She still doesn’t understand.
That’s the part eating at me.
It would be one thing if she hated the pain. Hated that I did it while she was passed out. Fine. I can understand anger. I can understand violence. I can understand her wanting to put a gun in my face and squeeze until one of us stops breathing.
What Ican’tunderstand is how she looks at that mark and sees filth instead of what it is.
A claim.
A vow.
My version of putting something permanent where words would’ve sounded ridiculous coming out of my mouth.
I marked myself too. That should mean something to her.
It means something to me.
More than I’ve ever given anyone. And she looked at it like I was insane.
Maybe I am.
Doesn’t change the fact that she’s mine.
Or that she keeps acting like I did something unforgivable when she’s been sleeping in my bed for months, taking my cock for months, walking around in my clothes, under my roof, with my smell all over her skin like she wasn’t already halfway claimed before I ever touched ink to her body.
I don’t get it.
I understand that to her it was an assault.
I do. I’m not stupid.
I know what the word means. I know what line shethinksI crossed.
What I don’t understand is why she can’t see the other side of it. Why she can’t understand what it meant that I put my name on her and hers on me. Why she can’t feel what I was trying to say without saying it.
Temporary is never going to be enough.
Not for this. Not for her. Not for me.
Beside me, she shifts, sweater riding up for a second before she yanks it back down like even her jeans are pissed off at the world.
I look at the exposed strip of her leg through the tear. At the old denim. At the fucking boots.
“Those clothes are disgusting.”
Her head turns slowly. There’s nothing soft in her face. “Good.”
That one word makes my grip tighten on the wheel.
“Take them off when we get back.”
Her laugh is short and mean. “When we get back from where?”
I don’t answer.
Because I don’t know.
I got in the car because I needed movement. Needed to get her out of the house before she tried to disappear again. Needed the city under us, tires on pavement, something steady enough to drown out the fact that Nikolai wants me at the compound and duty in the form of a text is already pulling at my throat the second I get back.
