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Our past should never define us. At least, that‘s what I’ve heard many people say, the self-help gurus and life coaches, the people teaching us to move on from past mistakes to find a better future. But what if it’s your future that defines you? What if the fate you’re moving towards is the problem that will defeat you? And what if there’s not a damn thing you can do to stop it? That’s my life. My fate. My burden to carry since before I was born. I was bred for it, raised for it, reminded of it every day of my life.
Because if Ezra has taught me anything in life, it’s that the worst kind of pain isn’t what we do to ourselves, it’s what the person your heart belongs to can do when he’s learned to hate you.
“You were going the wrong way.” A smile tugs at the corner of my lips, both happy and bitter. “I don’t think away from you is the wrong way.”
“It is.”
“Are you mad?” he whispers. “Yes.” He smiles. “Don’t be.” As if I can help it. My jealousy is pervasive, all-consuming, sharp razors slicing through my veins until all I can feel is the trickle of hot blood seeping beneath my skin.
Six weeks to pretend that I’m not trapped. Six weeks to take for myself all the parts of my life I don’t want to give to Mason. I open my eyes and become lost in an amber stare that will always represent chaos and freedom.
What happens if he steals my heart while I steal my freedom? I think that’s what scares me the most. “Just fun?” I ask. “Just six weeks?” Because what I’m really asking is whether we both can let go when it’s over. “Whatever you want.” There’s more to that promise than this. Than right now. Than just him.
There’s just something about him that makes my pulse pound a little faster. That makes my knees that much weaker. That drags me into his powerful orbit until my shadow caresses him like the planets around the sun.
Ezra wasn’t wrong to call me out for not following through with a promise I’d made to him ten years ago, but then it was the reason they needed me that made it necessary for me to let them go. I had no choice but to break my word, if for no other reason than to cling on to my sanity.
The queen didn’t know her beast would destroy the world if that is what it took to have her.
In that case, he needs to rip me apart and keep going. There’s a wound on my heart he left, and a hundred scars on my soul that are all because of him. If he were to kiss them all, he’d be trapped here for hours until every last one is found.
“Not anymore, Em. You broke us when you walked away.” He breaks me every day just by existing. But I don’t tell him that.
Nothing turns me on more than Emily being rebellious and stubborn. Except for maybe when she’s pissed off.
How do you friendzone one brother while doing your best not to cling to the other?
You always know when the person you belong to is in close proximity. Always know when the person who destroys you is holding you tight.
“So I can breathe for once,” he whispers, his voice a jagged shard that slices me bone deep. “Please. Just let me breathe.”
He killed me when he wouldn’t give up, and he destroyed me when he finally did.
Life doesn’t always make sense. The heart is illogical. Your soul can’t help what it needs. There are a hundred reasons and bullshit explanations for why I still want Emily. Despite what happened in the past. Despite what’s happening now. Despite my cold fury and her blistering pain.
I’m destroying the woman who holds me together. And by hurting her I’m hurting myself. I should walk away. End this. Set us both free. But I can’t let go of a woman who was born to be mine. Even as the world constantly attempts to steal her.
It pisses me off that Damon won’t let Emily go. Mostly because it means I won’t be able to let her go either. Not that I was planning to in the first place.
Even in shadow, he is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. And that’s not easy to say when he has an identical twin. But it’s not always physical features that lend to a person’s presence. Many times, it’s who they are beneath the surface that gives them their special edge. Enthralled.
His eyes are tracking one of those tears when I finally admit, “I think you’re weak.” And God, it hurts to say that because he’s not weak for the abuse that happened, he’s not weak for surviving it, but he is weak for letting the man who raised him turn him into a cold, unfeeling monster. It hurts so bad that I’m shaking when his beautiful amber eyes flick back to mine, when open mockery rolls across his expression.
The definition of insanity is to do the same thing over and over again expecting a different result. And it’s becoming clear that my insanity has always been my love for Ezra.
And even though he can walk away and learn to rebuild, he can’t forgive himself the defeat. Violence, or destruction, is the first oar. And forgiveness, or the ability to make things whole, is the one he doesn’t have. So we circle, and we spiral, and we fall. The long, deep, dark hole is never-ending.
“If I have to apologize every fucking day for the rest of my life just to have you, then that’s what I’ll do. But I’m not letting you go, Emily. It’s that simple.”
“You don’t act like a woman who wants to be let go. If anything, you act like you want more. Like you can’t fucking breathe if I’m not touching you.”
