Page 121 of You Were Always Mine
His hands are different now. No bruising grip, no punishing strength—just a thumb stroking my cheek, soft, as if he’s afraid I’ll shatter beneath him. His lips find my eyes, my temple, the damp trail my tears left behind. Kisses so gentle they make my chest ache worse than his cruelty ever did.
I close my eyes and let myself melt into it, my hands sliding up the sides of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. He smells like smoke and sin and something that’s only ever been him, and I whisper into the hollow of his throat, “You’re not poison, Kai. You’re the only thing keeping me breathing.”
He freezes—just for a heartbeat—then kisses my jaw, slow, lingering. His touch trails down my arm, his fingers threading between mine, and it feels like he’s anchoring himself to me even as I try to tether him back to earth.
“I don’t care what anyone says,” I breathe, wordsspilling without filter now. “You didn’t ruin me. You’re the reason I’m still here. You’re the reason I get up every day. Don’t you see that?”
He pulls back just far enough for me to see the war in his eyes, the sharp blue dulled by guilt. I kiss his lips—sweet, desperate, clumsy—and he lets me. He lets me guide the tenderness for once.
“You’re not my sin,” I whisper against his mouth, shaking. “You’re my salvation.”
His forehead rests against mine again, his breath ragged, almost broken. His hands cradle my face like I’m something holy instead of something damned, and for the first time tonight, his silence feels like he’s listening instead of punishing.
His arms don’t loosen. If anything, they tighten—locking me against him as though he’s terrified I’ll slip through the smallest crack. His lips find my temple, then the crown of my head—slow, trembling presses of his mouth that don’t feel like the boy who breaks me against walls. They feel like the boy who’s drowning and clutching me as his only air.
I let him. I melt into him, fingers tangled in his shirt, breathing him in—smoke, sweat, salt—wrapped around me until it feels like he’s the only thing left in the world. For the first time in days, I let my eyes drift closed, and for a heartbeat, it feels safe.
But then his voice cuts through the quiet—not loud, not rough—just a whisper that tastes like ash.
“I shouldn’t touch you like this,” he murmurs against my hair, his breath hot and broken. “I shouldn’t want you the way I do. I should’ve protected you. That’s what I was meant to be. Not this. Not…” His chest shudders beneath my cheek. “I’m not good for you, Scar. I’ll destroy you. And I can’t stop.”
My fingers curl tighter in his shirt, clutching, refusing to let him slip further into that darkness. “You won’t destroy me,” I whisper, my voice shaky but sure. “You can’t. I won’t let you go. Not now. Not ever.”
He goes still. So still I can hear the uneven drag of his breathing, the unspoken war in his silence.
Then his lips press hard against the top of my head—fierce, desperate—like a vow. “Don’t leave me,” he rasps. “I couldn’t survive it. Don’t ever fucking leave me.”
I swallow, my heart cracking beneath the weight of him. “I’m not leaving.”
The words are fragile, but they’re all I have.
And in the hush of that promise, I feel his guilt coil tighter around us—like a shadow that will never loosen its grip.
Kai
The bar smells of smoke and sweat and bad decisions, but I don’t care. I’ve got her beside me, sliding onto the cracked vinyl booth like she belongs here, like I didn’t ruin her body and her soul last night. Like we’re just another couple of kids ducking into a dive for a drink, pretending we’re normal.
Her knee brushes mine under the table, a small thing, nothing intentional—but it burns through me. My hand twitches to take it, to anchor her there, to remind every bastard in this place she’s mine. But I don’t. Not yet.
She orders something sweet and weak, the kind of drink that looks like candy in a glass. I order whiskey straight, like I’m trying to cauterise the hole in my chest.
And when the waitress drops the drinks, Scarlett smiles like she’s fine, like she didn’t cry herself raw in my arms. It guts me. It makes me want to flip the table, to drag her onto my lap and make her admit to the room what she whispers only to me. But instead I sip the burn and force a smirk, because this is what shewants—normal.
Normal.
The word is poison on my tongue.
I lean closer, my voice just for her. “You think anyone here believes we’re normal?” My knuckles brush her thigh under the table, a slow drag that makes her shiver. “They’re staring, Scar. They can tell you’re mine.”
She shakes her head, whispering back, “They don’t know.”
“I want them to know,” I admit, teeth gritted. “I want them to choke on it.”
She laughs nervously, hiding behind her glass. The sound almost makes me forget the guilt, almost makes me believe this could work—that I could be her safe place instead of her curse.
Almost.
Because in the back of my mind, Tyler’s name is a loaded gun. And if he so much as looks at her tonight?—
