I reach up and touch the scar hidden beneath my hairline—the permanent reminder of that night.
"I should have saved him," I whisper. "I should have been the one who died. He was good, Eve. Pure in a way I never was. And I killed him."
"It was an accident," she says softly.
"Was it?" I meet her gaze. "I was the one who suggested we take his father's car. I was the one who dared him to go faster.I was seventeen and stupid and reckless, and your brother paid the price for my arrogance."
Tears spill down her cheeks, silent and devastating. I cup her face gently, wiping away her tears with my thumbs.
"I know my methods are extreme," I murmur. "I know I've hurt you, controlled you, stripped away your freedom. But Eve, I don't know any other way to protect you. Losing you would be like losing him all over again, and I can't—I won't survive that."
She closes her eyes, more tears escaping. "You're breaking me."
"I know," I whisper. "I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry."
We sit there in the cold, two broken people clinging to memories.
And for the first time since I found her again, I let her see the monster's scars.
***
She doesn't come to my room that night. I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if I've finally pushed her too far. If my moment of vulnerability was actually the thing that broke us irreparably.
The clock reads 2:48 AM when I hear it—a soft knock on my door.
I'm on my feet instantly, my heart pounding with something that might be hope.
When I open the door, she's standing there in one of my t-shirts, her hair loose around her shoulders, her eyes wide and vulnerable in the dim hallway light.
We don't speak. There are no words for this moment.
She steps forward, and I step back, letting her enter my sanctuary. The door closes behind her with a soft click that sounds like fate.
She stands in the middle of my room, trembling slightly, and I see it all on her face—fear, desire, resignation, need. A complicated tangle of emotions that mirrors my own.
"Eve," I breathe her name like a prayer.
"Don't," she whispers. "Don't say anything. Just... please."
I understand. Words would shatter this fragile moment. Analysis would break the spell.
I move toward her slowly, giving her every opportunity to change her mind, to run. But she doesn't. She stands her ground, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, her eyes locked on mine.
When I reach her, I cup her face in my hands and kiss her.
It's not like the other times—not dominated by hunger or control. This kiss is soft, questioning, almost reverent. A plea more than a claim.
She melts into me with a small sound that goes straight to my soul.
I pull back just enough to search her eyes. "Are you sure?"
She nods, her hands fisting in my shirt. "I need to feel something other than broken."
The raw honesty of it destroys me.
I lift her easily, and her legs wrap around my waist as I carry her to the bed. I lay her down gently, reverently, and she pulls me down with her.
This time, when I undress her, my hands are gentle. Each piece of clothing removed is an unwrapping of something precious. She shivers as the cool air hits her skin, and I warm her with my body, my mouth, my hands.
