He smiles, softer now. "You're beautiful."
I almost say thank you, but I bite it back, refusing to let him know that his words affect me at all. Instead, I roll away from him and stare at the ceiling.
"You'll never be anything but a monster to me," I say, loud enough that he can't miss it.
He laughs, pulling me against him, spooning me even as I resist.
"That's fine," he says. "I'm your monster."
And I hate that it's true.
I hate that I want him here, wrapped around me, the weight of his arm heavy and warm and safe.
I hate that I don't want to sleep alone.
I lie awake for a long time, listening to his breath even out, memorizing the feel of his body against mine.
I know he'll hurt me again.
But for now, I let myself belong to him, just a little.
Just for tonight.
Chapter Eight
Asher
Iknow I'm dreaming, the same fucking way I always do. But like always, there's not a fucking thing I can do to stop it. I'm back in the car with Brielle's lips locked on mine, her perfect taste on my tongue, a split second before my brain registers that the light in my eyes isn't heaven. It's a garbage truck rumbling through the intersection, heading straight for us.
I shove her away, trying to steer left and slam on the brakes at the same time, trying to save her.
But it's already too late.
We're still going far too goddamn fast.
"Asher!" she screams, terror in her voice as she finally realizes what's happening, why I pushed her away. Her eyes meet mine for one perfect, endless moment—full of confusion and betrayal.
"Brielle," I rasp, trying to tell her that I lied, that she's the only goddamn thing I've ever let into my heart. That I'm so fucking sorry for what I've done.
I don't get a chance before the world shatters.
The garbage truck slams into the side of the car with enough force to snap my head back against the seat. Metal screeches as it twists and crumbles, the sound of a future with her being crushed to nothing.
I watch in sick horror as her entire body flies forward, her head cracking against the windshield. The sound is loud, so goddamn loud. The dash on her side caves in, pieces of metal and hard plastic piercing her body, pinning her in the twisted wreckage. Blood blooms across her white dress, staining her with my sins.
"Brielle!" I shout, panicked, but she can't hear me. Christ. Is she even breathing? Part of my sleeping mind knows she is, but the other part—the biggest part—is back there, reliving the terror. That part doesn't recognize that this is a dream. It only recognizes that she's pinned in the wreckage, bleeding, and limp. That her life is leaking out between the fingers I have pressed to her chest because I couldn't keep her safe.
"Brielle!" I shout again, clawing at the airbag and my seatbelt, desperate to get her out of the car, to keep her breathing. To take it all back.
Christ, she has to keep breathing. I can't be the man who killed the only good thing he ever touched.
Somehow, I stumble from the wreckage. People are screaming, but I don't hear them. I don't hear anything but the frantic beating of my own heart as I stumble around the side of the car to her door, trying to claw it from the fucking hinges with bloody hands that won't ever come clean again.
"Asher!" someone shouts, grabbing my arm, trying to pull me away.
I come up fighting.
It's not conscious. I'm still caught in the nightmare, still trying to save the only life that's ever mattered to me, and someone is trying to stop me. My body simply reacts, pinning the threat beneath me with my hand around its throat and a vicious snarl ripping from my lips.
