The only thing that saves her from a broken neck is the sound she makes—half gasp, half whimper—and the sick certainty that I know that voice.
I snap back to reality just before I cut off her air supply completely.
There's a heartbeat where neither of us moves. The sheets are twisted between us, drenched with sweat. My hand is still locked around her throat, my thumb pressed to her thundering pulse.
"Let go," she rasps, but there's no fear in her voice. Only shock.
I snap my hand away like she's molten and roll off her, sprawling on my back, trying to breathe. The ceiling is a dull white smear above me. My chest is on fire, my arms shaking.
"I'm sorry," I say, choking on words I've never said.
Christ. Why can't I forget that fucking accident? Why do I have to relive the sound of her scream and the sight of her bloody, battered body every goddamn night? It's what I deserve for what I did, I know that, but that doesn't make it any easier to live with.
She flicks on the light and sits up, dragging the sheet with her, as if it can protect her from the rawness I just unleashed in the room. Her hair is a tangled halo. Her neck is already markedwhere I grabbed her, a bloom of angry red fingerprints on her pale skin.
It's ironic, really. I left marks all over her body earlier, pressing my worship into her skin in bruises and bites so she never forgets I was there. But the sight of these and everything they signify, makes me sick to my stomach.
"You were having a nightmare," she says, watching me.
I scrub my hands over my face, trying to scrub the images from my mind. I don't want to talk about it. I never want to talk. But she just keeps staring at me, all that fire and curiosity and stubborn hope just patiently waiting for me to explain.
"I didn't mean to hurt you," I say, which is the only truth that really matters.
"You didn't. You just scared the shit out of me."
"Yeah, I did. You're already bruising, Brielle."
"I'm fine," she growls.
I tug at my hair like that'll erase the nightmare or the memory of her pinned beneath me. It doesn't.
"What was the dream about?" she asks. "Your parents?"
I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak. It's been years since I last dreamed about finding my parents. Years since that fucked-up day haunted my mind.
She doesn't let it go. "You don't have to tell me. I just want to know if this is normal. Do you have nightmares and wake up wanting to kill people most nights?"
The silence stretches between us. I want to lie, to brush off the nightmare like it was nothing. But I've never been good at lying to her, not when she's this close.
"Every night," I say. My voice cracks. "I have nightmares every goddamn night since I almost killed you."
There it is, the truth. I want to swallow it back, pretend it doesn't matter. But she's already blinking, her mouth open like she's just now realizing I'm human.
She tries to touch me, reaching out across the wreckage of the bed, but I recoil. The last thing I want is her pity, or worse, her forgiveness. I don't deserve either. I never have. Isn't that the fucking problem? I'll never deserve her, not after I almost killed her. All I'll ever have of her is what I take by force, the spaces I carve out in her soul against her will. Ineedher to hate me. It's the only thing that'll keep her safe. But I fucking regret every second of it anyway.
"Don't," I warn, the word coming out harsher than I mean. "Just…don't."
She hesitates, then pulls her hand back.
I sit up, my head pounding. My whole body itches, like my skin is too tight. I want a drink. I want a cigarette, even though I haven't smoked since my uncle put me through detox at nineteen. Mostly, I want to be somewhere Brielle can't see me like this.
"I'll sleep in the guest room," I say, standing.
She watches me, silent. Her eyes are greener than usual in the lamplight, bottomless. "Asher," she says, quietly, "it's okay."
I laugh, a short, bitter sound. "I almost killed you," I say. The words come out as a whisper, barely there. "You stopped breathing for three entire minutes in my arms. They had to stitch you back together just to save your life. That doesn't go away just because you say it's okay, Brielle."
She wants to argue, I can see it. But I won't let her.
