Part of me needs to.
A memory comes. Unwanted.
Ragon and me in his bedroom months ago.
It was after Marie came. The dynamics were already shifting. I could feel myself becoming smaller, less important.
But that night he'd stayed with me. Kissed me slow and deep.
His hands were everywhere, patient, thorough.
He'd undressed me and laid me back on his bed.
Then he was inside me, moving slow, his forehead pressed to mine.
"I don't forget you," he'd said, his voice rough. Strained. "I will not let this house teach you that again. I will not let anyone make you small here. Not even me."
I believed him.
Believed it when his hands gripped my hips. When his purr wrapped around me. When he came inside me and held me after.
"You're mine," he whispered. "You've always been mine."
I'd fallen asleep in his arms that night thinking maybe it would be okay.
I was so stupid.
I close my eyes and press my palms against them. I don't want to think about him anymore.
I get up.
The house is quiet and dark.
I pad downstairs in bare feet. The kitchen is dim. There's only the light over the stove.
It's 2am.
I start pulling out ingredients. Flour. Sugar. Cocoa powder. Eggs.
Brownies.
I need to bake, need my hands busy. I crave something I can control.
I'm measuring flour when I hear footsteps.
Alex appears in the doorway.
He's shirtless, sleep pants hanging low on his hips. The definition of his lower abs visible even in the dim light.
"What are you doing?" he asks, sounding rough with sleep.
"I'm sorry." The words tumble out automatically. "I know it's late, I didn't mean to wake you. I can clean this up and—"
"Vee." He crosses to me. "I didn't ask for an apology. I asked what you're doing."
"Making brownies."
He looks at the counter. The ingredients spread out.
