Chapter 13
927 Words
Elena spent the rest of the day attempting to forget she had sent the text.
She cleaned the apartment. She scrubbed the kitchen counter until it sparkled. She folded the laundry she hadn't touched in weeks. Anything to keep her hands busy, to keep her mind off the message on her phone, still unanswered: I'll be there.
Whiskers sat watching from the couch like he knew she was losing the plot.
The buzzer rang at 7:45 p.m.
She gazed fixedly at the intercom for ten seconds.
Then pressed the button.
The hall light was flickering when he stepped out into it. Black shirt, dark jeans, no coat tonight, as if he’d left in a hurry. His hair looked damp, as if he’d recently showered and come right out.
He stood in the entrance, just inside the doorway, didn’t say anything, just looked at her, long and hard, as if committing every inch of her to memory.
She closed the door behind him.
The lock clicked.
Whiskers hissed and disappeared under the bed.
Elena crossed her arms. “You came.”
“You asked.”
“I asked to talk.”
He nodded once. "Then talk."
She walked to the living room, pacing. Stopped. Turned. "I just can't do this," she said. "The watching, the notes, the way you show up everywhere,that’s just too much."
He stood by the door. His hands were loose at his sides.
“You kissed me back,” he said softly.
“That doesn’t mean,
“It means everything.” He took a step forward. “You want me. You’re just scared to admit it.”
Her laugh is quick and bitter. “Scared? I'm terrified. You terrify me, Damian. The way you look at me, as if I already belonged to you.”
“You do.”
Those words hit hard.
She shook her head. “No. I belong to myself.”
He walked across the room in three strides.
She backed up until her shoulders touched the wall.
He stood inches away from her. Didn't touch her. Just loomed.
“Then why did you let me in?” he asked. Voice low. Rough. “Why are you wearing the bracelet again?”
Her hand went immediately to her wrist. She hadn’t even realized she’d put it on after the shower. She yanked it off. Held it out like evidence.
“Take It Back”
He doesn’t move.
Instead, he reached past her, slowly, while placing one hand on the wall, next to her head.
The other woman lifted her chin.
“You’re shaking,” he said, “Again."
She swallowed. “Because you’re too close.”
“Am I?”
His thumb brushed against her jaw. Her throat. Her pulse, where it stopped.
“‘You like me close,’” he whispered, his voice sending shivers down my spine. “‘You like feeling
Her breath hitched.
He leaned in; his mouth hovered over hers.
“Tell me to leave,” he said. “And I’ll leave. No more texts, no more shadows. Gone.”
Her lips parted.
“She could say it.”
She ought to say it.
Instead, she tilted her head, just enough.
His mouth came crashing down on hers.
Hard. Hungry. No hesitation.
And she gasped into the kiss. Hands fisting his shirt. Bringing him closer. He groaned, a low, primal sound, and picked her up. Her legs were automatically wrapped around his waist. Pressing her back into the wall.
His hands slipped beneath her sweater. Warmth of palms on uncovered flesh. Not fast. Not slow. Not low. Claiming the curve of her waist with thumbs on the underside of her ribs.
She arched into him.
He broke the kiss. Placed his forehead against hers. Breathing ragged.
“Say it,” he rasped. “Say you’re mine.”
Her nails dug into his shoulders.
“I’m… yours,” she whispered
Then he stepped back.
Walked to the door.
Looked back once.
“Goodnight,
The door closed softly.
She slid down the wall.
Touched her lips.
Sunlight filtered through the blinds and struck Elena's face like an accusation.
She woke up in an uncomfortable position on the couch, wearing the clothes she'd had on the day before, tangled up in the blanket, and with Whiskers sprawled across her belly, like a living, breathing weighted blanket. Her mouth felt swollen, her neck felt wrong from being in an uncomfortable position, and between her legs, the imprint of Damian's hands remained, like a brand.
She slowly sat up.
The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.
No note on the counter. No flower. No envelope slipped under the door.
Only the bracelet, still attached to her wrist. She hadn’t taken it off since his departure.
Her eyes fell upon the small silver hook that the leash went through. Her thumb brushed over the word engraved on the tag.
Safe.
She laughed—small broken sounds.
Safe was the last thing she felt. Her phone was buzzing on the coffee table, and she picked it. . . .
The words felt like surrender.
And like freedom.
Again, he kissed her, but this time, deeper, but slower, as if sealing it.
When he finally set her down, her legs were shaking.
He cupped her face. His thumb rubbed the wetness from her cheek.
“No more running,” he said softly. “No more hiding.”
She nodded.
He kissed her forehead—gentle this time.
“I’ll wait as long as you need,” he murmured. “But you’re not alone anymore.”
- Writer
