“He dry-humped me.”
“In clothes?”
“No.”
“Wait—like, bare?” At my nod, she shrieks. “So he just—raw dick to clit, grinding away? Jesus, that’s so hot. Did he tap it? Like that little tap-tap thing right before a guy really tries to own it? Fuck, I love that. That’s a straight-upthis pussy belongs to memove. Was it good? Did he get you off?”
I rub a hand over my face. “After he came all over me and used himself as lube, yes.”
“I’m dead. I’m jealous. I kind of wish I could watch.”
“Considering he has cameras in here that I still can’t fucking find, I could probably get him to send you the footage.”
“Maybe I’ll go knock on his door and ask him.”
“What am I doing, Lianna?” It’s barely a whisper, but it feels like I’m confessing that I’m already too far gone here.
“Well, you’re fighting two halves of yourself, that’s for sure.”
“I need you to help me dig myself out of this before I lose myself in him again.”
She leans in slowly, all humor fading, lowering her voice so no one else in the world could hear what she’s about to say.
“I think the fact that you haven’t let him go after all this time… that you haven’t called the cops or kicked him out and are letting him touch you says everything. The part of you that’s just as obsessed with him as he is with you? Yeah, babe, she’s winning.”
I pull back, just slightly, but she follows, her green eyes soft now. She’s not judging. She never would.
“I’m not saying you should forgive him, but I think you need to ask yourself if you could, because it’s okay if the answer is yes. It doesn’t make you weak or stupid or broken.” She pauses, then adds, “What you need to do is give yourself permission to draw your own lines, whatever they look like. If those lines mean you feel safe with him, and you want his version of love, no matter how fucked up it might be, then stop punishing yourself for it.”
“His version of love scares me,” I whisper back.
“Because he’s hurt people?” Lianna’s eyes search mine, but I shake my head. “Because you think he’d hurt you?”
I shake it again, harder this time, more certain than I’ve ever been about anything in my life, because Phoenix would rip himself apart and break his own bones before he’d bruise mine.
“If I let myself have him and then lose him, I don’t think I’d survive. And I don’t want to be that stupid woman who lets a murderer into her life and pretends it’s normal. I know he has a darkness, Lianna. A deep, violent, beautiful kind of darkness…”
“But haven’t you always known that? You said he was like that when you were kids.”
“Yeah.”
“And yet you loved him anyway…” She tilts her head, watching me too closely. “Maybe think about that.”
A knock at the door comes seconds later, and thank fuck for the interruption because I don’t want to peel back that layer.
“That’ll be the food,” I mutter, halfway to standing when her hand closes around my arm.
“I’ll get it. You go open the wine. I have a feeling we’re going to need it.”
Chapter 8
Phoenix
The second themusic hit full volume, the feed went to shit. No voices, just a heavy-handed middle finger through the speakers, telling me I wasn’t welcome.
So now I’m here, standing outside her door, about to meet the best friend. I’m not expecting her to smile or invite me in, but that’s fine. She doesn’t have to like me right away. She just has to understand that I’m not going anywhere. She’ll come around eventually, especially when she realizes she’s probably going to be the one holding Shannen’s bouquet while I slide a ring on her finger.
The music suddenly lowers, the door opens, and standing in front of me is the brunette who can’t be more than five feet tall. She’s got no clue who I am, at least not by face, because she’s looking at me like I might be the best thing she’s laid eyes on all week.
