The admission hung in the air—fragile, terrifying, undeniable.
I wanted him. Not the safety. Not the money. Not the contract I'd signed under duress and necessity.
Him.
The man who fell asleep holding me like I mattered. Who asked about books and listened to answers. Who looked at me with hunger and tenderness and a vulnerability he'd never shown anyone.
Who loved me the only way he knew how.
Imperfectly. Fiercely. Completely.
I wiped my face with shaking hands. Mascara smeared my palms. Tears kept falling anyway.
Turned the key.
The engine roared to life.
My heart slammed against my ribs—painful, desperate, alive.
I pulled out of the parking space. Drove toward the exit. The city blurred past.
I wanted to be his choice the way he'd always been mine.
The road blurred past in streaks of light and shadow.
Streetlamps smeared gold across rain-slicked pavement. Buildings rose and fell like breathing. The lake stretched black and endless to my right—ancient, cold, watching.
I didn't turn on the radio. Didn't call anyone. Didn't second-guess. Just drove with white knuckles and a pulse that wouldn't calm. My vision swam. Tears kept falling—hot, silent, relentless. I swiped at them with the back of my hand. The sleeve came away dark with mascara.
I couldn't stop. Didn't want to.
For the first time in three months, I wasn't driving toward obligation.
Not toward my father's hospital bed or the bookstore's crumbling foundation or the weight of debts I hadn't earned.
I was driving toward something I wanted.
Someone.
Gideon.
The realization settled bone-deep. Terrifying. Inevitable. True.
I wanted him. Not the contract. Not the safety net stretched beneath my collapsing life. Not even the pleasure that left me trembling and ashamed in equal measure.
I wanted the man who held me through nightmares. Who asked about my mother's favorite books like the answer contained secrets. Who fed me when I refused to care for myself. Who touched me with hands capable of violence but chose gentleness instead. Who broke bones protecting me from wolves. Who let me go because my safety mattered more than his need.
My chest ached.
Sharp. Clean. Undeniable.
I needed him. Not because I was trapped or desperate or running out of options. But because somewhere between cruelty and tenderness, dominance and vulnerability, punishment and care?—
I'd fallen.
Hard.
Completely.
