Intoxicating

You Drew Stars Around My Scars

Leia's POV

If only I'd known.

If only I had stopped pretending I didn't see it-didn't feel it.

Looking back, there were so many moments I should have seen for what they really were. I should have noticed the little ways he controlled me, how his love felt suffocating at times. Or the way his apologies were sweet enough to make me forget every single fucking thing that had just torn me down.

But I didn't.

I didn't want to.

Because I loved him. And love makes you blind. Or maybe it just makes you fucking stupid. I wish I could go back and tell myself to wake the fuck up, to stop romanticizing the moments that should have been anything but romantic. I wish I could go back to the girl I was when I first met him-so naive, so eager to believe that love, real love, was perfect.

It wasn't.

It isn't.

Even now, sitting there in his clothes, with his warmth still lingering on my skin, I couldn't deny how much I loved him. It was an ache, a pull, something I couldn't shake. But deep down, I knew. I knew. The way he looked at me, the way he held me like I was something precious and breakable, didn't erase the way he sometimes broke me himself.

I glanced up at him, and he caught my eye. He smiled at me, and it was the kind of smile that used to make my heart skip. Now, though, it just felt heavy, like I was carrying something too big for my chest to hold.

Timothée was everything I wanted, and yet, he was also everything I should have run from.

But I stayed.

Because I didn't know how to leave. Because I didn't want to leave. Because part of me believed that if I loved him hard enough, if I gave him everything I had, it would fix us. Fix him.

But love doesn't fix people.

I wish someone had told me that sooner.

As we laid there in his bed, our hearts were starting to settle down from being intimate. I didn't stop him when he leaned in, his lips brushing against mine. The kiss started light, familiar, but quickly deepened as his hands settled on my hips. The heat between us grew fast, overwhelming, until I forgot the nervous knots I'd been carrying all day.

"You're trouble," I murmured against his lips, half-joking, half-serious.

"And you love it," he whispered, his lips trailing down to my jaw and lower, brushing my neck with a featherlight touch.

I tilted my head instinctively, sighing as the tension between us built. But then his fingers grazed the side of my neck-right where his hand had been.

Pain flared, sharp and immediate, and I winced before I could stop myself. My body stiffened, and Timothée froze.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes narrowing with concern. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I said too quickly, shaking my head. "Just-my neck's sore. It's nothing."

His gaze flickered to the side of my neck, and before I could stop him, he brushed my hair back, revealing the fingerprints caused by him. His expression shifted instantly, guilt and something close to panic filling his eyes.

"Shit," he whispered, "Leia... I-"

"Don't," I interrupted, my voice soft but firm. I reached out to touch his arm, trying to pull him back before he spiraled. "It's fine, Timmy. I told you you could do it. It's not a big deal."

He had put his hand around my throat in the heat of the moment and I had allowed it.

His jaw tightened, and he stared at the bruise for a long moment, his hand hovering near it as if he wanted to fix it somehow. "It is a big deal," he said quietly, his voice heavy with regret. "I did that to you."