Page 70 of August and the Night

"I missed this, missed you so much," he mutters into my neck, sucking marks on the flesh.

"I am nothing without you, little dove. I love you, I love you, I love you," he confesses over and over again. His thrusts become rougher, and I can't stop the screams that are coming out of my mouth. It feels amazing, and his confessions are making it feel even better, despite my rational side that knows they complicate things even more.

"Please say it back, please," he begs, this powerful man on top of me who could probably crush me with one of his hands is begging me to tell him I love him. I can't do it. I've built walls so solid around my heart that even his confessions can't break them down. I don't want to admit it, but that incident made me terrified to love again.

I shake my head at him, and he buries his face in my hair, his thrusts still keeping the same fast tempo. "It's okay, little dove, I will love you enough for the both of us," he groans as he cums inside of me, and the feel of him in me makes me follow him right after, clenching hard on his length from how strong my orgasm is.

I feel his hand play with my hair as his arms engulf me. I feel suffocated. He claims he loves me, and I don't know what to believe. I need to breathe, I need space, and this is nothing but a mistake.

I push him off of me, tears streaming down my face as I order again, "Get the fuck out, August Steele."

54

Layla

My mind races, and I find myself wanting nothing more than to escape the situation, to erase the mistake I have made. With urgency, I turn to face him, seeing him still there despite me ordering him to get out; my heart pounds with self-loathing.

"Out! Out!" I scream again, my voice guttural. I push him away from me, his face etched with hurt, but I ignore it. I gather the jumble of clothes from the floor and toss them towards him, desperately attempting to rid myself of his presence, of the suffocating emotions that threaten to consume me.

I watch as August begins to dress, his movements mechanical, his face still contorted with pain. I can't find it in me to care about his feelings in the state that I'm in.

With anger, I seize his shirt that I had missed from the floor and fling it toward him. It lands at his feet, and he picks it up and puts it on.

But it isn't enough. It isn't enough to simply throw his clothes. The fury inside me is a tempest that demands release. Tears blur my vision as I advance toward him, fists clenched. I launch myself at his chest, the impact of my blows probably not affecting him at all. Over and over, I strike him as hard as I can—my hurt, my betrayal, and my longing colliding. With each punch, a mixture of sobs and screams tears from my throat, the sound raw.

"I said get out!" I scream, my voice cracking with a vulnerability that I hadn't intended to reveal. And then, fueled by a surge of adrenaline and a desperate need to reclaim some semblance of control, I push him, using every ounce of my strength to propel him out the door. He just moves numbly with me.

As the door slams shut, I lean against it, my breath ragged, my body trembling. Regret gnaws at my insides, a relentless ache that seems to stretch into eternity. Every word I have uttered, every emotion I have unleashed—it's all a chaotic mess that I can't seem to escape from.

"I need fresh air," I mutter to myself, my voice trembling as I move with numbness. Dressing in haste, I fumble with buttons and zippers, the urgency to get out of my apartment becoming almost unbearable. As I rush to the door.

The moment I step outside, the cool breeze hits my face like a balm, a welcome reprieve from the suffocating atmosphere. Yet, despite the fresh air that surrounds me, the heaviness in my chest remains. I walk through the streets aimlessly, the cold biting at my skin. My heart feels like it's going to explode, August's “I love you” repeated in my head over and over again like a broken record. The truth is that I still love him, still care for him. I know I shouldn’t, but that doesn’t stop my heart from beating his name.

And then, amidst the whirlwind of my own thoughts, a sudden brightness catches my attention—a blinding beam of light that cuts through the darkness of the night. The sound of a honk follows, piercing the air like a warning. My heart skips a beat as I turn toward the source of the sound, my eyes widening in shock as a car careens towards me with alarming speed.

Fear paralyzes me for a fraction of a second, the world slowing down as I try to comprehend the danger that's hurtling toward me. And then, in a collision of metal and sound, the car crashes onto me, the impact stealing my breath away. Pain radiates through my body; everything feels like it's on fire.

My consciousness drifts in and out, and amidst the fog, I can hear August's voice, his shouts piercing through the darkness like a beacon. My name is a desperate plea on his lips, the anguish clear in his voice.

His hands, strong and trembling, pull me into his chest; I can feel his tears on my skin. In my half-conscious state, I can't fully grasp the gravity of the situation, but his presence alone is enough to anchor me, to remind me that I'm not alone.

As I drift in and out of awareness, his words reach me like distant echoes. "Do not leave me, little dove," he implores, his voice breaking with a vulnerability that tears at my heart. "I will die without you," he continues.

"I love you so much, please fight," his words are a plea, a fervent request, and I try to oblige, try to open my eyes, but I can't. I can hear the sounds of sirens loud and clear, and I fight some more to try to awaken.

Through the haze, I feel hands on me, people working urgently to provide aid. The world seems to spin around me, a flurry of movement and voices that I struggle to comprehend. But August's presence remains a constant, his determination unwavering.

I hear him speak to one of the EMTs, his voice desperate. He's coming with me, refusing to let me face this ordeal alone. The pain I feel is intense; it feels like knives are plunging all over my body.

Through it all, I feel his touch; his hand finds mine, his fingers intertwining with mine. And then, a soft press of his lips against my hand, a gentle kiss that conveys more than words ever could.

As the darkness threatens to claim me completely, I hear his sobs, and my heart feels like it's being ripped apart. "Please, please do not leave me," his voice cracks, the weight of his fear and love intertwined in every syllable. And then, like a whisper carried away by the wind, his plea fades, and the darkness finally fully captures me.

55

August

Entering the hospital feels like stepping into a nightmare. The sterile walls and the scent of antiseptic only accentuate the chaos swirling within me. The image of Layla lying motionless, her life hanging in the balance, is a thought I can't bear to entertain. The idea of a world without her—without her smile, her voice, her touch—is an agony that clenches my chest like a vise.

---