Swamp Murder

Swamp Murder. 54

Wang's POV

I shouldn't have gone.
Should've stayed home, drowned myself in work or silence or guilt.
But instead, I went to him.

I told myself it was to return the bag. That was the excuse I clung to like a lifeline. But the moment he opened it, the moment I saw what was inside—
The necklace, the sketchbook, the quiet tremble in his voice—
I knew I was lying to myself.

He still remembered.
Even after everything.
Even after me.

I asked him to wear the necklace for me, and when he did, my breath caught. It felt like everything I'd tried to bury—
Everything I'd sacrificed to keep him safe—

Was now rising to the surface.

And I was too tired to fight it anymore.

Later that night, the alcohol made it easier to walk back through Dre's door. I wasn't supposed to stay. But he was there. Warm. Real. Familiar. And before I could think, I was sitting, talking and I dozed off when he touched me, and when I woke, I was touching him. Kissing him. Apologizing with my body in ways I couldn't with words.

And he didn't stop me.

It... it wasn't just sex.
It was everything I couldn't say out loud.
It was desperation, longing, regret—
And the love I'd been denying since the moment they took him away from me.

We didn't sleep much.
Didn't talk much either.
We just existed in that space together, like maybe if we held on long enough, time would pause and let us have this one thing.

By the time morning came, and the screams echoed from the living room, reality slammed back into place.
Dre's sobs. The news. The overdose. And somehow, through all that chaos, I still only noticed one thing—
He was next to me. Still close. Still real.

But it didn't last.

"I should head home," I said, and the words nearly choked me. I kissed him. Hugged him longer than I should have. Tried to ignore the way my hands didn't want to let go.

"I'll send my brother to you," I added because I didn't trust myself to come back too soon.
Because if I did...
I wasn't sure I'd leave again.

And as I walked away, clothes still rumpled, heart still raw— I knew I'd left more than just memories in that room. I'd left a piece of myself with him. And I wasn't sure I'd ever get it back.

The moment I stepped out of the car, I barely had time to shut the door before my brother was in my face.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he hissed, gripping my arm and dragging me toward the porch like I was some disobedient child.

I didn't even resist.

"You were with him, weren't you?" he snapped. "Don't lie. I can smell the regret and shame on you."

I didn't answer, just looked at him.

He shook his head, furious. "Do you remember what mother said? What she promised she'd do to him if you ever saw him again?"

I looked away, jaw clenched. "I remember," I said quietly, voice already cracking.

"She swore she'd ruin him. Again. That she'd drag him back into the dark if you so much as breathed his name."

"I know," I whispered, shutting my eyes tightly. "I know. I just—"

"Then why?" he cut in, his voice now low, almost trembling with something between anger and heartbreak. "Why did you go back?"