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I was a moth moving toward the flame, until I stood close enough for my wings to ignite.
History, facts, they made me feel better in a time of doubt, because someday I would be nothing but a memory, just like them.
The honest truth was, I only forced myself to enjoy tragic endings because I knew mine wouldn’t be far apart.
“I swear to God, Elena, if I find out you’ve let some man touch you, I will deliver his hands to you in a box.” I swallowed. “And I do not. Fucking. Bluff.” He slammed the door behind him.
I wanted to fuck her and ruin her for anyone else. I wanted to crush her wings and then put them back together again so she’d become dependent on me. I wanted her to need me. That dark, possessive, and dangerous feeling crawled through me every time she crossed my path.
“Because you’ll fall in love with her,” she said. “And she won’t love you back.”
“I said I’ll never hurt you, Elena, but if I find out you’ve touched another man, there is nothing in this world that could save him.”
I was observant as a child. I wanted to analyze the world and decipher its meaning, but what I found was myself as a little girl standing in front of a mirror where a loveless, empty life stared back.
I would make this girl want me, need me, love me, because fuck if I was going it alone.
“Well . . . I’m not going anywhere, am I?” His gaze burned. “No. I think I’ll keep you.”
Whiskey and flame. Sleepless nights. Tattooed skin, white t-shirts, and rough hands. Love and lust and happiness. He was everything.
