Page 112 of Grace

I bite the inside of my mouth as my heart explodes into a million shards and the space between us heats up. But shame and anger kick the door in, dragging me back to reality with overwhelming force, because… we’re just pretending. Pretending the past doesn’t exist, that those horrors didn’t happen to us. That we’re just an ordinary couple still tasting each other in those first days after meeting.

But it isn’t true. It’s a lie. We know each other better than anyone. We lived together for five years. We’ve seen everything in each other—the good and the bad. What more do I want after that?

Him. Without pretending.

His hand on my body, his skin against mine, his lips on mine. That’s what I want. I want his touch to vaporize the world around us. I want him to pull me into the depths and blow away every rational reason I can’t be with him. The reason I want him is not because he was my first, in every sense of the word, or because I’m suffering from Stockholm syndrome…

I want Chase to be mine because, over this past week, I’ve realized what I’ve been missing for days, weeks, months, years—why I felt lost whenever I thought about my future, why I couldn’t move on…

I needed something. Or, more precisely, I needed someone. Him.

“Got it. I’ll wait for you outside the door.”

I swallow my disgust and head for the cleanest stall.

I layer toilet paper over the seat, but I still don’t sit—I hover. I’m almost done when the door swings open, letting in the noise from outside, then shuts again, cutting it off. I roll my eyes, annoyed, and flush the soggy heap of toilet paper.

“You told me…” I storm out of the stall, but the words snag in my throat. A tall man in a suit is staring at me without blinking. His pitch-black hair is slicked to the side with gel, and he’s wearing glasses with thick black rims.

He gives me an icy look. His presence coils around my throat like a snake.

I’m not good at noticing things, but I’m pretty sure he wasn’t in the bar when we came in. And where is Chase?

My throat tightens and my heart starts racing. My eyes go wide when Chase steps out of one of the stalls. When and how did he get in?

They’re on each other in a second. The music drowns out the man’s shouting. Chase’s fist meets his face with a sickening crunch, shattering his glasses on the first punch. He grabs the man by the hair and slams his head into the urinal once, twice, three times.

Crack.

The sound of his skull breaking makes my stomach turn.

I watch dark red blood mix with yellow urine, my mouth hanging open, my legs trembling, my heart hammering.

He slams the man’s head into the urinal one last time, and something makes a wet, splintering crack. The sight makes me want to vomit. The sound of bones breaking drags up a memory of hard candy crunching under teeth.

Chase hooks his hands under the arms of the rigid body. The moment he shifts him, an opened vein spurts blood everywhere like a garden hose spraying water. Chase freezes for a beat, lips pressed tight, eyes shut. Blood runs down his face and over his lips in glinting rivulets.

“It didn’t get in your mouth, did it?” I ask, disgust knotting in my throat. He shakes his head and hauls the body into one of the stalls, then sits it on the toilet. He closes the door and steps to me.

“Are you okay?” I don’t answer. He gives me a gentle shake. “Grace.”

“No,” I rasp. An icy chill runs down my spine, and the blood freezes in my veins. My face goes pale, blank. I’m dizzy—like I’m being thrown against the walls of my own mind. My vision blurs and I almost collapse. “They’ve found us,” I whisper, tears in my eyes. He cups my face in both hands, stroking my cheek with his thumb.

“No one can hurt you,” he repeats in a deep voice.

The first tear slides down my face and catches on my slightly parted lips. He pulls my head to his chest and holds me tight.

“No one can hurt you,” he repeats in a deep, resonant voice. “You’re mine, Grace. And I protect what’s mine.”

I sob and bury my face in his neck. A wave of adrenaline surges through my veins so hard you could ride it like a surfboard.

“Why?”

Maybe this isn’t the ideal time or place to talk about it, but I need to hear it. Goddamn it—I want it to be real. I want Chase to step out of the daydreams I’ve been clinging to for four years. To tear through all the stupid arguments I’ve built up against him, to knock down the walls and steal my heart. To show me he wants me outside that dark underground den, too.

“Because when I look at you, I want more. When it comes to you, I always want more. I want your dreams, your future—you. But now we must get out of here,” he says gently.

He brushes my hair out of my face and looks deep into my eyes. I can see the infinite whirlpool of his dark soul—the one that pulled me under when I was fifteen and never let me surface again. My soul isn’t like his. Mine is a field of flowers that smell like balm. Beside him, I can almost believe I’m not defective, not lacking… because he makes me whole. Somehow, his presence feeds mine.