Dove.Then.
“The freaks or me. Make your choice.”
Shawn stands there, his ultimatum like a sword in my chest.
Everyone at the club is watching me. Waiting to see what I’ll do.
I stand. I feel outside of my body as I watch myself rise and go to stand next to Shawn.
He grins. That smug, self-satisfied smirk. “Good girl. Let’s go home.”
He turns and quickly walks down the hallway, out of the club. I follow behind him. My skin feels numb, like plastic wrapped around my bones.
“Yeah, get the fuck out of here!” Ophelia snaps to our retreating forms. “No one wants you here anyway!”
She’s talking to Shawn. I know she’s talking to him. But she’s talking tome, too.
My eyes sting with tears. Shawn is walking too quickly,already out the door, and I’m tripping over myself to try to keep up with him. My vision blurs, barely holding onto the tears, and as I exit the brownstone, I trip over the stone steps.
I brace for impact, but a strong hand catches me.
“Watch yourself,” my rescuer says. His voice is heavy. Stern.
Familiar.
I look up at him, and I remember.
It’s Dorian. Dorian from a year ago. The same blue eyes and dark hair, but perhaps a little more hectic around the edges. His hair is a little longer. The beard a little scruffier. There’s a sleepless darkness circling his eyes.
He’s raw as a nerve, and I can see it in the crease of his mouth. That frown I know so well is sharper, angrier.
There’s a woman waiting for him at the top of the steps. Despite the cold, she’s wearing a short, thin dress that shows off her long legs.
“Poe!” Quinn says. “Come on!”
Her voice pitches with impatience. Impatience and a hint of something else, too. We are staring at each other a bit too long.
This is a real memory, isn’t it?
I’d erased bits and pieces of that night, my brain trying to protect itself. But I remember now. That’s why he’d seemed familiar on the app—we ran into each other on that night. That night he took her up to the top floor and did things that made him hate himself the next morning. That night I went home with Shawn and he put bruises around my throat.
On the worst night of my life, I met my soulmate for the first time.
I just wasn’t ready for him yet.
And he wasn’t ready for me, either.
He’s still holding onto me, his grip tight on my arm. I can’t stop staring at him. Snow is falling gently around usand a snowflake traps itself in his dark eyelashes. Something flickers in his eyes—like perhaps his soul recognizes mine, too.
His eyebrows scrunch together. He must read my expression, because concern touches his face. “Are you alright?”
This is a dream. I can do whatever the hell I want.
In this version of the memory, I make a different choice. I grab Dorian and I kiss him.
He goes stiff at first, but then he thaws. His tongue melts in my mouth. I open for him, inviting, and he goes deeper. His hand curls around the small of my back, pulling my body flush against his, and a moan escapes me and bleeds into him.
Quinn is shouting for Dorian. Shawn is shouting at me. But neither of us pay any attention to them. Their voices are muffled by the sounds of our breaths and our hearts, beating and pounding together.
