She makes for the door and then stops.My mind flashes back to that first night we met in the Whisper Club.It was me leaving then, now it’s her.This way around is so much worse.
And just like I did, she returns, pulling me into her arms and plunging her lips onto mine.
She kisses me hard and soft, her hands skimming every inch of skin as if she’s memorising me.As if she’s touching every piece of me before she can’t anymore.Her tongue weaves its way into my mouth, caressing, stroking, ravishing.She moans into the kiss.And I hate her in this moment.I hate her because as my legs weaken, she steals pieces of me: my heart, my soul, my love.And in its place, she leaves an indescribable agony.It cracks and splinters, sinking into the fibres of my body.
This is the last kiss.
The last touch.
The last embrace.
I never wanted this.But I got it anyway.
I kiss her back, hard.Angry now.Pissed.My fingers claw at her scalp, needing more of her, tugging her closer.Wishing I could peel our bodies apart and stitch us together as one.
We kiss for long enough my lips tingle and swell.I refuse to let go.But it doesn’t matter.Last time I pulled away.This time it’s her.
It’s over too quick.I need more.
But she’s by the door.She pauses, her back to me.Her head tilts as if she wants to say something.
She doesn’t.
The door clicks shut, and I am alone, one long, wet streak running down my cheek.
Chapter17
Dahlia
TWO WEEKS LATER
Ismack the body bag.
Jab.
Jab.Jab.
Left.Right.Hook.
Right upper cut.Left upper cut.
Sweat pools at the back of my neck and spills down my spine.I throw weights around the gym.Train harder.Push.Push.Push.
And at night, I drink.Drink.Drink.That has been my routine for two weeks.Just like normal.
Because everythingisnormal.Nothing has changed, save the small scar I now wear on my chest.I am fine.
Gabriel sidles into the gym in the basement of the Hunter Academy.I should stop calling it that, it’s the unified army now but old habits die hard.He leans against one of the machines, book open, eyes darting over the page.But I can tell he’s pretending to read.He follows me as I trail from weights to body bag to floor work.
“Spit it out, Gabriel,” I say after this charade continues for another twenty minutes.I finish up a set of V-sits and stride over to him.
“It’s been two weeks,” he says, finally sliding the book into his suit pocket and stopping the façade.He looks incredibly smart today, a pressed red suit with an ornate black filigree design on the cuffs and collars.
“Right?”I say, waiting for him to get to the point.
“And on the face of it, you seem perfectly acceptable.”He wafts a hand around, gesturing as he walks through the gym, lifting items with his thumb and index finger, his nose crinkling before he drops them again.
“I am fine,” I say, leaning over a weight bench to do some dumbbell rows.
