The Love that Kills me

Chapter 15

It was Sunday, the day she and Stephen were finally going to watch the movie that Crissa had given her. She still didn’t know exactly what the movie was—Crissa had only said it was a classic romance. Hope had imagined something sweet and old-fashioned, the kind of story that made you sigh and dream a little.

Stephen drove them to the theater, the sun soft in the sky as they wound through the streets. Hope felt a strange mix of excitement and nerves bubbling in her stomach. She kept glancing over at Stephen, wondering if he was looking forward to it too.

They arrived just in time, the theater’s neon sign glowing faintly in the late afternoon light. They still had a few minutes to spare, so they bought a big tub of popcorn and two drinks. She found herself smiling at the simple pleasure of sharing these small moments with him.

They found seats on the balcony, directly facing the wide movie screen. The place was already filling up—couples leaning close, some people sitting alone. Hope felt a gentle warmth in her chest as she settled into her seat beside Stephen, the smell of buttery popcorn in the air.

The movie began as she expected: a soft, romantic tale set in another time. The first half was full of longing looks, sweet words, and tender touches that made her chest ache in a good way. She felt herself relax into the story, the world around her slipping away.

But then, about halfway through, something changed. The story shifted from soft glances to heated touches. The two lovers on screen moved from a gentle kiss to a passionate embrace, their breathing ragged, their hands urgent.

Hope’s eyes widened as the scene unfolded. She hadn’t expected this—the way the movie turned from sweet to hot and steamy so quickly. She swallowed hard and glanced at Stephen, her cheeks burning.

“I… I didn’t know it had scenes like this,” she whispered, her voice small.

Stephen looked at her, and a small smile curved his lips. “That’s fine,” he said lightly. “Don’t worry about it.”

She forced a smile and turned her attention back to the screen, but her heart was racing. Around them, she could see other couples leaning into each other—some were kissing deeply, others pressed so close they might as well have been one body.

She felt the heat creeping up her neck, her skin prickling with embarrassment. Part of her wanted to bolt from the theater, to pull Stephen away before she died of shame. But when she looked at him again, he was watching the movie calmly, his expression unreadable.

What the f**k, Crissa, she cursed silently, gripping the edge of her seat. I’m going to get back at you tomorrow, you traitor.

By the time the movie ended, Hope’s face was still red. She felt like she could barely breathe, her thoughts tangled in a whirl of embarrassment and something else—something she didn’t quite have the words for.

They walked back to the car in a comfortable quiet, but she could feel Stephen glancing at her now and then, amusement flickering in his eyes. Once they were in the car and heading home, he finally spoke.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice soft. “Your face is so red.”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, her voice a little too high. “Don’t worry about it.”

Stephen only smiled faintly and turned his eyes back to the road, but she could feel the heat of his gaze like a physical touch.

When they arrived home, Hope couldn’t keep it in any longer. As soon as they stepped through the front door, she turned to him, her hands twisting in front of her.

“Stephen, I—I didn’t know,” she blurted out. “I swear, I didn’t know that movie had scenes like that. Crissa just said it was a classic romance—I didn’t mean to—”

She was cut off by the gentle press of Stephen’s lips against hers. For a moment, she froze in surprise, her words lost in the sudden rush of his closeness.

Stephen pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “You don’t have to explain.”

But before she could say anything else, he kissed her again—deeper this time, his hands cupping her face. She felt the last of her embarrassment melt away under the heat of his touch.

He kissed her with a tenderness that made her chest ache, but there was a hunger in it too—something that made her pulse quicken and her knees feel weak. She let herself fall into it, her hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt as she clung to him.

When they finally broke apart, he leaned his forehead against hers, his breathing a little unsteady. “Hope,” he whispered, his voice husky. “Do you want this?”

For a moment, she hesitated—her heart thundering in her chest. But then she nodded, her voice small but sure. “Yes.”

Stephen’s hands traced down her sides, pulling her closer, and she felt her thoughts slip away, replaced by a warmth that spread through every inch of her body. He kissed her again, slower this time, his lips teasing and coaxing until she was trembling against him.

They moved through the house together, their steps slow and uncertain at first. But when they reached the bedroom, something shifted. The air between them felt electric, every touch sending sparks through her veins.

Stephen kissed her like he wanted to memorize the taste of her, his hands gentle but firm as he explored every curve, every inch of her skin. She let herself get lost in it, her head spinning with the softness of his mouth, the way he murmured her name against her lips.

That night, Stephen made love to her with a tenderness that took her breath away. He was patient and attentive, his hands never leaving her, his eyes locked on hers as though she was the only thing in the world.

Every touch, every sigh, felt like it was unraveling something deep inside her—something she’d been too scared to even look at before. She felt like she was burning and floating all at once, her senses overwhelmed by the heat of his body, the way he whispered her name like a promise.

When they finally lay tangled together in the quiet aftermath, Hope felt a softness settle in her chest. Stephen’s arm was draped around her, his breath warm against her neck. For the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself believe that maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t just a marriage on paper. Maybe there was something real here, something worth holding on to.

As she drifted off to sleep, she let herself hope that this was only the beginning.