drift away, believing—maybe even lying to herself—that she finally found her place in the world right there in the arms of someone not quite alive, yet making her feel more alive than she had ever been in her whole life.

She tossed slightly in her sleep, chasing the last bits of warmth left in the bed, but the cold from his body kept creeping back in. Outside the window, the wind started howling louder, hitting the glass like someone trying to knock and get inside before morning came. Still, she didn't budge. She pulled the edge of the silk blanket over her shoulder, tucking herself tighter against his chest, completely ready to face whatever came next when the sun finally rose over the quiet, lonely house.

Deep in the middle of the night, the heavy quiet of the house shifted a little. Down in the long hall, the floorboards let out a loud groan under something heavy that was not human. Dark shadows crawled along the walls, turning toward the stairs like they could smell the warm skin sleeping upstairs. Jane moved in her sleep, grumbling against his cold chest before sinking back into the thick, dark fog holding her brain. He didn't blink once, didn't shift a single muscle, just stared wide-eyed straight at the ceiling, waiting for morning to break over the dead place.