Revive Me: Part Three (New Haven #2)

by J.L. Seegars

To the fierce and formidable women who sink the kingdoms they aren’t allowed to rule.

THE PLAYLIST 01./ Thinkin Bout You by Frank Ocean 02./ Triggered (freestyle) by Jhené Aiko 03./ feel again by Jovan Perez 04./ Unravel Me by Sabrina Claudio 05./ Naked by James Aurthur 06./ Sometimes by H.E.R. 07./ Slow Down by Mac Ayres 08./ Like I Want You by GIVĒON 09./ Feels by Kehlani 09./For Tonight by GIVĒON 10./ Say You Love Me by Jessie Ware 11./ Hrs & Hrs by Muni Long 12./ Wildfire by Cautious Clay 13./ Rose in the Dark by Cleo Sol 14./ needy by Ariana Grande 15./ WORLD WE CREATED by GIVĒON 16./ Frozen by Sabrina Claudio 17./ Forward (feat. James Blake) by Beyoncé

She changed her hair. It’s my first thought as I trace the curve of her jaw. One desperate fingertip over a phone screen filled with features I know by heart but don’t get the pleasure of seeing in person anymore. The closest I get is this. Midnight scrolls through an Instagram account that tells me everything and nothing.

There was nothing simple about that first kiss or any of the ones that came after. Hell, there was nothing simple about us. About the way we began or ended. About the way we loved or lost. About the way our hearts were made to beat together only for us to keep ending up apart.

Time does not heal all wounds.

float back into Mallory’s orbit, close enough to let my existence brush against hers. To allow the edges of our lives to come within an inch of each other and hope the inevitable draw between her heart and mine will do the rest of the work.

It’s funny how quickly attraction can fade. One wrong move, one overly assumptive statement, and it’s gone.

Betrayal. Violation. Heartbreak. Unimaginable loss. All of those things are in my ledger, dripping red, an angry slash of a check mark beside them. Each one a reminder of my suffering, stirring up the pain I try my damnedest to keep a lid on because I can’t allow it to touch the three people I love most in the world.

by the time the third anniversary came around, I think we’d gotten used to marking the years, to living with the cracks in our collective hearts splintering just a little more.

It was because we’d learned how to carry it, how to balance the devastation of death with the demand of life.

Sharp, patient eyes take in the line, a stillness to his gaze and movements that makes me more aware of the riot I’ve become in the span of a breath.

be back, princess. I promise. Those words left me hoping for things that never came to pass. I thought that hope had died, but as I sit here looking at him, I feel the foreign stirrings of possibility coming alive in my chest. No.

My brakes let out a slow whine that matches the desperate wail echoing deep down in my soul, and his head turns. I freeze for a second, then whip my head around to make sure nothing and no one is behind me before I hit the gas, reversing out of the parking spot so quickly my tires and the pavement protest. I don’t look back. I can’t because I know there’s nothing left for me there.

eyes that remind me of warm honey. But even with all that, I still knew it was him. My heart recognized his presence long before my eyes landed on him. His proximity activated a connection that only exists between our souls.

I should have just pushed it down, tucked all the feelings about Chris’ sudden reappearance into the box inside my chest where I keep the rest of our memories.

“It was ours. Him being there, it means something.” A resurgence. A resurrection. A revival I didn’t ask for and don’t want any part of.

I can see the connection she’s trying to make. It’s a string of red yarn leading from my random hookups to the hole Chris left in my heart, ending at the one place I allow myself to think about him. Too bad I have a pair of scissors in my hand, blades sharpened with denial and regret. “I go there for the fries, milkshakes, and conversation with the owner and his granddaughter. It doesn’t have anything to do with him.”

Anger is a comfortable emotion for me. Safe in its searing righteousness.

“Because it’s him.” I bury every memory and tear in that three-letter word, hoping it does the hard work of explaining something I can’t put words to.

My ears perk up at the sound of her name, and I can’t even find it in myself to be embarrassed because I love her. I love her in this desperate, yearning, aching way that makes it impossible for me to care about dignity or shame. I’ll take whatever I can get of her. Pieces. Fragments. Scraps that fall from the lips of the only other man on this planet who knows what it’s like to love a woman this way.

“Because she’s still his.” His voice is tight, conflicted emotions coating each word. The loudest of them is guilt, for still loving her, for still wanting her.

Our glasses clink together, and the liquid inside sloshes around, swirling with possibilities and silent vows made between brothers riddled with fear but not ruled by it.

What I don’t say is that I’ve felt him. In this city, in my bones. His presence a beacon for my broken heart.

Nothing good could have come from staying on the phone longer,” I tell myself, emphasizing the point with memories laced with dying hope and four years of the loudest silence.

I know what he thought, the future he envisioned. The hope that broke open his chest, filled his veins with the options he’d never considered before.

My brows lift, and she laughs at my surprise. The sound is a soft trill that shakes free a fleeting memory. I try to grasp it, catch it before it flies away, but it’s gone in an instant.

He’s run headfirst into my nightmares and carried me out. Our relationship has been a constant pursuit, a race towards what has always ended up being a detrimental end.

My hand comes up, and my index finger becomes a dagger, the tip digging into the expensive fabric above his heart. If I loved him less, I might want to destroy him more. I might wish for claws sharp

Every step that carries me away from him is a hardship I have to endure for my own sanity and well-being, an exercise of self-preservation that feels more like tearing myself apart.

given a warning.” “Yeah. Good luck with getting that man to keep his word.” The words burn my throat as I spit them out. I hate how bitter I sound. How all of our memories, all of my hopes for a life with Chris, are corroded. Soaked in acid, tinged with regret. Everything is quiet as I disappear inside my own head, and Sloane is gracious enough to let it stay that way, to allow the snooty voices of rich housewives to fill the quiet for hours on end. We watch three episodes in that silence, until both of us are struggling to keep our eyes open.

Is he here to break me again? To paint my scars in gold and tell me I’m not shattered?

The sight inspires a small, possessive growl to start building in my chest, slinking its way up my throat, fighting with the compliments on my tongue for the right to leave my mouth first.

She's launching bombs in my direction, trying to get something to stick, and I might have been annoyed by that if I didn't know it meant my words are scaring her. That they're touching the part of her brain that came alive with the memory the moment she turned onto our street.

Shaky exhales swirl around us, and they’re Mal’s and mine. I can’t stop myself from leaning in, mouth open, jaw slack, as I drink the sounds of our collective unraveling. I rest my forehead against hers, and her grip finally tightens on my hand.

“I love you, Mallory, and I’ve never had a choice in the matter. But, even if I did, I would never choose differently. Even if I lived a thousand lives, my soul would seek yours out. No matter what form I take, what name I'm called by, or what part of the universe I'm designated to, it'd still belong to you. I'd still belong to you. I’d find you in the depths of the ocean, in the darkest part of the night⁠—”

“No,” Mal says, hands on her hips as she starts to pace in front of me. “No, you don’t get to have me. You don’t get to say you’d find me in the darkest part of the night like we don’t both know that you’re the one who keeps leaving me there!” She’s vibrating with energy, her features a kaleidoscope of volatile emotion. “You buried me. With your secrets and your hope and your promises that you can never seem to keep and then you come back here after four years of silence and expect me to be thankful that you remembered how to find my grave?”

I don’t know if it’s the soft lilt of her voice as she speaks about a man I love but never got to know, or the fact that her description of the love that existed between them reminds me of how I felt with Chris, but suddenly tears spring in my eyes. Fat drops of sorrow cresting like waves as they spill down my cheeks.

Even though I’ve yet to spot her in the crowd, I refuse to accept she’s not here at all because I feel her. And it’s not just because NHU’s campus is hallowed ground for us, every brick charged with our beginning, every path the keeper of a memory, holding tight to a version of us that we’ll never get back. No, our connection is more vital than that, a living thing pulsing just beneath the surface at all times, emerging fully when we’re in the same room.

Hair is a sacred thing among Black women, a language they all speak and understand.

The absence of my pushback echoes between us, subtracting something important from the moment. Mallory feels it too. It’s evident in the way the light behind her eyes fades just a little.

What do you want tonight, Christopher?” My lips quirk. The use of my full name coupled with the sass dripping from her tongue makes me feral, wild with cravings that won’t be satiated any time soon. It doesn’t hurt to speak them, though.

Four years of want breaking through the barricade I built out of the rubble of us, tumbling out of me, and taking complete control of my limbs.

And I’m a fool because I want him to unravel me, if only so I can wrap the pieces of myself around him to make sure he never gets away again.

Another doomed reunion beginning with a kiss that’s so familiar it feels like tradition.

“Because your experiences with those other men didn’t leave any room for doubt, Mallory. They might have satisfied you for a moment, maybe even a night, but what they gave you isn’t as important as what they taught you.”

“Fuck,” she whines, the tremor in her voice an echo in her legs and pussy.

“Every time you walked away from one of them, you took a step closer to me, Mallory. And when you’re done running, when you finally come home, when you believe me when I say I’m sorry, and you trust that I’m not going anywhere without you ever again, you’ll agree that every man who’s touched you has only served as a reminder that you were made for me.”

“There will be nights when you wake up in our bed, remembering every time in this very hallway when the lust faded away and the disappointment set in, when your pussy was wet for him, but your heart was desperate for me. You’ll panic at first, thinking you’re back there, in that empty place, but then you’ll realize you’re in my arms, and you’ll know, princess, you’ll be certain you don’t belong with anyone else but me.”

I rest my forehead against hers, gratification bubbling in my chest. “Let me hear you say it, Mal. Tell me how lucky I am.” Of course, I don’t actually need to hear it. I know exactly how fucking lucky I am. How fortunate I am to not only share in her pleasure but be the cause of it. But I need her to tell me so she knows that I know.

Gently lowering her leg to the ground, making sure she’s steady on her feet before I take a step back to watch while she fixes her panties and dress. I don’t know where we’ll go from here, but breaking the moment open with the sound of my voice feels like a risk I can’t afford to take, so I