✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
[ 𝐒𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐋 1 ]
Because this is where love fades and hate resides and intensifies, broken hearts produce the most tragic stories.
Their treachery is told through their bleeding hearts: their unrequited love was never reciprocated. The...
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Ada hesitated, her jaw clenched, the muscles in her neck taut. She averted her gaze, her eyes darting around the room, searching desperately for an escape route, a change of subject, anything to avoid the intimacy of the moment and the terrible vulnerability I was demanding. I watched her breath hitch, a silent, panicked plea for space. She was beautiful, dressed in that dark bikini that barely covered the perfect lines of her body, and yet, she was shrinking, folding inward like a damaged flower seeking shadow.
Don't shut me out, love. Please, don't shut me out.
I gently placed a hand on her cheek, guiding her face back towards mine, forcing her to meet my gaze. Her eyes were still closed tightly against me, a silent, resolute refusal. The sheer weight of her fear was crushing. I knew the exact second my finger had brushed that spot—that tiny, sensitive, raised imperfection low on her back—and I knew, instantly, that this was the core of her pain. It was the hidden wound that bled through the facade of her strength.
"Ada," I said softly, my voice a deep, quiet rumble, a deliberate effort to be the calm center of her storm. "Can I... can I see?"
Her eyes fluttered open slowly, confusion replacing the panic for a brief, hazy moment. She stirred slightly, perhaps still reeling from the adrenaline of the brawl, or maybe from my kiss, which had been, I admit, a raw, demanding claim.
"See what?" she inquired, her voice barely a whisper, thick with denial. She was stalling, and the thought that she believed I would run, or judge, or flinch, was a white-hot spike of agony in my own chest.
"The scar," I whispered, the word tasting like ash on my tongue. "I... I want to see it." My own breath felt shallow. This wasn't about satisfying morbid curiosity. This was about tearing down the walls, about offering unconditional acceptance for the piece of her she clearly hated the most.
"I want to understand," I responded, my voice gathering strength, cutting through the silence. I tightened my grip on her jaw just slightly—a gesture of unwavering determination, not aggression. "Ada, please. Let me in. Let me know."
