47 partes Concluida Contenido adultoShe first met him in a therapy group for trauma survivors. He didn't speak much, but his eyes lingered too long, as though he could peel back her skin and read every wound carved into her bones. She told herself it was wrong, that she should avoid him, but the silence between them became magnetic.
When they finally spoke, it wasn't gentle. It was raw. He told her he saw the same madness in her that lived inside him, the same hunger to feel something sharp, something real. Their first kiss tasted like blood-his lip split when she bit too hard, and instead of stopping, he pulled her closer.
Soon, their nights together blurred between sex and confession. They carved secrets into each other's skin, whispered things no one else could ever hear. But his love was never safe-it was possessive, suffocating, like drowning in warm water. He wanted to break her just to put her back together. She wanted to burn in him until nothing of herself remained.
The deeper they sank, the less they could tell the difference between passion and violence, between devotion and destruction. She began seeing him in places he couldn't possibly be-in mirrors, in her dreams, in the shadows of her room. He said he was inside her now, that their bond was irreversible.
When her therapist asked about the bruises on her neck, she smiled and said nothing. Because the truth was this: she didn't want to be saved. She wanted to be consumed.
And so she let him.
