Wildflowers

What goes up, must come down

The longer Severus sat in the silence of his cottage, Lucius' words echoed relentlessly in his mind. The shadows of doubt crept in, dark and insidious, pulling him into a deeper spiral of reflection. 

He had always known, deep down, that Katelyn was different. She was light to his darkness, warmth to his cold. And for a time, it had seemed enough to balance them, to make them whole. But now, with everything laid bare between them, Severus could no longer ignore the truth that had been gnawing at him.

She would never truly accept him.

He stared at the floor, the room around him growing dim as the evening light faded. The heavy weight of realization settled over him like a lead blanket, pressing down on his chest with a suffocating force. 

He had given everything to her—his time, his trust, his vulnerability, even pieces of his heart that he had never shared with anyone else. And yet, it wasn't enough. It would never be enough. Katelyn, despite her affection for him, would never fully accept the parts of him that were too dark, too complex for her to understand.

His need for control, for possession, for a kind of love that consumed everything—it was in his very nature, woven into the fabric of who he was. And she couldn't handle that. She had seen glimpses of it, recoiled from it, retreating into the arms of someone safer, someone simpler. Miles. The thought of her with him—laughing, touching, sharing the same kind of affection she once gave Severus—made his stomach churn with bitterness.

Lucius had been right. He was torturing himself by holding onto something that wasn't meant to last. By clinging to the idea of Katelyn as if she could be the answer to all his unspoken needs. But the truth was clear now: she would never be able to accept the full weight of him. Not the darker edges, not the deep, primal part of him that craved control and possession. The part of him that needed to feel like she was his—fully, without reservation.

The thought of it twisted like a knife in his chest.

She had told him to wait, to be patient, but every moment that passed only served to remind him that she had already moved on in ways he hadn't. While he held back, while he restrained his darker impulses for her sake, she had allowed someone else into her life, into her bed. The bitterness gnawed at him, and he felt his hands clench into fists as the realization settled deeper into his bones.

She will never be what you truly want. The thought slid into his mind like poison, its truth undeniable. Severus had tried—he had tried to mold himself into what Katelyn needed, to be the patient, gentle man she wanted. But that wasn't who he was. He was a man who needed control, who wanted someone who would submit to him, who would give themselves entirely. And as much as he loved Katelyn, she would never be that person.

A thick, heavy grief began to spread through him, slowly at first but growing with each passing moment. It wasn't just the loss of Katelyn that weighed on him; it was the loss of the future he had allowed himself to imagine with her. The nights spent in quiet comfort, the idea of sharing a life, of finally finding someone who might truly understand him. All of it crumbled in the harsh light of reality.

She didn't understand him. Not fully. And perhaps she never would.

Severus leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. His heart ached, raw and bleeding, as the truth settled in like an iron chain wrapped around his chest. He had accepted every part of her—the good, the bad, even the parts of her that had turned to others for comfort. 

He had accepted her flaws, her boundaries, her need for space. But Katelyn, no matter how much she said she cared, would never be able to accept him in the same way. She would never embrace the darker side of him, the part that longed to dominate, to possess, to claim her fully.