Page 156 of Sinful Desires
I started crying. The kind you couldn’t stop. The kind that came from somewhere deep.
I cried for him.
For my dad.
The one who used to braid my hair, even if it was messy. Who had made me pancakes shaped like stars and let me eat whipped cream straight from the can. Who had sat through my tea parties with glitter on his tie and let me win every board game. Who had run beside me when I’d learned to ride a bike. Who used to hold my hand when I was scared of the dark.
The one who had called me his precious flower and told me the moon followed me because I was special.
I didn’t know where he’d gone. I didn’t know when I’d become someone he couldn’t even look at.
Something in me cracked.
I sank deeper and threw my head back, letting the water swalloweverything.
The world went quiet, and I let go.
I didn’t fight the breath leaving my lungs. I let it slip out, as my heart thudded softer and softer in my chest.
Maybe that was it.
Maybe that was how I’d finally die.
And for a moment?…?that felt like peace.
Strong arms pulled me out of the water before I could finish sinking. My back hit something solid, maybe stone, but I was too drunk to care.
My head lolled to the side, and my lips moved on their own, cursing whoever it was that hadn’t let me die in peace.
The voice that answered was rough and warm in a way that felt unfamiliar.
I felt those same arms carry me through the fog of the maze. The cold stung my skin, my soaked dress sticking to me as I shivered harder with each step.
The moon lit the path.
My vision blurred, but then I saw him. Grey eyes, a gorgeous face, shadows caught along his jaw. I reached out and touched the back of his neck, just to make sure he was real.
He looked like something the sky had sent down to punish girls like me.
“Who are you?” I asked, my voice soft and dizzy.
His reply was flat. “No one.”
I brushed his cheek with my hand.
“You feel like an angel,” I whispered.
“You’re drunk.”
I was.
I pressed two fingers against his lips. “You look like one too.”
Then he bit down on my finger. Hard. I flinched.
“Ouch. Asshole,” I muttered. “Guess you’re not an angel after all.”
He asked me things I don’t fully remember. About the drugs. About whether I still wanted to be alive. About my age, my name, maybe more.
