Page 42 of Dark Possession
I’m fully engrossed when a pair of hands grabme a short while later, startling a scream from me. A hand clamps over my mouth, muffling the sound, and I struggle to whirl around in the chair to find a grinning Lev.
Heart beating furiously, I wrench the headphones from my head and beat him with them. “You!”
“Me,” he agrees.
“You scared the life out of me!”
“You’re still very much alive; stop complaining.” Bending, he kisses me.
"What are you doing here?" I whisper as I glance at the wicker basket in his hand, but the smile spreading across my face betrays my joy at seeing him here, in my academic sanctuary, completely unexpected.
"How else would I make sure you're eating properly during midterms?" Lev gestures to a quiet study nook in the corner. "I've got clearance from the librarian. Special circumstances." He winks playfully. "Besides, I missed you."
I missed you, too. More than I can say.The words catch in my throat as I gather my books and follow him to the secluded corner where he begins unpacking the basket.
He's rolled up the sleeves of his button-down shirt, exposing his forearms. I've always loved his hands—strong, capable, with nearly invisible scars that tell stories of his life before me. He catches me staring, and his eyes crinkle at the corners.
"What?" he asks, quietly setting out containers of food.
"Nothing." I sit across from him, tucking one leg beneath me. "This is perfect."
He's brought everything—pickled vegetables, dark bread, and sparkling cider. Dima has outdone herself again. We eat in hushed tones, catching up on the small details of our lives spent apart. His work, my studies. The sweet cider and his presence warm me from the inside. When our containers are empty and the conversation lulls into comfortable silence, I realize how much I've been holding back.
"I miss you," I tell him, running my finger along the rim of my glass. "I miss being home."
Lev's eyebrows lift slightly. "Really?"
His tone catches me off guard. "What do you mean, really? Of course, I do."
He sets his glass down slowly, deliberate in his movements. "Do you remember our conversation a few weeks ago? When you made me say the words?"
Oh.The memory floods back. Us in the library, my insistence that he verbalize his feelings, not just show them through gestures and care. The vulnerability in his eyes when he finally said "I love you" aloud.
"You've never said it back, Alina," he says softly. Not accusatory, just stating a fact. "Not once."
The realization hits me like a cold wave. All this time, I've been reveling in his affection, hearing his declarations—but holding back my own. Not because they aren't true, but because I'm afraid. Afraid that speaking them aloud makes them real, makes them something that can be taken away.
I stare at the library table, shame washing over me. The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken thoughts.How many times has he wondered? How many times has he doubted what I feel simply because I couldn't bring myself to say it?
Without a word, I glance around. The library is nearly empty in this secluded corner, most students are avoiding the building altogether on this beautiful spring day. I stand up. His eyes follow me, uncertain. I step toward him and gesture for him to push his chair back from the table. Confusion flickers across his face, but he obliges.
I lower myself onto his lap, my legs straddling his. The library chair creaks beneath our combined weight. I take his face in my hands, feeling the slight stubble against my palms. His eyes search mine, and I see the question there, the vulnerability, mixed with surprise at my boldness in this public space.
"I love you," I whisper, my voice is stronger than I expected. "I love you, Lev. You rescued me when I didn't know I needed rescuing. You showed me what it means to be seen, truly seen."
I kiss him deeply, trying to pour everything I can't articulate into the pressure of my lips against his. His hands find my waist, steadying me, pulling me closer.
"I'm sorry it took me so long to say it," I murmur against his mouth. "I was afraid."
"Afraid of what?" His breath is warm against my skin.
"Of losing this. Of losing you." I rest my forehead against his. "Of what happens when you let yourself need someone."
"I'm not going anywhere," he says, his hands sliding up my back, under my shirt, tracing patterns on my bare skin.
I believe him. For the first time in a long time, I let myself believe someone's promise. I shift against him, feeling his body respond to mine.
"We should probably continue this somewhere else," he whispers against my ear, his voice rough with desire.
