Still Beating

by Jennifer Hartmann

“Every love story is worth writing, no matter how messy it might be,” Holly says absently, still stroking my hair. “I would like to read your book.”

I just want to die. All those weeks fighting so hard to live, and for what? Hell followed me home. It lives inside me, housing all of my demons and ghosts and unforgivable flaws.

I’m playing with fire, but the flames are the only thing keeping me warm.

“She’s Matthew’s,” Tabitha confirms. “Matthew told me he’d always be with me, no matter what. He was telling the truth.” Her watery smile blooms as she admires her daughter. “Her name is Hope.”

i’m on my second read and i’m still sobbing at this

Dean said we needed to come up for air, but I don’t understand. It doesn’t make sense. He’s gone… and I can’t breathe.

“Fun?” Dean repeats, advancing on me, his eyes alight with incredulity. “You think being abducted by a serial killer, shackled to a pole for three weeks, forced to rape my fiancé’s sister at gunpoint, and murdering a man in cold blood with my bare fuckin’ hands has been fun?” His fingers are balled into fists at his sides, his face a mask of anger. “Or do you think falling for you has been fun? Falling in love with the only woman in the world I can’t have, watching her slip through my fingers, little by little, day by day, only to find her nearly dead from an overdose? “Or maybe you’re referring to the sex. Sex is always fun, right? It’s been so fucking goddamn fun trying to reach you the only way I can, making love to you while you can’t even look me in the eyes, and trying to collect all the little bones you throw at me without ever truly having you. It’s been loads of fun waking up every morning to an empty bed with my sheets reeking of you, mocking me with the reminder that you’re not there. And it’s been especially fun having to uproot my whole life because I care about you so damn much, I can’t bear to keep watching you suffer.”

goddamn 🥲

“I wish you fought for me as hard as you fought to get out of that basement.”

“Corabelle… that was me fighting for you. That was me fighting for your healing, your joy, your smile, your laughter… your beautiful, broken spirit. I never stopped fighting for you and I never will.”

I have one more question to ask her. I catch her eyes, drunk with happiness, and I twirl a soft strand of her hair around my finger as she faces me on the bed. “Are you still mine?” Cora doesn’t hesitate. She reaches for my hand, placing it above her heart. “It’s still beating,” she says. Her face lights up with a radiant smile that looks exactly like how her heartbeat feels. “As long as it’s beating, I’m yours.”