Death Valley

by Karina Halle

Fuck me. I should turn around. Should walk away, give her privacy. That would be the decent thing to do. But I’m not a decent man.

A woman who, for a few hours last night, found comfort in the arms of a man as haunted as she is.

We might not make it out of here. We might not have tomorrow or even the next hour. But for now? For this fleeting moment? We have each other. And right now, that’s more than enough.

The simple human comfort of skin against skin, of not facing the darkness alone.

“Don’t die, city girl,” I whisper against her lips. “Same goes for you, cowboy.”

And my own demons—the ones I drowned for so long—no longer scream quite so loudly.