Blake Bowman had once been my broken, vengeful monster. He’d hunted me, caged me, wounded me. But every blow he’d struck had really been against himself. Now, I treasured the scars he’d left on me, because through making each other bleed, we’d found a way to heal, to cope. He wasn’t my monster anymore. He was my golden boy, my beam of sunshine in the dark. He shone so brightly, sometimes it was hard to believe he held anything but light in his heart. But I knew better. I knew that even the sun had scars beneath its blinding exterior. And that didn’t make it weak, in fact, it burned all the
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