Be Still My Heart

by Emily McIntire

To those who have lost. May your waves of grief never be taller than your strength.

“Our memory is a more perfect world than the universe: it gives back life to those who no longer exist.”

And to be honest, I’m not afraid of death. I’m afraid of forgetting how to live.

“You want to fuck the lightkeeper, too?” Sloane scoffs, though her face flushes anyway. “Someone’s full of themselves.” My smirk widens into a full-fledged grin. “Bet you’d like to be full of me too, eh, killer?”

“Tell me you’re mine. That you won’t let any other motherfucker touch you.”

“Sinful girl, coming on my tongue and screaming the Lord’s name while you do it,” he rumbles in my ear.

“But there’s beauty in pain, baby.” His hands tilt my face until our gazes lock. “Your strength is in learning how to breathe through it; how to keep living even when it feels like you want to die.”

“I want you, Morgan. Every day. And every night. Every fucked up, annoying, smart-ass thing you say, I want it all. Not because of who I think you were. But because of who you are.”

“I’m not going to fuck you, Morgan. I’m going to own you, just like you own me.”