WRATH

I barged into room 326, my back colliding into the closed door as I tried to reign in my Sin. I let out a pained groan when my wings began to pierce through my skin, panic thumping through me.

I couldn't lose control, not without Patience.

"Damn it," I muttered beneath my breath.

I needed her more than she needed me, and that was the only thought I needed to send me over the edge. A strangled roar battled through my chest as I fell to the floor, a throb spreading through my knees at the impact. And then the strength of my Sin began to ebb. My rage began to ease, and just like that my wings slipped back under my skin, moments away from tearing through my shirt.

She was here. And she was close.

I could feel her. I could feel the stillness that followed in her steps, and the peace that she brought with her presence. Shakily, I stood back up, resting my weight against the wall as her Virtue contained my Sin. I hated her for the control she had—over herself and over me.

The walls of the room were painted in a wash of grey, and everything else in the room seemed to blend in with the shade. The bed creaked beneath me as if on its final hinges and the mattress was sunken and stained. Blowing a series of sharp breaths out, I turned to the suitcase the creature had promised I'd find in my room. The suitcase opened easily beneath my fingertips—and then I stared.

I was expecting black. Black shirts, black trousers, black shoes. Black. The only shade I wore.

Instead, I was faced with hues of red and white.

I quickly realised whose luggage it was from the way the clothes were so neatly and carefully folded up. And the colours. The starkness of the white against the blood of the reds. It had Patience written all over it. Curious, I shifted through the delicate fabrics until something red and lacy became tangled in my fingers.

"Fuck me," I growled.

Images of her wearing the piece shifted through my mind. Images of her smooth, bare skin beneath me as I—

My Sin flared up against my ribs.

Suddenly, the fabric was snatched from my fist. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" she asked, her cheeks flushed. Shocked at her splinter of emotion, I watched as her pupils dilated.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" I challenged, reaching down into her suitcase once more.

Patience's eyes widened at the velvet encased black diary in my grip.

"Wait," she pleaded. "Wrath—"

I pried the crisp folds of the diary open. The ink was neat, the handwriting even neater; there wasn't a single letter out of line.

It was him. It had always been him. He'd been my hate, my anger, my distaste—and he would never have more to offer. So I no longer wanted it. I no longer wanted him.

Patience ripped the pages violently from my grip. She clutched the diary to herself, her chest rising and falling. The softness of her hair fell over her cheeks and she hastily brushed the strands away.

"You have no right," she breathed, backing away.

My fingers curled in on themselves as she continued.

"Don't ever go through my stuff—"

My hands moved of their own accord, gripping the sides of her waist as I tugged her roughly into my lap. Her warmth spread through my skin; her pulse raced just below my lips, her sweet scent radiating off her neck.

There was something addictive about her—something I wanted to mark, something I wanted to ruin.

"There's no getting rid of me, Patience," I growled. She shivered against me. "But you're welcome to try." I plucked the diary out of her hands and she froze against me, rigid in her soft curves.

PATIENCE

He smirked mockingly, his eyes crinkling at the edges with dark amusement. "You keep a diary about me?" he scoffed. "How sweet of you."

Ice cold patience battled with the growing rampage in my blood. I tilted my face up to meet his glare, my hands solid on his chest. "Sweet of me?" I said slowly, my voice calm and collected. "Did you even get a chance to have a read of my diary, Wrath? Or did I interrupt before you could get to the good bits?"

Only I knew the atrocities I had scrawled into my diary. Times when I had felt my hold on myself weaken—times when his Sin had threatened to corrupt my Virtue—I had let everything come loose on those pages. I had allowed my hate, my desire, my rage, and my need to illustrate those plain pages in the darkest shade of ink.

But Wrath didn't know that.

He didn't know that there had been a time when I had craved him. When all I'd wanted was for him to treat me as his equal. How could he? Wrath and I weren't equals. I was greater. In my weakness for him and in my need for him, I was greater.

"Did you?" I asked him again.

His face hardened, the blood-red of his gaze turning murky. "No," he said, the word rough against his lips. I gasped softly when he leaned suddenly into me. His Sin scorched through my clothes, burning my skin as he wound his arm tighter around my waist. "Would you like me to?"

My dairy was long forgotten next to him. I could snatch it up and run—but something told me I wouldn't get very far. 

"Huh?"

His voice lowered. "Read it. Would you like me to?"

His scent invaded my senses, heady and dark. I held onto his shoulders as if I was holding on for dear life, my breath hitching in my throat.

"No," I grit out from behind my teeth.

Wrath's lazy grin widened at my response. He dragged a long finger down my cheek. "So the bitch does get angry."

I let my eyes fall shut for a second and forced my pulse to stop racing. When I opened them again, I found Wrath watching me carefully.

With the same control and calmness that was akin to my Virtue, I climbed out of his lap and reached for my diary. "If you ever manage to get a reaction out of me, Wrath," I let my stare crash into his, "it will be the last thing you ever do."

"Get out," he snarled.

"Gladly," I said.

The door clicked shut softly behind me.

WRATH

So I no longer wanted it. I no longer wanted him.

The words echoed around in my head—and before I knew it, I'd shoved a fist through my room's wall.

•••

New year, new chapter!! Happy New Year everyone—here's to a better year than 2021 <3

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Love,
Laila