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My favorite books, love songs, movies, the ones that resonated with me, have kept me grieving long after I turned the last page, the notes faded out, or the credits rolled.
The truth that I belong to another. That whatever remains of my heart, body, and soul belongs to a man who wants nothing to do with me.
The only love I’ve ever known or craved is the kind that keeps me sick, sick with longing, sick with lust, sick with need, sick with grief. The distorted kind that leaves scars and jaded hearts.
“You’re fucking adorable. And beautiful. But let’s be honest, a little too young and good of a girl to be hanging out with us assholes.”
Every day I become more drawn to him, and every day I feel the tie that’s beginning to bind us.
The truth is, I do expect a lot out of my love story and the man I’ll share it with. I expect passion and butterflies, and one or two fairy tale moments. When we fight, I want it to hurt. When we fuck, I want to feel it with every fiber of my being. When a man confesses his love to me, I expect him to mean it. I don’t want to question the words’ authenticity. I want to be claimed and owned and ruled and possessed by love.
Though I’m fearful, I can’t give up. Finding love is the mecca of what I dream for myself. I have other dreams, dreams enough to hold me. A fulfilling career is a no-brainer, but finding that once-in-a-lifetime love is non-negotiable.
My greatest hope is to be in all-consuming love. My biggest fear is to be in all-consuming love.
With Sean, I feel safer, but when Dominic is around, I feel that every breath I take is laced with something hazardous. Yet with each inhale, he becomes more intoxicating.
“It’s okay to want his dick, baby, I’ll watch it go inside you and fucking love the view, and the savage it’ll make me.”
“Eggs—runny, coffee—black, beer—cold, music—loud, cars,” he floors the gas. “Fast,” I say
“Woman,” he turns and rolls his mirror-colored gaze over me. Woman, not women.
I’ve been running with these secretive devils for the last six weeks, and I’m being baptized in truth in something akin to hellfire.
“My rainy days are yours, Dominic. If you want them.”
“It rains a lot here,”
“Fine with me. But my sunny days bel...
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It’s their words—their actions and reactions—that ease my mind, not my own mindset, and at some point, that has to change if this is going to work.
You smell like wood, like cedar and sunshine and I love the way you smell, and I would hate it if I couldn’t smell you anymore.
More. More of him. More of Sean. More of this endless summer. But I keep my hopes to myself. Because I’m sure this can’t go on forever.
I just wish I could regret it. But the truth is, I can’t. And the sickest part? I still want them. I still love them.
“Cecelia, you are the secret.”
This confession demands my attention, and I finally look up.
In a matter of months, I went from boy crazy to man insanity. And they made damn sure of it. I love them, and I hate them. But I can’t walk away from them, as toxic as they may be. Not yet.
Spoken or not, I feel Sean’s love every single day and decide, as I watch him, that I won’t press him. That I want the words to spill from him naturally when he can’t keep them at bay any longer. In that respect, Sean is a free bird, and if he continues to circle back to me, one day, he might truly be mine to keep.
