let me forget. I’ve tried everything, and I can’t move on. I can’t. So that’s why I came home, and you, God, I thought if I could just face this, it would make me stronger, braver, but all it’s made me is a bigger fool.” I shake my head. “I’m not supposed to admit this to you because of how pathetic it makes me, but I’ve been riddled with grief and guilt since I left, and I’m done lying to myself.” I run my sleeve along my nose and gaze over at him to see him looking straight at me. “Because the life I truly want doesn’t have a thing to do with perfection. It’s the farthest thing from safe, and the man I want is anything but gentle.”
And with that, I pass out.
I rouse to the feel of his hands. A faint caress on my breasts as he slowly unbuttons my shirt.
“Tu penses que tu peux juste revenir après tout ce temps et dire de telles choses…” You think you can just come back after all this time and say these things…
I stifle my moan as the silk is drawn away, leaving me in my lace bra. My nipples pebble under his breath as his hands faintly roam, the lightest brush of his fingers sending tsunami pulses up my spine. I fight the alcohol fog I’m drifting in and out of to bring myself back to him.
“Je baise mon poing tous les jours en pensant à toi.” I fuck my fist to you every day. He unbuttons my slacks and slowly pulls them down. “Et je te déteste pendant tout.” And I hate you the whole time.
Briefly, he buries his head in my neck, his warm, nicotine-laced breath stirring every memory of intimacy we shared. My limbs tremble as I rouse from my whiskey coma and fight myself to keep from clutching him to me. But I opt to play comatose, my obliterated hopes sparking with every word he speaks.
“Tu dis mon nom quand tu jouis?” Do you call out to me when you come?
Yes.
“Tu ne peux pas être ici. Je ne te laisserai pas voler mon âme une nouvelle fois.” You can’t be here. I won’t let you steal my soul again.
I love you. I love you.
He runs his thumbnail beneath my lower lip. “Tellement belle.” So goddamn beautiful.
Yours.
“Belle et destructrice.” Beautiful and destructive.
Pot and kettle.
I hang onto every word like a lifeline, while the strength of the whiskey latches onto me, threatening to pull me back under.
“J’allais bien.” I was doing fine.
Liar.
He lifts me, unfastening my bra, and pulls it away.
“Putain. Putain.” Fuck. Fuck. “Tu es en train de partir. Ça n’arrivera plus.” You’re leaving. This isn’t happening again.
Thick fingers trail up the sides of my breast as a low moan escapes me. His fingers still when I open my eyes. His are brimming with anger, lust, and resentment. I gaze back at my reflection in his flames.
“T’aimer m’a rendu malade et je ne veux plus jamais guérir.” Loving you made me sick, and I don’t ever want to get well.
I let sleep take me.
I wake to the sound of howling wind outside my window. I lift from unrestful sleep to see two Advil on my nightstand along with a bottled water. I down it all, the split in my head enough to have me contemplating spending the day in bed. Pulling on my robe, I opt for fresh air, moving onto my balcony through the French doors. I take in the early morning, the blanketing clouds gathering in the horizon and drifting closer. The chill in the air has me shivering where I stand when awareness pricks, and I glance over the railing and spot Tobias on one of the loungers next to the covered pool. He’s still in last night’s suit and a black wool trench coat. Reclined back, a lit cigarette pinched between his fingers, with his eyes closed.
He never left.
Despite the chorus of drums in my head, I dress quickly into warm clothes and make my way out onto the deck. I approach quietly and take a seat in the lounger next to him and drink him in. He’s thirty-six now, and at the time we were together, I thought we were ageless. Time didn’t exist then, and time has done nothing but compliment his bone structure, his build, his unparalleled beauty. It’s then I recall his words from last night, his touch, the subtle but possessive strokes of his fingers, his heavily