“Shhh,” he whispered, dragging us both behind the closet door. I could feel his warm breath against my cheek. “Quiet, Trouble. It’s not done hunting yet.”
I was trembling.
His chest pressed into mine. He was too close, too warm. The rain trailed from his hair onto my dress in cold drops. Every part of me screamed that it was wrong, but my heartbeat wouldn’t obey. It thrashed against my ribs like it wanted out, like it wantedhim. No one should feel this way. Notme.
But maybe it was the way he protected me when no one else did. Maybe it was the way he made me feel like I wasn’t broken, like I was worth protecting. Or maybe it was just that he stayed every time I needed him, every time the dark crept in.
Still, it was wrong. It was forbidden. And he didn’t want me. Who would want someone so broken inside?
“Shh,” he hissed, pinning me to the closet wall with one hand over my mouth. “Why do you breathe like youwantto get caught, Trouble?”
I bit down hard. His hand snapped away.
“It’s calledneeding air, you idiot,“ I whispered back.
We could hear footsteps creaking across the hallway floor. I could still see my mom standing at the end of the corridor earlier, her silhouette like a shadow, and her mouth moving like it wanted to speak but couldn’t. She called me with a crooked finger.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
Wrapped my arms around his neck.
He pulled me closer.
“No one will ever touch you,” he breathed into my hair. “Not while I’m alive.
A pause.
“Not even if I’m dead.”
It’s been a year since he came here. And in that year, my world changed. I changed. I wasn’t sick anymore, like he cured me. But something else came instead. Something colder. Something that hurt worse. My heart was in pain.
Loving someone you’re not allowed to love. Even the slightest rejection feels like a knife slowly twisting. Never mine to touch, but I broke myself trying to feel him anyway. And when you already know there’s no future, when your soul still reaches for him anyway, every day begins to feel like a soft, private apocalypse. You smile. You play the part. But beneath the smile, you are breaking apart. And you carry that break like a secret only the bones understand. And loving him is a wound I chose, because even pain with his name on it felt better than a life without it.
The lights flickered, then died. The footsteps stopped. And he let go.
Straightened.
And without a word, he walked toward the bed and picked up a shovel he had left there before.
And in just blink of an eye, we weren’t near the closet anymore.
“I have to go now,” he said, not looking at me.
“Dorian,” I called out before he could leave. My voice started to shake. “Why are you doing this?”
He turned halfway.
“Doing what?”
“Haunting my mind.”
I searched his face, every inch of it; the sharp jawline, the scar above his brow, full lips I shouldn’t notice, the black hair falling in wet strands across his forehead. Everything about him felt like a memory I wasn’t allowed to have.
“Why?” I whispered.
“Dead haunt. Living possess.” He stepped closer. Close enough that I could feel the chill roll off his skin. “And I can’t possess you.”
“They say you can’t possess a person,” I murmured, trembling again, backing away.
