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My fingertips prickled with numbness as my lungs burned as another climax hurtled over me, splitting me into a thousand pieces.
Through the cacophony of my racing heartbeat and our mutual panting, I heard Karson’s muffled growl of release.
For the first time in months, I did not feel empty.
Karson was sleeping.
We’d eventually made it to the bedroom, after showering together, the water pale pink as the blood washed off.
There were no words spoken. Karson was still not completely back to himself, something cold and empty danced in his eyes.
I was glad about that. There was no way I could’ve handled the more familiar version of him. The one who spoke poetry, who smirked at me, who treasured me.
That was why I’d pushed him away.
But this man... This true villain without morals or nobility, this killing machine. Yes, I could breathe in his presence.
So I’d gone to bed with him. Waited for him to fall asleep. It happened quickly. Adrenaline comedown, I guessed. I doubted he slept much these days. I knew I didn’t.
Despite how tempting it was to stay there with him, to give in to the old feelings cropping up, I knew the stark light of day would bring things I wasn’t prepared for.
The predator inside of Karson would be gone, and my demons would be everywhere.
I slipped out from under his arm, holding my breath as he moved. Karson was hyperaware, even in his sleep. Whenever I got up to pee in the night, he’d be wide awake, asking me if everything was okay.
Sleep held him too tightly this time. I was grateful for that. I was not strong enough to fight him if he woke.
My clothes were ruined. In scraps on the porch and inside the front door. My intention was to grab a shirt of Karson’s, but there was no need. My clothes were all there. Crammed in on the hangers as they had been the day I left.
Even the robe I was wearing that morning was slung over a chair, untouched.
Karson hadn’t moved a thing. He was expecting me to come back.
I shivered, snatching the first piece of clothing I could find.
It smelled of lemons and him.
A voice told me to stay.
To crawl back into bed with him and face the sunrise with him.
To repair us. Not let this horrible thing corrupt every corner of my life. Every last piece of my happiness.
It was familiar, that voice.
It was the same one that told me to go on yachts in the middle of the night, fly to untouched corners of the world with people I’d just met, the voice that told me to break into Karson’s house that first night.
It was the voice of the Wren I used to be.
But I wasn’t her anymore.
To be with him, he would have to become my crutch. I would’ve leant on him so fucking heavily, because he wouldn’t walk beside me while I hobbled. That wasn’t in his nature. I would’ve sucked all the life out of him like a fucking succubus.
And it would’ve poisoned us.
If a relationship exists where one person is literally keeping the other sane, sober or alive, eventually it turns toxic.
It would take Karson longer to resent me. Then much, much longer to hate me. Maybe it wouldn’t happen until his deathbed, maybe it would only be for the few seconds, right at the end when his entire life flashed before his eyes and he saw everything clearly. Saw me for what I was.
