“You always remembered the songs better than me.” His thumb drags under my lip like he’s following the edge of something only he can see. “I liked it when you braided my hair.”
My throat goes dry.
My heart stumbles.
“Damien—” I whisper.
His breath sharpens like he’s just realised where he is.
Like he’s realising I’m here now.
“You don’t remember, do you?”
His words land like a bruise.
“I—”
I don’t know what to say because none of this makes sense.
He tilts his head, his thumb still pressing under my lip, his other hand dragging up the chain, coiling the cold metal around his fist.
“I used to tell you I’d protect you.” His smile sharpens, but it’s hollow. “And you used to tell me I was a liar.”
The air thickens.
His voice softens to something too careful.
“You’re not supposed to remember yet.” His thumb taps my bottom lip. “Maybe you never will.”
I shake my head.
“I don’t?—”
“That’s okay.”
His breath drags across my cheek, his grip tightening like he’s afraid I’ll pull away from something I don’t even understand.
“I remember enough for both of us.” His mouth drags over my throat, his breath sinking into my skin like a bruise. “You used to beg me to stay quiet.”
His words are a soft fracture against my pulse.
“You used to say he’d take me if I didn’t.”
My legs go weak.
He leans closer, his hand tightening in my hair.
“Or maybe I begged you.” His laugh is hollow. “Maybe I begged you not to leave me with him.”
His thumb drags across my lip again, slower this time, like he’s savouring the shape of something he’s convinced belongs to him.
“You always said I was the better liar.” His voice dips, low, soft, cruel. “But I think you lied better.”
His forehead presses to mine.
His next breath breaks.
“I think you promised to stay.” His hands cage me tighter, his voice splintering. “You promised you wouldn’t let him take me.”
