He grabbed my hand and slammed it palm-down into his chest. “Can you feel that?” I didn’t know what he was alluding to, but I couldn’t feel anything through his coat—it was as though his heart had stopped—and it threatened to break me down while I twisted out of his arms. “Don’t do this to me, Eliza. Please. I need you.” I looked at Paul. He was crying. “You don’t need me,” I said, wondering whether or not I believed it. He gripped my face and kissed me. But it was a hard, painful kiss. A severe and bitter kiss. A kiss that seemed so black, so final, it was like death. “Happy fucking
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