Page 133 of Down Beat

FORTY-SIX

Tabitha

“Wicked Game” – Stone Sour

This will break him—I know it.

I can’t quantify what it is that pulls me to Rey, what it is that gives me the shivers when I think about never seeing him, talking to him again. But I need to risk that to remember who I am.

Nothing changes. Tomorrow, I’ll return home. But he has to believe I’m going to stay if I can do it clean.

I hate lying. It’s not who I am. But then, neither is this.

Looking into his eyes as he gently strokes my hair from my face, I know without a doubt I’d give up my hopes and aspirations for my music to make sure he continues to live his. And that right there is what tells me that no matter how painful, I’m doing the right thing.

I said to him I didn’t want to start this based on dependency. I never knew I meant my own.

In the space of a few short weeks my purpose for getting up each and every day has become making sure he survives his.

That is not healthy. That is toxic love.

I’m killing myself, stripping away my own strength to give him his.

I can’t do that, can’t carry on down this path if I want a future where I don’t resent him.

“I wish you could see what I do,” I whisper. “I wish you could see how much more you are than your faults.”

His smile is lazy, unconvinced. I hate that. “I like it when you tell me in your own words.”

“I’ll always tell you, just so you don’t forget.” Even if I’m not around to do it in person.

His eyes drop, his smile fading as he leans forward to place a kiss against my neck. I thread my fingers in his hair, holding tight as he brushes his lips down to my collarbone. It’s everything I can do not to cry.

The exterior of this man is nothing but harsh and unforgiving. He’d have a person believe he’s a coldhearted asshole who cares about nothing but his own gain.

But this. As his hands press tight against my shoulder blades to keep me against him, his kisses leave a hot trail in their wake as he moves to my chest, the base of my throat.

This man is love. Pure and selfless love. He cares, so much, and it fucking hurts to see him hide such an amazing side of himself.

But I know why. I know why he does.

To protect himself.

It’s what I should do now, not lean back to let him guide my shirt from my body, not set my hands on his shoulders to brace myself while he undoes my bra, all while he holds my gaze with those incredibly truthful eyes of his.

No. I should stand and walk away. I should burn this to the ground before it has a chance to finish being built. I should respect the fact that tomorrow morning, while he sleeps, I plan to betray him in the worst and cruelest way.

Doing this… it only twists that poison-laced thorn in deeper. For him, and me.

“Tell me you’re ready,” he whispers against my skin. “Tell me I don’t have to wait any longer.”

“It’s okay.” It’ll be okay. One day.

“God, I love you.” His hands grip my waist tight as he pushes me to my feet. “So fucking gorgeous.”

It hurts.

“So fucking beautiful.” His hands make quick work of the snap on my shorts.