Page 167 of Intense
Drago finally reads out the name and date.
I stare down at the identical entry in her journal.
My chest seizes. I can’t breathe. I can’t speak.
“Finn? You okay?”
“No.”
I hang up and pinch the bridge of my nose.
She fucking did that.
Is that all I’ve been to her? A pawn? Was she working with The Preacher this whole time? Is that why she’s here, why she suddenly fell for me?
It wasn’t trust. It wasn’t love.
She still hates me.
She’s worse than a traitor.
She broke my black fucking heart.
And with that, the last sliver of hope I’d been holding onto dies.
The empathy goes with it. So does every trace of feeling.
I close the book. My mind goes still.
The man I used to be slides back into place with the ease of muscle memory. The one who feels nothing, who hurts for no one.
I am dead inside. Again.
And she’s to blame.
Putting everything back into its perfect place, making sure it looks untouched, I rifle around the kitchen drawers until I find it. The key to lock the office door.
And then, I slip back into bed beside her.
Watching the steady rise and fall of her chest.
The way her lips part and little soft moans escape.
Is she dreaming about me?
About that future we started to plan together?
Or is she dreaming about taking me down?
A smile spreads across my lips as I stroke her hair away from her face.
“You’re about to enter into your own nightmare,” I whisper and press a soft kiss to her cheek.
She turns to face me, wrapping her arms around me and snuggling closer.
While I just lie here.
Calculating my next move. All whilst being fucking dead inside.
