Page 71 of Laced in Longing

“That’ll take quite a while, I think.”

“Good. I enjoy nothing more than talking with you.”

So with a deep breath, I ask. And I sit there in a bed the size of a garage, with his hand curled around mine and the twilight not moving in the window, and I make him explain everything.

He tells me that he could not take me the other times I died when I questioned why now. There were rules, and he needed me to say yes before I died. I would’ve had to kill myself no matter what, but it was the intention behind it that kept him from claiming me. He tried everything a god can try that isn’t force to get me here, and nothing worked.

He tells me that when he left—when I screamed at him to go—he went only because I asked, and because he had never once refused me anything I truly wanted, even when what I wanted was to be rid of him.

“You didn’t come back, though.” My throat closes around the accusation. “I called for you so many times. I laid in my apartment and said your name for days⁠—”

The tightening of his jaw is the only reaction he gives. “I heard you. Every time. I heard you in the park and the church, and on the street where you shouted for me like a madwoman.”

“Then why⁠—”

“Because if I had come, I feared we’d start the cycle over and you’d end up in a new life.” His voice drops along with his eyes. “If I had appeared, you might have said yes at first, but that version of you was indecisive, just like others before. I thought to try something new this time and remove myself entirely. And when you jumped from that roof again—well, I was with you the entire time. I grabbed your soul the moment it detached from your mortal body.”

Ice crawls up the back of my neck. “You didn’t have to let me jump without telling me what would happen. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again!”

“I let you choose for yourself, Maven. Do you understand what it cost me to stand aside while I listened to you fall? Heard your skull crack open as pieces of your flesh scattered the street?”

Something breaks in my chest, sudden and hot, and my hands grab the front of his shirt without me telling them to. “You were there.” Regardless of his lack of warning, he was there for me the entire time. I was never truly alone.

“I was there for all of it. I was mere feet from you and could not move.” His forehead drops to mine as he exhales a shaking breath. “You said my name. My true name, flower; and you said you loved me and then finally, you said yes. It was both the worst and best moment of my terribly long existence.”

I’m crying. I don’t know when that started.

“I’m sorry,” I manage. “I sent you away, and I meant it for about ten seconds, and then I⁠—”

“Do not.” His thumb catches a tear before it slips over my jaw. He wipes it away with such gentleness that I sob. “You have apologized too many times already. You are done. There is nothing left for you to be sorry for, and I will not tolerate you feeling as though you did something wrong.” He finishes the sentence in a harsh tone, making me laugh.

“That’s the nicest threat anyone’s ever made.”

“It was a promise.”

“Sounded like a threat.”

“You are exhausting.” He grins against my temple before pressing a light kiss there. “I’ve missed you.”

After presenting me with a luxurious meal, he shows me around the palace.

It takes hours. The halls extend forever, all dark stone and dim, tranquil light, and more windows than I can count. I nearly cry when he presents a wall of shelves with an endless amount of books and a rolling ladder. It smelled incredible. I’ll be spending much of my time in that room.

He showed me through his bathroom with a tub sunk into the floor, deep enough to drown in, which he mentions with a completely straight face and then adds, “You cannot. I’ve tried just to be safe.”

I stare at him. “You’ve⁠—”

“Yes, you will not be able to drown, or die for that matter. I’ve made sure of it.”

“You’re insane.” A grin is his only response.

There’s a kitchen with copper pots hanging from the ceiling and a long table scarred from use. A room filled with random instruments, including an organ. I smile when we enter a room that’s filled with blankets and pillows, and has a window seat piled with them already folded on it, and when I ask what it’s for, he says I really enjoyed a similar room in a place called Bruges for many years once. He wanted me to have a place of ultimate comfort and escape.

My throat clears at the admission.

And I keep waiting for the but. The part where the ceiling comes crashing down on me, or I wake up in an actual facility where the voice in the back of my skull leans in to remind me I don’t deserve any of it.

None of that happens.