“She was very traumatized and wouldn’t stop screaming. I wasn’t in the building yet, I was still working my way in when I heard the gunshot go off.” He pauses, taking a moment to collect himself. “I heard the conversation before I killed them. She was fighting them tooth and nail. It didn’t matter how much they threatened to kill her, she fought anyways.”
His hands fist, and every muscle I worked hard to relax stiffens again as Zade fights against his own demons. I pinch my eyes shut, berating myself for what I’m about to do. But if I don’t… it would be unforgivable. I would hate myself.
Sighing softly, I sit on my butt and wrap myself around him like a koala on a tree. Legs and arms around his torso and my head resting against his broad back.
He doesn’t move, a stone pillar amongst the wreckage of his mind, just like the ruins in Greece.
“Dying isn’t the worst thing that happened to her. It’s just the worst thing that happened to you and her family,” I whisper. I feel the shift of his head, his eyes peering over his shoulder at me. But I don’t meet his gaze.
“The life she would’ve had to live would’ve been far more painful than where she is now.”
“You think it’s a good thing she died?” he asks, his tone flattening.
“Of course not,” I placate, squeezing him tighter. “Being stolen from her life. Her family and friends. And then being put into an incredibly horrendous and fucked up situation. It’s the worst thing that could’ve happened to her.” My voice breaks on the last few words, and it takes a minute to put myself back together.
“But dying? Dying is not, Zade. She was screaming because she was fighting against the life that she was being forced to endure the only way she knew how. It wasn’t his right to end her life. But he did it anyways, and I… I hope he suffers for it. But after what they did to her, I know that she is more at peace now than she would’ve been alive.”
He stays silent, and I’m not sure if I’ve made him feel worse or better. But I told him what I believe to be true. Sometimes people just aren’t
meant to live through that trauma. A shell of who they could’ve been. Broken and fighting every day not to die.
I think if she had lived, she could’ve learned to be happy again. I think everyone who suffers from internal demons can find that. We're all capable. But sometimes, unseen forces take it out of everyone’s hands, and maybe that just means they were meant to find their happiness in the afterlife instead.
I unwrap myself from Zade and move away. His head drops, and he looks almost disappointed. He stands, and aims for the door, but he doesn’t make it two steps before I’m snatching his hand and tugging him back.
He looks back at me, silent and confused.
“I still hate you,” I mumble, and the lie tastes chalky on my tongue. “But I want you to lay down with me, Zade.”
I peel back the covers, indicating for him to get in. It takes tremendous effort to look away from him as he kicks off his boots and climbs in next to me. He makes it a point to stay on top of the duvet, part of me resenting him a little for that.
I’m nervous. Up until now, every encounter Zade and I have had was forced upon me. And now that I’ve made the decision for him to be here, I don’t know what to do.
“Why were you on my balcony?” I blurt. He chuckles, facing me and urging me to do the same. Stiffly, I roll to my side and try not to faint from the intensity of this man.
“I wanted to watch you,” he confesses. And then he tacks on with dry amusement, “In peace.”
I snort. “So sorry for being so disruptive to your stalking. Next time I’ll strike a couple poses for you.”
I’ll never admit how his answer gives me chills. Both ice cold and fiery hot. He smirks, and it makes me sad that it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“I’d appreciate that,” he murmurs distractedly. His eyes are tracing my curves like they're scripture, and he's a sinner that is searching for proof of a God that he no longer can hear.
“You need space from me while wanting to be close. Sounds like a marriage,” I deadpan.
“It will be.”
It’s instinct to deny that. I still want to and do so in my head. But I don’t give voice to it. Not tonight, I won’t.
So, I swallow the words and let him dream.
We fall into silence, but it’s weighed with sadness, guilt, and anger. He’s swarming in the emotions like a beekeeper holding a nest. I’m getting stung by it, and it’s making my skin burn.
“Kiss me,” I whisper. If it could only ease the burn in both of us. He stills, and my bravery is slipping, so I lean forward and make a move instead.
I capture his lips within my own, relishing over the different type of burn that blooms from our connected lips. He doesn’t hesitate to kiss me back, but it’s slow. While it’s no less intense, it lacks his usual ferocity.
And that’s something I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed until now.