“We can share. Are you up for a game?” Zoe’s voice is muffled.
“With you? Always,” I say, expecting her to follow up with instructions or something more, but she just stands there.
I move closer, wishing I could see her face.
Zoe’s voice breaks as she confesses, “I don’t know what we’re doing anymore, Dominik. I don’t know what this is, and I don’t know how to stop.”
“Why does it need to stop?”
She shakes her head, tugging her hood even lower over her face. “It doesn’t matter.”
I feel her pulling away, trying to run from this. From me.
“No? We’re just going to avoid talking about our feelings, per usual?” I take a careful step closer to her.
“I’m not avoiding anything. I just don’t think it’s working.”
I know Zoe. I know that when she feels like she’s losing control, she chooses to run. She wants to put space between herself and the storm inside her mind. She believes distance and time can come between us and what we have, but it won’t work. Not in this lifetime or the next.
“You pull away to prevent yourself from feeling anything. You think it’ll protect you from getting hurt, but it won’t. You’re going to feel everything anyway, no matter what you tell yourself. Besides, the next time I hurt you, it’ll be intentional and because you want it.” I take another step closer, but she raises her hand, motioning for me to stop.
“Hurt meagain, you mean?” Zoe jumps in, delivering a sucker punch straight to the gut. I guess I deserve that. “I didn’t call you down here for a therapy session, Dominik.”
I give her a sly grin. “What did you call me down here for, then?”
“One last apology? Maybe?”
Whatever she’s battling right now, it’s intense. She wants to call it off, to escape, but she can’t. Because even she can’t deny what this is anymore.
“One last apology before what?”
Zoe crosses her ankles, folding her arms as she shrugs. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“Alright. You want to chase me around, little butterfly? Want me to allow you to catch me? Take over control?” My chest tightens from everything she’s not saying, but I don’t let on. Treating this as a game.
She shrugs, making herself smaller. It’s obvious she hasn’t thought this through. Maybe she wanted a bit of underground fun to get her mind off things, or maybe she wants one last fuck before she calls things off. As if I’d allow her to do that.
I threw away all the rules when I decided to go all in. I want to win her over and show her I’m here to stay. Everything has changed, and it won’t go back to how it used to be.
It can’t. It’s not up to us anymore.
I lower myself to the floor. The sharp, cold edges of the concrete press into my kneecaps.
“What are you doing?” Zoe stills. I know how much she loves me in this position. If power is what my butterfly seeks, power is what she will have.
“Where do you want me this time? My cock inside you while you’re up against my car? Or should I throw you on top of the hood, spread you open, and bury my face in that sweet pussy?”
“Get up,” she orders, but I ignore her command and press my kneecaps further into the rocky ground. The floor digs into my palms as I crawl toward her, closing the short five-foot distance between us.
Zoe has consistently challenged every law for me. With her, all my principles, feelings, and preconceived notions about love have become irrelevant. My dominant side takes a backseat when it comes to her pleasure. If this is what it takes to prove to her I’m for real, then I’ll do it a thousand times over.
When I get to where she’s standing, her breaths are labored, and I can’t tell if it’s the result of shock or anger. Glaring at the neon-blue Xs on her mask, I look beyond the shield she has up and pray my next words reach her.
“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Zoe. For all of it. For leaving you behind in Boston. For not standing up to your parents when I had the chance. For letting your brother come here without bringing you with him. I’m sorry for staying quiet and for pretending like this didn’t matter. I’m sorry for not fighting for us before. I’m sorry for the secrets and the lies, but I’m not sorry for Boston. I’ll never be sorry for everything we shared together that night.”
“Stop. I don’t want to hear it.”
I ignore her, continuing. “I’m sorry for wasting so much fucking time pretending I could forget you.”
