At first, it was desperate, as though she said it just to shut him up. As though she'd do anything to stop him from saying anything more, anything that could break her resolve. But then Lora's eyes closed and her lips parted and she said it again, this time more to herself than to him. It was an affirmation. Resound and resolute.

"I love you."

It wasn't her words that broke him. It was her tone, her hunched posture, her restless fingers shifting in his hands. Her innocent eyes, scared, like a deer in headlights. He'd never seen this woman afraid of anything. She'd been through hell and back and it showed in her steady gaze and firm tone and squared shoulders, yet he could see she was terrified of him, or more accurately, what she felt for him now that she was forced to admit it.

"I love you," she whispered again, over and over until he believed her. Until she believed herself with every cell in her slight, shaking body. She cried softly. "I love you. I love you."

She lifted her hands to the sides of his face, looking deeply into his eyes. Then her hands slid down to his neck, to touch his arms and shoulders and chest as though getting the feel of him imprinted in her memory. The despair inside her grew more and more frantic when she saw the pain in his eyes. It was a pain she'd often seen but never asked about.

She didn't know. She didn't know what he'd been through because he was always so concerned about her. Even now! But she could see it went beyond that. He needed her. He couldn't bear losing her and despite what he said, it wasn't just about her being safe and happy. It was his need to keep her safe and happy because he loved her. He loved her, and it birthed joy in her and broke her chest all at the same time.

"I'm sorry," she cried into his chest and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly. And when he just stood there, staring and unmoving, her heart broke further as she realized this was it. Something had changed. It had to change. They weren't meant to be. Maybe, in another place and time.

Maybe, if they hadn't rushed into things with the wrong people when they were younger. Maybe, if they didn't have so many unresolved issues that made their pieces of the puzzle just slightly imperfect, only slightly, but making it impossible for them to fit perfectly just the same. Maybe, maybe, maybe, things could have been different.

She lifted her head and pressed her lips against his cheek, his neck, his mouth. He didn't stir. She moved down, kissing his shoulder, his heart. She fell to her knees in front of him, kissing his hands, his fingers and wrapping her arms around his waist. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

But he grabbed her chin and lifted her to her feet with a savageness he never showed her before. Their faces were inches apart and she felt his hot breath on her mouth as he squeezed her face firmly but gently. "No, you're not. Because you of all people have nothing to be sorry about. You don't have to kneel or beg for anyone. If only you saw yourself through my eyes, you'd know."

"Owen-"

"You can't let him hurt you," he went on urgently.

"He won't."

"Listen to me! Please, just... There is more than one way people can destroy you. You are tough. You are a force to be reckoned with. You can't let him extinguish this fire I see in you. Do you hear me? This fire I know you feel not just when we're together but whenever you allow yourself to be you."

Tears started streaming down Owen's face shattering Lora's heart.

"You can't forget it, the feel of it. That's your spirit! Your laugh! Think of how good it feels when you laugh. That energy when you get all bothered... in a good way, Lora, not when you're angered."

Lora nodded, the look in his eyes seeping through to her more than his words. She understood. She knew what he meant. And she would have to be okay without him.

"Kiss me," she whispered, wanting him to save her one last time because he needed to. She needed him to.

And he did.

"Harder," she moaned clutching him to her.

And he kissed her harder.

Thoughts of the woman he'd met at the hospital flashed before Owen's eyes and he couldn't bear it. "You'll be happy, Lora," he cried into her mouth, his hands finally holding her, roaming about her, reading her like braille. She melted into his touch. She pressed herself against him and moved with him and pulled him closer, closer, closer.

He pulled down her dress, pushed down her bra and kissed her breasts fervently. Her body writhed as he placed open-mouthed kisses on her neck but it wasn't enough. Not for her. Not for him.

"More," she gasped. "More, Owen!"

He lifted her skirt, her dress bunched around her waist, and pulled her panties down to her knees and his finger slid inside her without warning. Lora clutched onto his shoulders for dear life. Owen wasn't thinking. He couldn't think. There was only need and heat and impulse. His eyes searched her face frantically. "Promise me!"

"I... I..."

But he swallowed her stutters. She couldn't stutter. He needed her to tell him loud and clear that this may be the end for them if that was what she wanted, but they would always have this. The passion. The love. Their connection was undeniable and their fire inextinguishable.

He pulled on the back of her thigh and wrapped her leg around his hips before pushing another finger inside her and felt her clench around him. His fingers worked faster in the hope of soothing her squirming body.

"You can be happy," he crooned in her ears, "with me or on your own. No one can take that from you. When things get rough you won't give up. Think of me. Think of this. Think of how good you can feel. Think of when we danced to Disney music, when we ate and drank wine and fretted over outrageous journalism." His kisses ravished her. Chest. Mouth. Neck, throat. Mouth. Chest. "Think of the valley, the beach. The sinkhole. That's when I knew I'd fallen in love with you, Lora. It was when I knew there was no going back. Our long talks, late into the night, don't forget them. Don't forget me."

His mouth travelled white and hot down, down, down, until they reached her dress. And then he lifted her onto him. His muscles moved against her as he carried her off to God knows where and caused her to moan in pleasure, in anticipation, but they were lost in his kisses. He flung her onto a bed. His bed. His mouth left hers and she almost cried but then, she felt his lips, hot and wet, on the inside of her thighs and her hands were in his hair.

"I know how you feel," he murmured against her skin, "and I know what you want," he breathed, setting her body ablaze. "And I won't forget it."

"Oh, my God!" Lora gasped, as her hands gripped the sheets, as her hips bucked beneath his face.

"And neither will you. You are beautiful and unstoppable. You remember that. You don't have to be ashamed of it. You don't have to cover up or tone it down. You are beautiful and perfect and that is a good thing!"

And then, he was back at eye level with her, the green of his eyes stormy and dark, his body covering hers.

"Promise me!" he said. He grabbed her hands and placed them high over her head so that she had no choice but to arch her body into his. "Promise me!"

Lora saw deep into his soul. He was broken. Utterly broken as he begged for her strength.

She reached down, freed him from his clothing and pulled him towards her. And as he was just about to enter her, she touched his cheek and said, "I need you to understand. If I could leave him, I would. If I could leave everything and everyone, I would. But you have to understand."

He wanted to understand. He truly did. And he pushed inside her, filling her in every way possible, and they both gasped. His green eyes locked with hers and she saw his panic. His fear.

"Please," she whispered and something inside him began to give way.

"Fuck," he swore unapologetic, because she felt so good and because he still couldn't understand. She was his. She was his and yet she was married to another who couldn't make her happy. She would never be undone like this again and he hated it. She deserved to be made delirious with pleasure every day.

He had to make it good for her. Perfect.

Perfect, perfect. Just like her.

"It will be okay. I'll be okay," she cried for both of them, her breaths becoming shallower.

Owen held her desperately, moving in and out of her with more fervour, taking as much as he was giving, willing her words to be absorbed into his bloodstream so they soothe his mind, his heart, the ache in his body like fucking analgaesia.

They knew, both of them knew, it wouldn't be okay. They rested their foreheads against each other, eyes never straying, chests heaving together, their bodies moving against one another so easily it was hard to imagine they could ever stop.

"Lora, I ... I," he murmured.

He was closer. Closer to believing. Closer to accepting. Closer to letting her go. Tears flowed down Lora's cheeks mercilessly as she reached a high she knew it was the last time she would fall from.

"I love you. I love you. Don't stop. Don't stop! I... I... oh, Owen!"

And he didn't. And he gave and gave and gave, holding on until he made sure that Lora knew exactly what it felt like to be loved, to be treated like a queen, to know such ecstasy that she couldn't be certain whether it was pleasure or torture, up or down, in or out. Until she couldn't tell that the world was ending, and if she could, she wouldn't care. Until she couldn't know what she could possibly do with herself because sometimes, being outside of one's body and right in the vortex of it was one and the same.

Then, and only then did he let go. He gave in to his own pleasure and torture and pain and love and heartbreak. Just like Lora, he was right in the middle of it and watching from afar, all at the same time. He was comforted and heartbroken all at once. And most of all, he was certain, that he was experiencing greater love in its totality in a way he never understood before. It was giving and taking and sacrifice, all rolled into one. It went beyond what he wanted and what he needed and beyond anything he'd ever known and finally, after all these years, he understood.

#

That night, Lora walked into Jona's room holding a blanket and a pillow. She asked him if it would be okay to sleep on the reclining chair next to his bed. He smiled and answered, "You can stay anywhere you want, Lor. This is your home."

She ignored the pain that rose in her chest at the harsh reminder. This house was a lot of things. It was home to a lot of people. But not to her. Never to her.