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She plagues my mind, infecting it like a parasite and overriding any autonomy over myself. My free will is indebted to her, and without her, I am nothing.
“You’re destroying this family, Johnathan,” I choke out, the words as unstable as my heart rate. “And I have no choice but to let you.”
I’m a bad man, but I won’t be her monster.
I want to be her savior.
If Genevieve is my end, then I open the door to death with no hesitation.
“I want you so badly, it hurts to breathe without you near,” he whispers softly, finally—finally—gracing me with his voice.
“Because you possess my lungs, as you do my heart, Genevieve. And I intend to take yours for myself,” he answers, his voice deepening impossibly further.
“My mother told me a story about the time my father asked her out on their first date. He was in love with her and chased after her wherever she went. She said he’d asked her on dates a thousand times before, and every time she would ask him why. He would give these shallow reasons, like her beauty or her smile and so on. So, she said no. Then, one day, he came to her with a single rose in his hands, the thorns plucked from the stem. He handed it to her and asked her on a date. When she asked why, he admitted that he was dirt poor and stole that rose from his neighbor’s garden. The owner
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