Page 241 of Nyx

Nyx

The words spoken last night felt like promises, vows, and at some point between losing my shit in the shop, finding her gone, beating the shit out of Whitmore, and coming back here, my entire world changed.

I don't want to fight what's happening between us, and it's not because I feel like I'm not strong enough. It's because I want what she's offering.

Today.

Tomorrow.

Next week.

A year from now.

Eternity.

I don't care how long we get together; I could never pull myself away from her.

I'll give her what she's asking because in the deepest parts of me, I know it's what I want also.

I'm so fucking tired of giving and giving, putting monsters in their graves and only getting mediocre satisfaction in return.

For the longest time, I didn't feel like I deserved kindness and love. I knew right to the center of me that I was destined to be alone.

But she changed everything.

It doesn't hurt that her piece of shit ex is gone.

Knowing she has the freedom to do whatever she wants in life, yet still chooses me, is a gift I don't think I could ever repay. I will spend every breath trying to offer her as much as she is offering me.

I've been lying here for hours, holding her to my chest, needing to get up but finding it impossible to pull away from her.

Fear that the trauma will fade and that she'll change her mind makes me want to get every ounce of what she has to offer before it does.

It's hard to have faith when I've seen so much destruction in my life, so many people claiming to love others while destroying them at the same time.

The sun has been up for a while, and I know it's getting close to my meeting time, and not wanting to be late is the only thing powerful enough to get me out of bed.

I shift my weight, grinning, something that still feels foreign on my face, when she clings to me a little harder.

"Do you have to go?" she asks sleepily, her eyes still closed.

"I do, but I promise I'll be back," I whisper.

"Ok," she says, her voice still filled with exhaustion. "Love you."

I freeze, staring down at her, wondering if she's just too tired to realize what she said. Does it even count if she said it in a way that seems like she's been saying it to me for years?

"I love you, too," I whisper. "Always."

"I know," she says, a soft smile on her face and eyes still closed.

"Need anything?"

"Coffee when you get back would be great," she says, every word coming out slower as if she's already drifting back to sleep.

I press a soft kiss to her forehead and climb out of bed.

I feel like I'm a million feet tall as I look down at her, wondering if this is what people feel when they win the lottery.