“That’s because the girl you knew died tonight,” I whisper, my voice hollow.
Dane pulls me tighter against him, anchoring my brokenness in something steady.
“I’ve got her,” he says. “I’ll keep you updated.”
My laughter bursts out cracked, jaded, wrong. It sounds evil in my ears.
The girl I used to be is dead.
And what’s left of me? Beautifully broken, deeply fucked up, and maybe just maybe dangerous now.
‘Where does love go when the fire goes out?’
The message echoes through my mind as I sit in the sterile white bathroom, surrounded by gold-framed robins and black marble.
‘Can we ever find our way back? I gave you all of me. Why do you act like I never mattered? Ten years. A fucking decade. And you ended it like it was a line of text you could backspace.’
I don’t remember sending it. But I remember his reply.
“This needs to stop. If you keep harassing me, I’ll take legal action. And nice to know you’re drinking over the grave of our daughter, leaving smoke butts and empties in her garden. Clean yourself up.”
The rage hits me like ice.
“Ha!” I choke out. “Ha-fucking-ha.”
Harassment?
I message my husband, myhusbandand ask himwhy.Why is he fucking someone new? Why has he wrecked our world? Why has he become a stranger? And now I’m the villain?
I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Hair a salty mess, skin pale and kissed with death’s chill. And behind me—him. Dane. Rolled-up sleeves, tattoos like shadows across his skin, and eyes… eyes red and broken.
“Oh fuck,” I whisper. “I fucked up.”
He steps forward, slow and sure, taking my hands and lifting them above my head like surrender.
“No, baby. You didn’t fuck up. You’re just lost. You’re hurting.”
His hands trail down my sides, over goosebumps and the curve of my waist, slipping beneath the wet fabric. With reverence, he peels my shirt away, exposing my lace bra and the skin beneath.
He sees me like really sees me and it scares the shit out of me.
“You’re a drug,” he says, eyes roaming my scars and softness. “Penn, you’re addictive in all the ways that matter.”
My phone buzzes. Another message from Blake.
I see Dane’s expression shift as he grabs it, reading the screen. His body tenses.
“This thing,” he says, holding up the phone like it’s a live grenade. “It’s killing you. That app. That man. Tonight, it’s off. He doesn’t get another piece of you tonight.”
My tears fall soundlessly now. He feels familiar. Like a dream I forgot I had.
“Why?” I whisper.
He doesn’t hesitate, “Why not?”
“Because you don’t even know me. I don’t even know myself anymore. I used to. But then the darkness came and asked me to dance. And I never sat back down.”
His hands graze my collarbone, igniting fire across frozen skin.
