“Would you?” she whispered, barely audible.
I should’ve answered. Maybe I wanted to. But instead, I stepped forward.
One step too far.
My hand slipped from hers, and the cliff slipped from beneath her.
And she fell.
The ocean opened its mouth, and she hit the water hard.
Waves swallowed her. Dragged her under. Pulled her deeper and deeper until her thrashing arms looked almost like a dance beneath the surface.
A growl tore out of me, a low, primal sound that rose into a scream. My head tilted left, then right. The laugh came next, the same one that always spilled out after a death. But this time, I would not let her slip away. I would not let her die.
I dove in after her. The world rushed past as I held my breath in the air. Then my body slammed into the water, the cold slicing through me. Bubbles raced up my skin as I kicked toward the surface and burst through, gasping.
I spun around, scanning the dark water, and when I saw her, I swam toward her with everything I had.
This was the open sea. We had to reach the cliffs fast, or the cold alone could kill us, and if not the cold, then whatever hunted these waters at night.
She coughed hard, choking up seawater, her eyes barely open.
And together, we pushed through the waves until we saw the cliffs.
I forced her up the rock first, hands burning as I shoved her upward, then climbed after her.
She gripped her arms, shivering. I could see now clearly every bruise she had. I should have asked what happened to her. I should have cared. Instead, I grabbed her and pulled her close.
“Let me go,” she screamed, her voice cracking, eyes brimming.
“Not that easy,” I said. “I own you, remember?”
She went still under my hands. For a heartbeat, she froze like she had turned to stone. Then something inside her broke free.
Her hand shot up and slammed into my chest, harder than before. Her tears still shone, but now her eyes burned.
“You don’t own me,” she hissed.
The words cracked like a whip.
I didn’t move, just laughed.
“You hear me?” Her voice rose, trembling but sharp enough to cut. “You don’t own me. You never did. You’re just a man. A small man who thinks he can carve people into the shapes he wants.”
Something cold slid through my rib.
She wasn’t done.
“You chase, you taunt, you pretend you’re in control…” She laughed, bitter and breathless. “But you’re nothing more than a boy who wants things he can’t have.”
My jaw tightened.
Her gaze flicked down to the hand I still had on her arm. She yanked it free and shoved me back.
“Is that what burns you the most?” she whispered. “That no matter how loud you scream, how much blood you spill, or how deep you dive after me… You still can’t make me yours?”
She leaned in close, close enough that I felt her breath on my lips.
