Page 84 of Was I Ever Here

He’s still pinning me down, his fingers digging into my hips, I can feel his lungs swell, full of breath. Full of life. And it centers me. The pleasure builds within every inch of me, pulling me higher and higher into a state of pure elation.

I no longer exist as just one body, I extend into the furthest reach of the universe and back. Time slows to a crawl and then speeds up. It warps and bends and does everything time is known to do and not do.

The veil thins and the past bleeds into the present and the future is nothing but a memory like any other. And it’s just like this—with Byzantine hot and burning and hard on top of me, eager and feral and almost violent but so good, so fucking good, my sharp moans piercing the air—that I see it.

Like a bright, burning light amongst the rain inside my soul. A memory or a vision orsomethingskating across my eyes. Of Byzantine and I. Of us laughing, of me kissing him, and smiling—trulysmiling. I’m hit with such joy that I don’t even recognize the feeling at first. It’s pure and so much more vivid than I’ve ever experienced it.

And with this I ignite. My orgasm slamming me back into my body, shattering the vision along with it but still I hold on to the feeling while I dig my nails into Byzantine’s back.

I feel him spill into me, limbs shaking, heavy breaths and sticky chests. And I’m sated, remembering the feeling of a few moments ago and I hold on to him just like he’s been holding onto me. The early morning rays stretch behind us while we catch our breath, Byzantine still nestled inside me.

Finally, he pushes himself on his elbows and gazes down at me. I can tell he wants to say more but stays silent. Instead, he slowly pulls out and gathers me off the ground and into a long embrace.

I love him, I know I do but the words stay dormant, smoldering in my chest. He kisses me slowly, sensually.

“You don’t have to say it,” he whispers, reading my mind. He pulls me even closer. “I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

My eyes burn with unshed tears, leaning into our kiss, seeking the warmth of his lips against mine. The pesky little voice in my head tells me I don’t deserve him, don’t deserve his love, and it makes me second guess every single feeling I have for him.

Do I even know what love feels like?

Then, his words from earlier echo back to me as I slip my tongue into Byzantine’s mouth, his hands so soft against my back, my hips, my thighs.

I’ve loved you for lifetimes,Sunny.

I have so many questions to ask him. But the question I’m burning to know as I sigh deeply against him is—what if I’ve also loved Byzantine before this?

What if I don’t need to learn how to love him?

I just need to somehow remember all the times I’ve loved him before.

Chapter 47

Sunny

Adulthoodhasalwaysbeenunfathomable to me. My future was not darkness, it simply did not exist. But maybe, after all, I did feel River’s death. It was her death I rehearsed in my head. Her death I romanticized. The psychic mirror of our two souls. I heard death’s requiem before it was sung, it just wasn’t mine. It was River’s all along.

And now I’m fated to stay here without her, the karmic tie between Byzantine and I keeping me tethered to this life. To this place.

Whatever that means.

We spend the day in bed, Byzantine holding me tight in his arms like he’s still terrified I’m about to run. Or jump. Or both. But even in his arms, I’m distant. I can’t help but to still resent Byzantine a little for keeping all this a secret.

This whole time he knew so much and yet said so little. Yet, I guess I can’t really blame him. How could he know I would even believe him?

Hi, I just killed your boss and oh by the way I know you from a past life and I love you.

The rational part of me thinks this can’t be real. He’s making this all up. But then I look in his eyes and the familiarity I find there is overwhelming. It overpowers every single rational thought I try to muster up.

It also explains the relentless magnetic pull I’ve had towards him since the very beginning. Except he had the answer as to why while I was kept in the dark.

I can tell he’s relieved that it’s finally out in the open. Every question I ask, he answers in as much detail as he can. At least I can find comfort in that and take full advantage of it.

I also can’t pretend that things are just magically fixed because of what happened on the cliff. Everything isn’t suddenly better. The ache is still there, like an amputated limb that still hurts. That’s not how mental illness works. You can’t justdecideto get better. If that was the reality, no one would ever suffer from depression.

I roll on my back and stretch my entire body like a cat. Byzantine watches, his face impassive, like he’s calculating every move I make and tabulating the odds against him. I let out a deep sigh and turn onto my side to face him.

“Don’t you think it was pretty fucked up for you to bring me to like, the scene of my own death?”

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