It was only after we had both come down from our high that I realized how wet I was—how wet the bed was. The room was dark except for the faint glow of the moonlight seeping in through the window, but even in the dimness, I could feel it—the blood. Large amounts of it, sticky and warm against my chest, in my hands.
Asher got off me, which made me whine softly.
He asked,
“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
“I’m fine,” I said, grimacing as I tried to absorb the soreness and the sharp sting of pain that came with it.
He collapsed beside me, and as I turned to look at him, I saw how drenched in sweat he was—how pale he was becoming. Then I saw the blood again and realized it was coming from his arm. And then it hit me—through all of it, while he was on top of me, kissing me, holding my hair,
