I’ve begged and I’ve pleaded. Willow almost caved yesterday, I saw it on her face but then Bast came back and slammed the door in my face.
Fuck, I miss her.
I miss seeing her smile, and the way her eyes light upwhen she laughs. I miss watching her dance. I’ve watched videos, hundreds of them over the past few days, but it’s not the same as seeing her body move as the music completely takes her over. I miss her warmth and the way her lips feel on mine.
I send another text, adding to the thread of read and ignored messages and then stare down at the weights I can’t lift since my shoulder is still fucking busted. Not only is my soul in pieces, but my body is also following in its path. I can barely fucking eat; I can’t fucking sleep.
It’s three a.m., the whole city is sleeping around me, darkness pressing against the windows like shadowy claws trying to get through. Dean has spent most days here with me, we don’t talk, he just sits there on his laptop and works. It’s not like I’m remotely pleasant to be around and anyone else would have stopped returning but it’s my brother. We show up for each other and always have.
Pushing up from the bench in the gym, I wander through the dark house, knowing the halls like the back of my hand until I reach my spare room that’s still full of paintings of her. And I sit in there, with the unfinished canvas of her on the easel ahead of me until the sun rises the following morning to start another day without her.
“You’re fucking miserable,” Dean groans, dropping the coffees to the kitchen counter hard enough splashes of it spurt out the small drink hole in the lid.
I grunt and reach for the drink, needing something stronger than damn coffee but knowing at ten a.m., I shouldn’t. I want to be able to drive in case she calls.
“Have you seen her?” I ask him.
“Briefly,” He nods, “She’s just as bad.”
“She’ll be fine,” I say, knowing it to be true.
“She won’t be, Killian.” He shakes his head, “Bast let on that she’s regained a lot over the past week, more than when you were last with her.”
“She remembers?” My hand pauses with the cup halfway to my mouth.
“I don’t know how much,” Dean explains.
Enough to remember her telling me she loved me? Enough for those feelings to root back in? If she remembers and hasn’t contacted me, does that mean it is truly over?
“She’s going home today,” Dean continues, “Sloane will be staying with her but Kill, she looks as bad as you do.”
My heart thumps painfully.
“You’ve got to do something.” Dean meets my eyes, “You were happy, even if we didn’t know why at the time, you were happy and so was she.”
I drop his eyes and stare down at the grains in the wooden counter, “I fucked it up, Dean.”
“Then fix it.” He snaps.
“And how do you figure I do that?”
“I don’t fucking know, just fucking fix it. If I were you, I’d start with Bast and work from there. He’ll block your every move if you don’t, and you’ll never be able to mend what you broke with her.”
I nod, agreeing but I’ve no idea how to even start that conversation.
The door opens and Bast fills the doorway, his thunderous expression clearly showing his feelings about finding me here yet again.
“I’m not here for her,” I say even though I know she isn’t here.
His jaw ticks.
“I fucking love her, Bast.” The words break as I release them, a burn starting behind my eyes.
For a second, his face falters, “I trusted you.”
“I know.” Guilt rolls through me.
“That’s my fucking sister!” He growls, “I wanted to keep her away from this, Killian! From this life! How am I meant to do that if she is with you!?”
