Page 120 of Guarded

Childhood trauma plus a savior complex only equated to falling in love with the only woman I couldn’t have. A woman sleeping peacefully with her body sprawled over mine. Her head lays perfectly on my chest, her legs intertwined in mine. How was I going to give this all up?

All these pressing thoughts kept me up most of the night. Nightmares I once had about Evangeline have morphed into nightmares about Ariella standing up at an altar with Preston.

In the dream, I am running up the cathedral stairs that have no end. I keep running as a new row of stairs emerge the moment, I reach the top. Finally, when I reach the top, it’s too late. Her lips press into his, and the Priest announces them husband and wife. I wake in a panic. The dream restarts every time I close my eyes. Always the same tormented ending.

Fuck sleep.

And Fuck Preston Cuevas.

After I overheard the councilman chastising her about keeping her mouth shut, I decided on two possible outcomes.

One, I could kill him. It’d be bloody. I’m not too fond of blood, but I’d do it anyway if it meant never seeing that sullen expression on her face.

Option two was to kidnap her. I found no realistic argument against that. The downside was only her resenting me, but I could live with that.

There was a third option. It would require me to confront my feelings and be vulnerable, to tell her how I felt.

My fingers graze down her spine, drinking in the softness of her flesh. Blonde strains fan out over me. The rise and fall of her chest a gentle rhythm above me.

In the quietude, I could hear the soft rustle of trees outside our window and the distant hum of the city awakening. Yet here, it felt as though the world had paused, allowing me to have her all to myself for a brief moment. She shifts slowly, her eyes fluttering open.

“Why are you staring at me, creep?” She grumbles, keeping her eyes shut.

"Good morning, Princess.” I kiss the top of her head.

She stirs some more before fully waking up. Her body’s digital clock was wired for six o’clock, and it was already well past eight. She releases her grip on me lazily, arms reaching above her head, a content sigh escaping her lips. Untangling herself from my embrace, she rolls over to check the alarm clock.

“I missed my workout because of you.” She complains.

“I have some plans for cardio if you want.” I offer.

“Of course you do.”

She nestles her face back into the crook of my neck. I wrap my arm tight around her. The warmth of her body still carried the heat from the night before.

“I need to get up.” She groans before kissing the scars on my chest.

Emotions flood me as I think of another day where we have to pretend our forbidden touches don’t exist.

That she doesn’t want me, and I can’t love her. Lies we told the world and ourselves.

Ariella pulls the sheets with her and lifts herself from the bed. She offers me a sympathetic smile that breaks down the barriers guarding my heart.

“Ari. Wait.” She turns from the bedroom door to face me.

It kills me when I see her guilt-ridden expression staring back at me. Her eyes look at me regretfully.

“I can’t keep doing this, Nero. It’s not good for my heart.”

She rolls her lips in, but her eyes stay locked on mine. I move to sit on the edge of the bed. Just to be closer to her.

“Ari, you deserve the world. You deserve more than the broken remnants of my heart. It’s not that I don’t want to love you. I can’t. I’m still stuck in that fucking bathtub.”My voice breaks at the confession. “Pain is the only thing I know. And I never want to cause you pain.”

Emotions I haven’t felt in years threaten to emerge as my eyes plead with hers. She moves between my legs, cradling my head into her soft abdomen. I wrap my arms around her waist, and I let go.

I fucking let go.

Freeing myself from the torment. The anger. Freeing the unshed tears stored up inside me. I cling to her, desperate to let her body heal the deep and ugly wounds inside me. To free the little boy trapped in the memories that broke me.

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