An angry noise rises in the back of her throat. Lili wants to ruin this, make it all complete. “This is the only thing you can give me,” she spits.
He freezes. “You know that’s not true—”
“It’s the only thing I want from you. Isn’t that what we did last time? Fucked and didn’t talk about it?”
“That wasn’t—”
She lets out a near scream of frustration. “Jesus, fucking—come on!Did you think this means anything? There’s nothing else here, this is the only thing I want from you—”
Sudden, his grip in her hair tightens, sending a shock of cold pain over her scalp. The reflex action immediately loosens, but his entire body is rigid over hers. “Don’t fucking lie to me,” Aleksandr grits out, hard teeth.
Against his loosened hold, Lili tries to swallow. The thud of her own heart fills her head as she looks up at him; she’s never seen him this angry. There is nothing kind or gentle or familiar here.
Tears sting in her eyes. “Do whatever you want to me,” she whispers, choking back tears. “Anything you want, I don’t care, please—just make it stop, Sasha—please...”
Aleksandr’s gaze hardens—closed to her, grip growing stronger in her hair, he forces her head back against the wall, and her mind washes out for a brief moment—and here it is, the break of it, what she wants—
And then, it’s gone.
The grip in her hair spasms, then loosens.
“Lili.”Her name comes as a plea, breaking. She suddenly feels toofull of herself, a desperate noise between her teeth. “Lili, look at me.” She struggles against his hand in her hair—her heart, it thuds so loud—and then he’s starting to draw away, and she starts to shake, grasping for his shoulders, needing him,needing him—
“Please,” Aleksandr whispers, low and rough. He holds her face, firm but not hard enough to hurt. “Tell me what happened. You need to tell me—we can’t keep doing this.”
Somehow, she finds her voice. “This—it’s what I need. This is the only thing—”
“Don’t lie to me,” he breathes, hoarse. “I can’t do this to you, not like this. Not again. Not like that night. There’s more to you than this.”
“Please,” she sobs, tears slipping into her hair. “Please—I can’t, not now, I can’t—”
“It’s never going to stop unless you feel it,” he whispers. “Whatever it is—I can hurt you, but you need to feel it—it’s pain, Lili. Pain ends.”
Pain ends.
But if it ends, what will come next?
Struggling under him, gentle hands unwilling to hurt her, she feels it so close to catching her: pain that can’t be overwhelmed, hurt that can’t be dislodged, her constant bolting away from the rupture. Subspace, the oblivion she wants, that night of too far, it didn’t take her here; to having to take the next step, after being hit so hard by emotional agony—the next step that isn’t escape. It took her to the moment of collapse, not the next moment forward. It showed her she could survive touching the pain, maybe, but living past it? If the pain ends—if it ends—she will still be here: alone, with grief for the loss she is still willing not to be true, a release—acceptance—she does not want.
If the pain ends, she will still be here, without them.
Her heart seizes. It’s a well inside of her: black, ceaseless, unending, how could this ever drain? A sob cracks in her chest; she cannot outrun this.
Slumping against the wall, she collapses to the ground, finally breaking. Aleksandr catches her. The floor is cold and hard, but he draws her into his arms fast, he’s all around her, as she starts to sob, her entire body shaking with grief.
Worthless, dead laughter—broken ocean air—ruined, all the piecesof a life she was supposed to have. These fears wait, the threat of their realization always lurking: Having something means losing it, and Lili holds him harder. Her fingernails dig into his shoulder blades, a desperate sound scraping out of her throat.
“I’m here, Lili.” His voice is hoarse. “I’m here—I’m not leaving.”
Huddled together, his arms are urgent, insistent around her. She holds onto him like a life raft, grasping for him so tight she can’t see beyond his arms, sobbing as it finally crashes over her, with nowhere to run: all of the dark, deep sadness.
It’s pressure in her chest that keeps building until she has to close her eyes, shutting them hard, buried against his chest—still trying to will this not to be true: that they are gone, that she is still here; that this only becomes more true, with every passing day—but if it’s building, it will break, or she will break, one or the other—because she cannot only be this pain or nothing, there must be some in-between, something has to give—and as it starts to crack, faltering, a high-pitched cry, there’s something like strength in her hands, what can endure this, and this body that can just barely breathe, sobbing and grasping for something to hold onto—
“I’ve got you.” A hoarse murmur. “I’ve always got you.” Clinging to that, she lets go, lets it finally start to leave; cries—she cries until she can’t see a thing but can feel everything, because words like always never come true, and promises can only hurt.
The clink of glass against marble, setting soap back. Warm water against her skin. Palms smooth down her arms, washing her clean of lather, the scent of sandalwood. The bathroom is quiet, and Aleksandr kisses her vertebrae, the top of her spine, as she rests against his chest.
“How are you?” he murmurs.
