I can’t let her go after that kiss. That kiss made me realize so many things, but the one that matters the most is that she’smine. Even if it means that she only belongs tohalfof me. Even if it means that she loathes the man who belongs to the mask.
I had to wrap up a few loose ends today. Now I’m here, standing outside her door. I knock once. The door opens shortly after. A shocked expression flashes across her face for only a second before realization sinks in.
“Riven. Hi. You came,” she says, looking away from me. She brings her right hand up to fidget with her earring.
“Of course I did,” I say back, taking a moment to look her over. She’s wearing an oversized black band tee that comes downto mid-thigh. I try not to imagine what is,or isn’t, underneath it. Her hair is up in a high ponytail with a couple of loose strands framing either side of her face. There’s an interesting shade of pink dusting her freckles, and her eyes are alight with a dangerous sort of desire. It’s gone within seconds, replaced by uncertainty and unease. She shies away from my gaze, staring at the ground near her feet. It takes every ounce of restraint I have not to reach out, lift her chin, and bring those beautiful eyes back to me.
“Come in,” she chimes. She turns around and walks to her sofa, sitting down cross-legged in one of the corners. I follow behind her, taking a seat on the other end of the sofa. I’m not sure what boundaries exist between us after what I’ve done. I notice the mostly empty glass of wine sitting on the end table next to her, and I wonder how much she’s already had. Her mood shifts as if suddenly remembering my recent transgressions. She turns toward me, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Start explaining,” she snaps. Ah, that attitude that I’ve grown so fond of has returned. Perhaps it’s enhanced by a little liquid courage, too.
“That text was out of line. I should have talked to you in person.” I pause, gauging her reaction. She bites her lower lip, reaching over to grab the glass of wine. She takes a sip, running her tongue over her bottom lip where some of the red liquid dribbles over it. I wish that it were my tongue, instead. She brings her gaze back to me, pinning me with that death stare again.
“So, you came all this way to tell me that you should have ended things inperson?” The green in her eyes morphs into a darker shade to match her mood. I let her keep the attitude. I deserve it,andI happen to find it sexy as hell.
“Shit, no.” I run my hands through my hair. “I didn’t mean … Look, I shouldn’t have said it at all. I was pushing you away.”
“Mhm,” she says, still sporting a death stare with her arms crossed firmly across her chest.
“Go on,” she says. She’s gonna make me work for it, then.
“I tend to run from things. But more than that, I tend to ruin them, to burn them, todestroythem.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Wow. That was a bit dark and cryptic, don’t you think?” She smirks, but her posture relaxes just enough to let me know she’s warming up to my apology. Then she laughs,reallylaughs. I instantly want to hear it again.
“Riven, if you’re afraid to hurt me, just say that.” Straight to the point, then.
“I was.I am.I’m … afraid that if I pull you into the darkness, you’ll suffocate.”
The darkness in her eyes shifts to a more vibrant color as they lock onto mine. An emotion that I can’t quite place flicks across her gaze before she stands and walks away from me, and toward her kitchen island. Her ponytail swings as she walks, and I fight the urge to run after her and grab it. She picks up the wine bottle that’s sitting on top of the kitchen island next to a corkscrew and comes back over to the sofa. She plops down, uncorks the bottle, and drinks straight from the tap for several seconds too long. I’m about to grab it from her when she finally stops and sets it on the end table. She wipes her mouth and continues talking like it never happened.
“How about you let me make the decisions on what’s best for me from here on out,” she declares. Bossy Sloane is back. I like it.
“Of course,” I say, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.
“And anyway, how do you know that I don’t enjoy the darkness?” she says back, playfully.
No, no, no. Turn around. Do not fall into this trap. Instead of heeding the warning from my inner voice, I decide to jump right into it.
“Hmm, aren’t you afraid of what you might find in the dark?”
She twirls her ponytail in her fingers, tilting her head. “I’ve never been afraid of such things. I tend to like them.”
“What if I’m the monster in this story?”
“You’re not,” she says it with such certainty.
“How can you be so sure, Sloane?” I push.
“Are you trying to scare me off again?” She pins me with those beautiful eyes.
“I’m trying to make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” she says, tilting her chin up to hold her ground.
“You should be,” I grumble.
“Well, I’m not. So stop it.” She reaches over and slaps my thigh.
