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A tremble grips me as I try to hold still, not backing down from him. And yet, every atom in my body is fighting to either run or get closer.
My lungs burn until I’m forced to release a shaky breath. Grayson inhales sharply, as if stealing my breath for himself, igniting something primal and thrilling within me.
When encountering the gravity of a black hole—a force so powerful not even light can escape—you don’t stand a chance against the darkness.
Whatever meager light I’ve managed to find in this bleak world, he’ll surely devour if I stay on this collision course.
Only later did I learn that eyes could lie—that the most trusting eyes can be full of deception. That their beauty could mask dark secrets, tenderness concealing the deepest cruelty.
“You think I’m sick.” I swallow. “Yes.” He is sick—and yet, he’s all I can feel…all I want to feel. It’s ecstasy, and it’s hell. I’m burning.
Isolation is a survival instinct. Yet with her, I no longer crave solitude to suffer my penance. I’ve found the one thing that can set me completely free, and I’ll fucking kill for it.
Picture a dead tree. It’s stripped bare, its limbs severed. This tree has spent its entire existence decaying in darkness, slowly rotting. Then unexpectedly, the sun touches its bark, and a single, fragile stem sprouts, growing and reaching toward the only source of warmth it’s ever known.
My own design of love may be a twisted creature, but that creature is hungry and demands to be fed.
“I’m already a dead man. I’d rather die chasing something impossible with you than rot behind bars.”
I owe this world nothing. But for her, I have something to offer, something only I can give. She is my salvation. And I am her long-awaited consequence.
The draw I felt to Grayson during our first session has influenced every choice I made since. I’m tethered so tightly to him, I can feel him in my veins, like poison in my blood. Drunk on him.
“You think I’ve escaped my prison.” His gaze heats. “Whoever said love sets you free clearly never fell for their therapist.”
“I want you more than freedom, London.”
“Touching you is like daring the fire to burn me.” He taunts the flame, finger swiping the wick until it’s nearly extinguished. “Only I crave your pain, London.”
“I love everything about you,” he whispers, a coarse friction over my skin, “even your sickness, all the bad things you’ve done. You caught me in your web, and I want you to bleed me dry, London. That’s how twisted you’ve got me.”
Want is a dangerous emotion. When it’s strong enough, all others fade into the background.
Isolation is not loneliness; it’s the absence of noise and distraction. It forces you to acknowledge your worth. If you must surround yourself with people, you invite distractions from the one person deserving of your time: you.
There’s a fine line between passion and obsession—and I crossed that line the moment I saw her.
“We weren’t born the day we took our first breath,” he says, his lips tenderly pressing against my skin. “We were born the moment we stole it.”
“Do we love each other, or are we merely mad for each other? I know I’m mad—utterly, obsessively mad for you. Obsession is a far more evocative emotion than love.”
When pain is the only emotion you’ve ever known, it’s all you crave. It’s the one thing that lets you know you’re still alive.
Now that she’s free, I can be patient. I’m willing to be any and all that she needs. I’ve left her clues, pieces of my puzzle. My story will unravel the truth for her. She’ll find me.
