Page 201 of Eternal
It’s a mistake. He’s still bleeding, I inflicted this on him, but he doesn’t care.
His fingers dig into my waist, pulling me closer, “My beautiful partner,” he whispers, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear.
I lean into him slightly, my lips almost touch his neck, but I stop myself, he seems to sense my hesitation and tugs me even closer.
“Why are you like this?” I ask, though the question is more to myself than him.
“Why are you?” he counters. I can feel the tension in his jaw, the way his hands are trembling. It's not with fear, though, it's with rage, for me, for the way I make him feel.
I should pull away, but when his lips brush mine again, I’m too far gone.
It’s the part of me that I wish would break already, that self-control I’ve fought for so long. But it’s still here, faint, but it’s still there. I can feel his breath on my skin, hot and heavy, and it's like every part of me is screaming to push him away, but then he touches me, and everything inside of me quivers instead.
He hurt me, he lied to me, he’s here to stop me, that’s the only reason he came into my life.
And I tried to kill him for it. Itried. I thought maybe that would be enough, maybe if I hurt him, made him bleed, it would finally make him leave, but he didn't.
“Why are you doing this?” My voice is hoarse, trembling even as I say it, because the truth is, I don’t want him to leave. I want him to stay, even when I know everything he's done, everything he’s lied about.
“Doing what?” His lips are just a breath away from mine, and I feel the heat from his body burning into me. “You wanted this. You let me in.”
No, I didn't let him in. He forced his way inside.
“Ican’t…I can’t let you destroy me,” I mutter under my breath, trying to pull away, but my body betrays me. My chest is heaving, my pulse quickening as he places a hand on my back, dragging me closer. I feel his lips on my neck, and it’s like a jolt to my system.
“I’m not the one doing that, partner,” he whispers, his voice now low and darker. “You’re doing it all on your own.”
And when his lips crash down on mine, I don’t resist. I kiss him back with a desperation that surprises even me, the anger, the resentment… it all fades away the moment his tongue brushes against mine.
It's reckless, messy, fucking real.
“Tell me you hate me.” His voice is almost a growl now, begging, as if he wants to hear it. As if he needs to hear it.
“I hate you,” I manage to whisper.
He pulls back just enough to look me in the eye, his expression almost sad, and there’s something regretful in the way his eyes darken. “I hate me too,” he murmurs, and it’s the most honest thing he’s ever said.
I hate him.
I hate him.
So why am I trembling?
Why does my chest ache with something that isn’t just rage?
“You should have been dead.” My voice cracks. “I should have let you die?—”
No, I don’t. No. I want him alive and well and happy and mine.
“I should’ve—”kissed you.
He kisses me again.
I shove at his chest, while my lips argue with his, my fists slamming against him, but he doesn’t stop. He takes everything I give, my anger, my betrayal, my grief, until I have nothing left. Until my hands stop hitting. Until my breaths turn into shuddering gasps against his lips.
I hate him, I hate that I let him get this close, I hate that I still want him.
My fingers twist into his shirt, clinging to him, and I don’t know if I want to push him away or pull him closer. Maybe both, maybe neither, he’s still bleeding, still weak, but his grip on me is iron.
