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“You don’t feel like my enemy anymore,” I finish. You feel like my lifeline.
“It’s still beating,” he whispers, his words a soft kiss against my lips. “As long as it’s beating, you’re okay.”
We are bound, chained, tied—to our trauma and to each other. We’re in this together. And yet, I’ve never felt more alone.
It was only three weeks, but it’s burned into every cell, every vein, every tainted pocket of my soul. Forever. And so is she.
She doesn’t need to pretend with me, though. She doesn’t need to hide. I’m here, and I see her—every scar, every flaw, every broken, hollow piece. And I understand.
“Every love story is worth writing, no matter how messy it might be,”
“You’re mine, Corabelle,” I breathe out, claiming her, branding her, marking her as my own.
“Say it. Tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” she says, whispery, laced with lust. “You know I am. You’ve always known it.”
You can’t tiptoe around your heart in fear of pissing people off or hurting their feelings. Sometimes we need to be a little selfish in order to avoid a life of complacency.”
love doesn’t exist without sacrifice. Sometimes those sacrifices are waking up ten minutes early to make your partner coffee. Sometimes it’s taking on a second job to support your family. Sometimes it’s staying up all night with a newborn so your significant other can finally sleep. Sometimes it’s shoveling the other person’s car out of the driveway after a snowstorm.” She places her palm against my wet cheek and smiles softly. “And sometimes it’s making the ultimate sacrifice and walking away for the greater good.”
Maybe love is singing her favorite song in the dark, just so she can sleep. Maybe love is giving away the shoes on your feet to help keep her warm. Maybe love is coming over in the middle of the night when the power goes out because you know she’s afraid of the dark. And maybe love is walking away because it’s the only way she’ll find the light again.
“Just get better. There’s no shame in the struggle, but you can’t stay there forever. We’re all here for you.”
It’s still beating. You’re still okay. And I still love you. - Dean
We can’t give our heart to another without loving our own first. And that’s exactly what I plan to do.
“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.”
Like my savior. After all, he saved me from a serial killer. He saved me from an overdose. He saved me from myself.
“Are you still mine?”
