Page 89 of Tied

She cries in her sleep, and her body twitches as if it hurts. I watch her, wondering what’s happening in her mind right now—what she’s seeing and feeling. I worry about what demons could be brainwashing her.

I lie on my side and watch her sleep, taking in every delicate detail of her face, the length of her eyelashes and how they rest on her cheeks like little feathers, the way her lips part as she breathes. I want her in my bed like this every day, with the sun shining down on her golden hair like a halo.

Earlier, I teetered on the edge of letting guilt and regret consume me. First my father and now this… this insane fucking regret that’s eating me like a virus. The night of the fire is still a haze in my memories, but I keep going back there, replaying every moment. If Wendy wasn’t such a self-centered bitch, she probably wouldn’t have laughed and ignored a terrified little girl. If I had been sober, I probably wouldn’t have fallen when he pushed me. If I had just remembered everything when they questioned me at the hospital, maybe they would have found Holly right away.

So many fucking ifs.

The escape of drugs is so tempting. To go back to that place where nothing hurts, where I don’t have to face all these unfairtwists and turns of life, to go down that rabbit hole of numbness would be a great vacation right now.

But if I put myself in that place again, I’ll let Holly down. I’ll lose her, and all the happiness and hope that comes with her. I’ll drag her happiness down with me. If I don’t hide how much the guilt is killing me inside, it will tear her apart.

For her, I’ll stay sober and straight.

For her, I’ll put on the strong and happy mask.

For whatever crazy reason, she loves and trusts me. She sees past all my fuck-ups and ugliness andbad shit. Is she so lost in her fairy tale that she’s blind to it all? Or does she honestly love me enough to accept it?

I don’t even care. As long as she’s here, in my life and in my arms.

She’s everything. My past. My present. My future. My twin flame—the one who shares the path of my soul.

Tanner’s already gone by the time we go downstairs for breakfast, and now she’s staring at her food, lifting the pancakes with her fork, flipping them over. She catches me watching her from across the small table and quickly puts her fork down.

“I wasn’t doing that,” she says. “I was just looking at them.”

I raise my brows at her. “You think I would drug you? Or try to bribe you?”

She looks down at her plate in guilt. “I can’t help it. I just do it.”

“I know, sugar. I just want you to be able to eat without being afraid of it.”

“I do, too.”

She slowly cuts up her food into tiny pieces and takes a cautious bite from her fork.

“Can I ask you something?” she asks in between bites.

“Of course.”

“If I asked you to, would you stop doing the fighting?”

That’s the last thing I expected her to ask me. “Maybe. Why?”

“Because I love your face. I don’t want it getting hurt anymore.”

You skeeve me out.

Her words rock me, right into my soul. She doesn’t know how much her words mean to me, but I know she’s the only person I’ll ever meet who has the true capacity to understand. We’re kinda made of the same ripped-up cloth.

I chew my pancake and swallow it, not able to get my voice to come out. Instead I stand, walk around the table, grab her face in my hands, and kiss her until she’s breathless and clutching my shoulders. I fist her long hair at the back of her neck and lift her up off the chair, not breaking our kiss as I back her up against the table, pushing our plates to the other side. Fuck breakfast.

“Okay…,” I whisper against her lips. “I’ll quit fighting. For you.”

That gets a big smile out of her. “You mean it? You won’t fight anymore?”

“I won’t… if you do something for me.” I lift her up and set her on the table, moving to stand between her thighs, my hands circling her waist.

“What?” she asks curiously.

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