That she was it.
But why can’t she see that?
Why won’t she let me take care of her? She’s hurting and I am not there.
“I’m going over there.”
“Malakai, that’s probably not the best idea.” Killian winces.
“Do I look like I give a fuck, Kill?” I bark at him, “I need to see her.”
“It’s late.” He tries. He’s right on that, it’s almost two in the morning but it doesn’t stop me.
I grab the keys to the Maserati and storm to the garage, getting in the driver’s seat. They don’t join me, and they don’t try to stop me as I peel out of the garage and speed down the drive, the gates barely open by the time I’m barreling through them.
My head is only filled with images of her, her smile and her laugh, her body and the way she sounds when she falls apart. I see her sleeping and dreaming, can picture vividly how she looks when she’s playing with me. I see her in that red dress and her wedding dress, how she looks when she watches the stars.
Her name is a prayer I repeat inside my head.
The drive passes in a blur and then I’m pulling into the garage beneath Willow’s apartment building, parking up and crossing the lot to the elevators to take me up to the penthouse. I know the code thanks to Willow, but she only gave it to me for emergencies and made me promise I wouldn’t just show up like I’m doing right now.
It feels like ages pass by the time I reach the very top floor, the doors opening to the foyer of the penthouse. Brightly colored art hangs on the wall and beyond this hall, the lights are off. The sound of my shoe’s echoes on the tile beneath my feet and the hall then opens into a large open plan living room and kitchen space, windows on either side looking out onto the sleeping city below. There’s a lamp on in the living room and from this angle, I can only just see the dark head of hair resting on the couch pillows.
I move toward it, toward that sleeping body, inherently knowing it’s her.
She sleeps soundly, her lashes fluttering against the apples of her cheeks and seeing her soothes something deep within me. It makes the pain in my chest just a little bit more bearable.
She looks a hundred times better than when I last saw her, her skin now brighter, her hair washed and shiny.
A sigh leaves my lips as I slowly and carefully take a seat on the coffee table ahead of her, letting my eyes scan her completely. She’s in a pair of sleep shorts, the blanket she had been using now half on the floor, showing the gauze wrapped around her thigh. The markings on her ankles and wrists have almost faded but I can still see the extensive bruising at the very top and bottom edges of the bandage.
I’d lost my shit when I’d first seen it back in the hospital what feels like weeks ago now when in fact, it’s only been a few days. And logically I knew the bruising was normal considering the trauma but seeing it on her, seeing her beautiful skin marked like that – I wanted to kill Stefan all over again.
Unable to stop the craving, the temptation to touch her, I reach forward, letting my fingers trail over her warm cheek, the whisper of her skin against mine like a song for my soul.
She stirs beneath my touch, moving toward it when I start to bring my hand away. Even in sleep she knows my touch, even in sleep she needs me like I need her. I can’t breathe without her.
My hand remains still, not quite touching as her lashes begin to flutter.
“Olivia,” I rasp her name. There hasn’t been much time since I last saw her, a couple of days at most but fuck it feels longer. I fucking miss her.
She blinks a few times, sleep still clinging to her before those stunning dark eyes land on me.
And then she bolts up and cries out at the same time, her hand going to her leg as pain contorts her face.
“Fuck!” I jump, lunging for her. “What can I do?”
“What are you doing here!?” She screams, one hand cradling her injured thigh, the other trying to push up from the couch to get away.
“I needed to see you,” I follow her, ready to aid her in anyway as she hobbles away, physically trying to put space between us, “I miss you, kitten.”
“Get out!” Tears fall from her eyes, but I don’t know if it’s the pain or if it’s me but seeing her cry rips me apart inside.
“Olivia, please,” I speak through the burn in my throat. “What can I do?”
She shakes her head rapidly, breaths coming in hard,rough pants.
“You want me on my knees, kitten?” My voice shakes, “You want me to beg? I will for you. You want the world? Let me give it to you, but please, I need you. I need you to come home.”
