Page 28 of Forbidden Need

Resisting the urge to close her eyes and sleep, she slunk out of bed to go into the closet. She snagged his shirt and buttoned it over her chest. Something, somewhere, in some alternate version of reality, they were together. Completely. Open. Public. Allowed.

There would never be acceptance. Her life and his were incompatible. Sense didn’t get it. Her body and soul wanted to exist with him.

Going to the bar, she poured two fingers of whiskey, downed them, then poured another two.

What she wouldn’t give… Bottle and glass in hand, her wander back to the bedroom came with a weight of admission. Connel McDade changed the course of her life. Had she known one person could be so completely…

Emptying the glass into her throat, she let it drop from her fingers, ignoring the sound of glass splintering on the floor.

Inside, she was afraid. Why? How? What did life want from her? Surrender?

Light glimpsed on the mirror in the bathroom, reflecting off the bottle from somewhere else. Stopping there, the full-length reflection gave her a target. Her mind was lost. Her heart hurt. Or did it? Was it pumping for life or just out of routine?

And that’s what it was. Since him. Since losing him, she’d pursued it, pursued emotion, feeling, sensation.

Nothing.

That’s what she felt.

Absolutely nothing.

The reflection disgusted her; she disgusted her. Soundbites told people to love themselves, to accept themselves as a complete person. That just wasn’t possible, not for her. Raising the bottle to her lips, she watched herself gulp the intoxicating liquid.

What was at the bottom of that bottle? Was it happiness? It couldn’t be. There was no happiness without him. Chasing a high that would never come, that’s what she’d been doing. Imogen’s cause, the fire, all she craved was feeling.

God, she repulsed herself. Who would want to be with her? Connel McDade was more of a man than so many others she’d met, so what? He was the one people feared and reviled. Fuck, she wanted him.

Her lips pressed closer as her nose tingled. No, she wouldn’t cry for him. Connel McDade expected more of his woman. Closing her eyes, her head went back. She wasn’t his and never would be. Why couldn’t she let go?

How could she process losing her grandfather when the real crime happened right there? Not in that room. That wasn’t where they’d said goodbye. Grief hung heavy, pulling at her, clawing, tearing at every ounce of consciousness.

If she concentrated hard, she could imagine his lips on hers. Could imagine how it was in his shower when he washed her hair and told her he’d take care of her. Without him, life was harder. She was harder.

What do I have left to lose? Those were the words she’d said to Strat not so long ago. To fight for your life, you first have to value it.

Life without Conn was pointless. What did she live for? People expected her to grieve and go on living? That wasn’t how it worked in her heart. Shit, why couldn’t she pull it together and just get over it?

Because he’d shown her the truth of freedom and it looked nothing like her life without him.

As her chin descended, her eyes opened. Anger. Frustration. Rage. A torrent of negativity swelled within her. Gritting her teeth, her lips curled. Why would he want to be with her?

Connel McDade deserved better.

Her grandfather deserved better.

All of them did.

Her father wasn’t wrong to be disappointed. She disappointed herself.

Sucking air through her nose, she filled her lungs and held her breath as long as she could. It came out on a long scream that tore her throat. God, she wanted to hurt. Wanted to burst. Wanted to rip the life from her own skin.

The bottle flew from her hand, shattering the offending mirror in an explosion of liquid and light. She was losing it. Going crazy. Unable to keep a lid on the nothingness inside her hollow heart.

Was she even alive? Did the world exist? This could be a nightmare, her nightmare. Maybe she’d never wake up.

Screaming again, she whirled around to the closet, pulling her things from their hangers, opening drawers to yank out what was inside. The world was a mess. Her sense of self, her need, nothing made sense, and she couldn’t fight her way out of it.

Pain wasn’t salved with a potion. She didn’t feel; she couldn’t live. Her aching throat had another scream in it, so loud and harsh that it disappeared into the abyss of silence.

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