"Lie to me," he whispered. His face was so close and I couldn't breathe.
"Lie to me and tell me you don't want me as much as I want you. Lie to me and tell me you don't want to press those pretty lips of yours to mine right now. Lie to me and tell m...
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Breathe. Breathe, I told myself.
I dug my nails into my wrists, wanting a release, but then pulled back.
Fuck. The pain encapsulated my entire body, and I had to try my absolute hardest to not relieve this pain in the only way that I knew how.
She was gone. She was gone.
I wanted to scream, to rip apart every single last piece of fabric in the room. To rip up myself until I was a bloodied mess.
It was my fault. If I had just won more competitions to pay for her chemo, if I had just begged the doctors a little more, if I had just been a fucking better daughter...
God. She was gone, and it was all my fault.
I buried my head in my hands.
Mom, I begged in my head. Mom. Please come back.
I need you.
But there was no saving her now. Not when she lay in front of me, eyes wide open and unseeing. Not when her body was cold from betrayal and her skin was lifeless of the love she once held. Not when her lips were cracked with my failures, not when her heart stopped from my dereliction.
[ • • • ]
"I have our entire day planned out" were the words that I awoke to in the morning.
I opened my eyes, squinting in the sun's blinding light that seeped through the glass windows. I felt hands in my hair - a soothing feeling compared to the aching below.
I clenched my hands at the remembrance of my dream - or rather, my memory. But I pushed it aside. I didn't want my past to haunt me, especially not when I was all the way in Italy.
"Jesus," I muttered, the soreness of below's relation to last night's activities finally piecing together in my mind.
A small chuckle from above me, a light kiss to my hair. "You okay? You look so cute."
I looked up at Rowen, furrowing my brows. How could he change from "come all over my cock" to "you look so cute" in less than seven hours?
"No, I'm not okay." I buried my head underneath the comforter. "Your personality changes are giving me whiplash."
His laugh brought a smile to my face, nonetheless. "Our breakfast reservation is in an hour, Al, so you better get ready."
I groaned, loudly. "It's too early."
"It's 10 am."
"Early," I said again, coming out from underneath the blanket. "And I don't need an entire hour to get ready."
