"Are you actually seeing him again?"

The outburst was unexpected. Bradley's sudden appearance in my office doorway, even more so. There's no sign of Samantha coming after him to tell me he stormed past her. After weeks of excuses and inconsistency from me, Bradley's a full-fledged force in my doorway, his expression shaking as if he'd been gearing himself with adrenaline for this very face off.

I admit I'm nowhere prepared for it, especially in this setting. Cautiously, I rise from my seat, gesturing him inside. My first task is to get the door closed before he begins to free his agitation, before he can unleash from what I'm about to tell him.

As I shut it, my suspicions are confirmed when I find Samantha absent from her desk, still picking up lunch. When I turn, he's facing me, his briefcase thrown into one of my chairs. His blonde locks are tumbling messily over his face and his tie is unwound from his neck, making me wonder whether he stormed the whole way here.

"I've been trying to see you for weeks. You blew me off the other day, and I tried to stop thinking you were with him. It's not like you to be irresponsible."

"Irresponsible?" I laugh, frustrated. "Bradley, I don't have a father. Stop acting like one."

"So, you were with him."

"What I do is none of your business—"

He opens his briefcase, and holds up a newspaper to me before throwing it down on my desk. I glance down at the crumbled papers, and lift it to get a better look at the headline. There's a poorly taken photograph of Aidan and I on the corner of the street, locking in passion, drenched and...noticeably consumed in each other, so much that we didn't notice someone taking pictures of us from afar.

Before I can question why a picture of us would make a front page, the headline absolves that for me.

LOVERS FROM PENTAGON DISASTER TOGETHER AGAIN IN STEAMY EMBRACE

I set down the paper slowly.

"You can't lie to me now."

"I never lied," I utter, low because I'm speaking through my teeth. "I never told you I was yours. I never told you to stay and wait. You're just fucking stubborn."

His silence disturbs me. I look up and his eyes are wide and disbelieving. He finally finds his voice again, now that I'm looking at him.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Jo? That guy? That guy?" He shakes his head. "How, after everything I've told you, after everything that I know makes sense in your mind, how could you make the same mistake all over again? You don't know this man! You don't even know who you are, for fuck's sake!"

"I'm not speaking about this with you anymore."

"I think I deserve a damn explanation—"

I want to hit him. Searing through him, my teeth clash in anger. "I don't owe you a goddamn thing, Brad. Not one. I'm tired of you, of everyone telling me how I was, how I should fucking act now. I broke up with you! And I find it damn hard to believe I put up with this shit from you for a whole year, which means I somehow miraculously became fucking weak, or you're trying to take advantage of the fact that I can't remember the man I wanted more than you. Now, I don't know if this is because you really want me or if it's because you can't stand to lose, but I'm tired. I'm tired of hearing you come in with this self-righteous bullshit—"

"You're so fucking delusional, Jo. You really are," he mutters, going red in the face.

"Get out," I snap. He rounds the desk, and I straighten, snapping straight in warning as I twist toward him. He looks down upon me, disgusted.

"You must have really fucking hit your head, Jo. Honestly. I don't even know who I'm looking at, but it's not the woman I've wanted, the woman I've fought for like a prick all these years. I went above and beyond for you."

I'm holding my breath when he touches the corner of my face, caressing my cheekbone lightly. His eyes are dark, and radiating fury.

"You're not in there," he whispers, his voice flat, dead cold. He tilts his head, smiling a little bit, and my blood freezes under my skin. "Josephine died in that explosion. You're just a carbon copy of her. You're fucking hollow. You've got the looks, you've got the mouth—but your brain..."

Never have I actually raised a hand to someone in anger before. Never. I've gotten angry enough more times in my life than I can count, but never have I actually felt the obligation to do it.

My curled fist slams into his cheek so hard, I'm sure people outside the room can hear it.

Before this day, I never thought there could ever be a chance he'd actually hit me back, but I brace myself for the blow. Surprisingly it doesn't come.

I'm so angry I'm shaking. My hand is throbbing, and he's staggered back a few steps, holding onto his face with one hand and my chair with the other. He finally looks up, his eyes widening slowly as he realizes what I've actually done.

"I never want to see you again. Ever," I hiss to him. He moves fast, an impulsive move, grabbing both of my arms tight enough that he can shake me with all his strength, lifting me off the ground.

"You just lost your best chance for a good fucking future. That guys a fucking parasite and he's going to destroy you. And you're going to think of me, of me, when that happens and wish you'd never let me go, Josephine. I swear you will!"

His grip hurts like hell, but I refuse to show it to him. His cheek is bright red from my infliction, and swelling by the second.

"Let her go...or I call the fucking cops."

We both look from each other to the door, where Samantha stands, the take-out discarded to the floor, her hand holding her cell phone for him to see. He lets me go slowly, reluctantly, his neck bulging from his repressed malice.

I look from him as he retreats from me to retrieve his briefcase, to her, unable to move a muscle. He straightens himself up, fixing the tie, matting the hair, before he looks at me, stone-faced.

"You and him deserve each other."

"Get the fuck out," I growl, waiting for him to push me further. He's smarter than that. He's a damn lawyer, for fucks sake. Samantha moves out of the way so he can pass her, hitting into her shoulder when she doesn't shift fast enough.

I practically fall into my chair, hearing her quickly shutting the door, grabbing the mess of food fumblingly. She's around the desk in seconds, grabbing onto my hand, checking my arms.

"Josephine, Jo. Did he hurt you? Should I call the police?"

I shake my head. Bradley's outburst would mean nothing to cops. I know it. He knows it. I'd be arrested before he ever would.

"Jo, I'm going to get ice. I'm going to get Matthew—"

"No."

"I'm going to call Aidan then—"

"NO, Sam. Please, just leave it." I turn from her toward the desk, rubbing my hands into my legs to try and prevent the shaking. "I want to forget it."

"What did he say?"

A lot of shit meant to harm me. A lot of shit to fuck me up.

A lot of shit that will be hard to forget.

"Sam, I-I just need a minute. One minute alone, and then I want to work. He's gone. He's never to come here again. I'm putting it behind me."

She gapes and straightens, obviously disapproving of that answer. I stare at my hands, blinking mechanically as she leaves me to my own mind, shutting the door.

I want to shut out everything he said.

A smart man, he found my weaknesses and threw them at me, accusing me of everything I've been trying to understand. I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to forget about it.

The first two won't do. I won't give him that.

So, there's only one option left. I push aside lunch, and finish sending the email he interrupted.

                                             ***

Samantha walks in through the doors, not two hours later, a regretful grimace taking over her features. I lower my mail, and exhale, waiting for bad news.

"Oh, god, Samantha. What did you do?"

She grimaces even further.

"I...I told Aidan what happened. I called him."

I slam the envelopes onto the desk, rising with aggravation. "I told you not to. I—"

"I know. I know you did. But, I was scared. I kept thinking about how mad Bradley was when he left, and that maybe he would try to fight with you at home...and I just wanted someone else to know about it..."

"Jesus Christ," I mutter, closing my eyes. I sink back into my chair, defeatedly. "And what did he say?"

It takes her way too long to answer.

"He went there...to the firm. They fought. They fought and Aidan was arrested. He's in a holding cell, now."

I'm back out of my seat in an instant. Every possible emotion known to man is coursing through my veins, and I can do nothing but sputter.

"Wh-What?"

"To keep it out of the press, Bradley's agreed to drop charges. His boss forced him to in order to stay employed."

I dive for my things, my purse in the drawer.

"Cancel the meeting."

"Already did. Are you sure okay to go? Do you want me to come?"

"No, I'll get him alone. This is my mess."

She grabs my arm, and I hiss from the soreness. She looks down at the marks Bradley made, and after releasing me, looks at me sternly. "Bradley was over the line. You didn't do shit, Jo. You defended yourself. I don't know what he said to you, what he tried to get into your brain—"

"I need to go," I say, unable to take her nursing my ridiculous wounds. I rush into the hallway, and for the elevators.

                                                ***

At first sight of Aidan, approaching me with his things at the front of the bustling police station mid-evening, my shoulders deflate.

He looks anything but embarrassed. In fact, he looks still rather angry.

The hours in holding have done nothing to quell his fury.

He's got a black right eye and a split in his lip. His clothes have drops of blood on it. I'm not sure whether it was his, or Bradley's. I've been standing here for over an hour after having paid the bail, waiting rather impatiently to see him, safe and sound.

He marches up to me, instantly grabbing my face. I'm taken aback by how quickly he's holding me. He pulls back, and lifts my hand, observing my bruised knuckles. He grazes over my arms, checking all of me.

"I'm fine," I tell him, softly. His worry de-thaws my frozen heart rapidly, and I can't stand to see him so concerned. I grab onto the nape of his neck, forcing him to look at me. "Aidan, I'm okay."

"You should have called me."

"Well, I didn't want this to happen."

He kisses me. He kisses me to stop my arguing and only pulls back when someone has to get around us.

"We should go. Do you need a doctor?" I ask him, and he shakes his head.

"No."

I nod, looking him over. "Okay...let's go."

                                                ***

I stare out over the balcony of my apartment, a glass of scotch pressed up to my face as I observe the busy nightlife of the city below. The sun's long gone. The day from hell is nearly over.

Aidan's inside, showering in my bathroom. We hardly ate dinner, too preoccupied in the events that transpired in our days.

Beside me is the cigarette tray I haven't made a move for in months. I used to smoke all the time, and now I don't need it. The sight reminds me of Bradley, and it infuriates me. The sight of the plant, the plant he always watered, dead on the floor makes my blood curl.

I'm hoping the alcohol will take away the effects of his malice today.

You're not in there.

Josephine died in that explosion.

You're just a carbon copy of her.

You're fucking hollow.

What scares me, what truly scares me is that sometimes I feel that way. What scares me the most is that I'm terrified he's telling the truth.

I don't feel like myself.

I don't understand myself.

The only time I ever feel anything is when I'm with Aidan, and even then, I can see I'm different. Even then, when he looks into my eyes, I can tell he's just waiting...waiting for the real me to come back.

Bradley's words are festering within me, and as hard as I try to shun them, their grip is tight.

"Jo."

I turn my cheek, knowing Aidan's standing at the sliding door.

"Yeah?"

"I'm...going to take the couch. I think I should stay, in case he shows."

I shift, inhaling. He's in sweats and a t-shirt, clothing that he'd had here...from before. I smile, unsurely. "You don't have to do that, you know."

He stares at me, silently. He does it long enough that I shield my gaze from him, wanting to shrink.

"What happened today? Jo, you can tell me."

"It's just been a long day."

"What did he do? What did he say? It's clearly affecting you."

Last thing I want to do is tell him what's really on my mind. I move forward, and pass by him with a hesitant smile. "Let me get you some pillows and blankets."

                                               ***

My eyes are wide open.

It's almost two in the morning.

While the alcohol is sitting in my system, it's failed to numb any of my senses.

I've set aside the struggles of the day, and have begun focusing on my own current self-loathing.

He went and defended you...and you're sitting in a room, like you are mad at him.

He beat the shit out of someone who wanted to hurt you and he's on the couch.

I go over the dinner over and over, fuming at the fact that I shut him out, stuck in my own senseless mind.

Why am I doing this? Why? He's in love with me. He wants to keep me safe.

My regret is keeping me from shutting my eyes, and I'm positive it will continue. I stand up, sliding off the bed. In the months since the accident, Aidan's things, things he'd had placed throughout my apartment, my first indication that what everyone was telling me was true, have retained their pride of place without any interference from me.

On the left nightstand rests male cologne. On the closet door, a tuxedo, for what occasion I'm unsure. He has drawers, a space in the closet. There are small items of him everywhere that I've left untouched, as if leaving them where they are will miraculously make sense one day when I come out of all this.

By the time I've reached the doorway, which is wide open, I've geared myself up for contact. In a day of the worst kind of turmoil, I feel confident in this moment, in the remorse and desire I've kept withdrawn from any light.

There's never been a time where I haven't wanted Aidan.

Right from the moment I opened my eyes, when he entered the hospital room, as confused as I was, I couldn't deny how drawing he was. Every visit, every moment, there has always been attraction. It may not be what he truly wants, but never has it been a question of whether there was lack of spark between us.

He speaks, and I melt.

He looks at me, and time slows.

And his touch...his touch is electrifying. It's enough to make a girl run from it.

There's so much darkness in him, not all his creation. It's there though, thriving and cultivating within him. My accident has obviously added another layer, but he wears the darkness well. I see it in brief flashes, when his guard is down. It's just a flicker that dulls in his eyes, or a flittering shake of his hand but it's so dominating.

And the contrast of his light, of his pureness, when he allows it to shine, it rivals even the brightest, luminous sun. His smile is its own force, and his gentleness, his overwhelming need to be a good man, it makes him a full man.

There are two sides of him—both beautiful, both effecting.

And right now, I want both of them.

He's on the couch, on his side, a thick blanket covering him to his waist. I'm an instant mess when I realize he's not even sleeping. His eyes are a shining light in the dimness of the living room. I'm in one of his warm button-down shirts I found in my drawer and thick socks. The smell of him comforted me, and I hardly think he'd mind me trying to sleep in his clothes.

Neither of us say a word. A silent understanding takes place over them. He sits up, pushing back the covers. By the time he's on his feet, my fingers are unbuttoning the shirt covering my body. He moves slow, a predator in the night, and on his way over to me, lifts his arms to pull his own shirt over his head. I'm discarding the shirt to pull off my socks by the time he stops in front of me, leaving me naked completely apart from a sheer pair of panties.

His body is more impressive than his clothing gave away. Lean, taut muscles scale over his torso, and as he bends, removing the rest of the clothing shielding him from me, I realize the bottom half of him somehow blows the top portion out of the water. He's long and athletic, not overly muscular, but strong, strong enough to intimidate.

I'm momentarily shaken by the sight of burns, at their final reveal. They are where he said they were—his arm, shoulder, back—and just the sight of them seems painful...and I'm standing in the dark. It's hard to assess the damage without light, but there's no movement from either of us to flick one on.

"Does it hurt?" I ask, surprised by how breathless I've become. His face moves to follow the direction my hand takes, lightly testing out the feel of the scarred skin beneath my fingers.

"No. Not anymore."

I shuffle closer to him, letting my hand roam down his arm, onto his waist and around his back. By the time I reach the scars there, I swear, I can feel the heat of his wounds, the ache, the reminder of that monumental day. The day he lost me, despite my surviving.

I feel it in his touch. His touch now, which is hesitant at first but adjusts to his needs, to mine too, as he clasps the back of my neck with a firm hand, embracing me. I'm a stranger. A stranger he's in love with.

He has to experience touching me, hearing me, watching the way I react to him all over again, and I'm not sure if he'll receive different results. But being this close to him, standing toe to toe, nude, in the dark confines of my apartment—a safe place—I'm not lacking in desire.

I want him, badly.

His mouth is soft, gentle on my shoulder, gifting small ounces of affection to the area. It's impossible not to touch the disfigured skin without feeling the guilt of the circumstance to which he received such malice to his person, but his care, his attention to bring me away from it is enough. He's keeping me with him, that much is apparent.

He pulls back, looking down into my face with firmness. "Tell me now if you're having second thoughts, because I honestly don't think I can stop once I have you."

"I want this," I whisper, hearing difficult hitches in my speech, displaying my uncertainty, my fear to jump into this, with no notion of what it could bring on. "I-I want you."

He laces his fingers into my panties and drags them down my legs, letting me step out of them shakily. He's there to steady me, and move me backward through the threshold into the bedroom. There's a sense of urgency, a nervous tick in my soul as he guides me to the bed, sealing my mouth with lush, incredibly wet kiss. He doesn't have that urgency, and I have to concede to match his savoring pace.

The taste of alcohol lingers on his tongue, indicating that he was having just as hard a time as I was trying to get shut-eye. His licking is slick, and intrusively deep, deep enough to cause a ripple effect of shivers throughout every exposed ounce of flesh on my body. It's a silent declaration, a "just wait" move, intent on knocking my brain out of kilter. It works. My god, it works.

My neck is weak enough to fall back, to submit to his persistent mouth, enjoying the lack of restraint in him. All I've known, all I've seen in him is that kind of reserve, that caution to keep me from going far. And as he directs me onto the mattress, lying down over me, I feel so small beneath him, meeker than I've ever been with a man before. I'm nervous to breathe, let alone touch him.

I'm more nervous now than I can recall being when I first lost my virginity. There's so much riding on this moment, so much expectations between us both.

"Don't be scared to touch me," he whispers, caressing my face, gazing down at me. The balcony door is open to let in the chill of the spring night, and the moons rays shoot through the opening, encompassing the mattress with light. It reflects off the side of his face, admiring his soft features. I laugh, shakily, wondering if he can read minds—or maybe just read facial expressions.

Either way, his insight is shocking. I nod, gazing up to the ceiling with a lump in my throat as he sets his mouth to my skin, each graze a delightful burn to flesh. His hair tickles my chest as his tongue glides over the curve of my breast, and takes my nipple firmly between his lips, tugging on the peak. I arch, molding to his grasp as he adores my torso in tantalizing licks, tough nibbles intent on sensitizing my skin to him.

He spends a good deal of time at the tip of my breast while kneading the other with tender squeezes as his work upon me brings a soft mist to my skin. His lips are satin soft, and direct. He wants to rile me up. He wants to stun me, leave me begging for more.

He told me that we spent a week alone in his home. I have a hard time believing I wanted to do anything but this.

One of his hands pushes between my legs, which forces me to ease them apart timidly. I'm smiling disbelievingly to myself as he dives and parts me with his fingers, humming approvingly as the sound of my arousal takes precedence in the room over my labored gasps.

I want him. I want him—bad—and now he knows it, without a shadow of a doubt.

He crawls lower, inching down the mattress, his breath so close to my skin that I instinctively continue to rock my hips to him, wanting to feel those lips upon me. His eyes, which seem black in this light, pierce me as his hands spread over the top of my thighs, and he goes the final step, lowering enough that his tongue can nudge the shockingly intimate curve, separating sex from thigh.

I convulse at the move, which warrants him to wrap his arm around my thigh, ensuring I'll stay put. I ease up to my elbows, mouth parted lustfully as he makes good of foreplay, kissing, licking every nerve-ridden crevasse without actually touching the part of me that has begun to throb at the pace of my uneven heartbeat.

"Aidan, please."

Before he's even gone near my clit, he inserts a stiff finger into me, coaxing the snug entrance for a minute, before he pulls out and thrusts again. I'm sucking on my bottom lip, finding it hard to keep quiet. There's no other sound than us, here in this room, and it's unnerving.

He blows gently on the neglected bundle of nerves and my breath hitches, which makes him smile. I'm holding onto the bedding, disrupting the order of the sheets, bunching them up in my frustration. With an insert of a second finger, stretching me out to him, he finally lowers his mouth to me and drags his tongue in a slow, seeking caress over the tiny nub and with relief, I release the breath I'd been holding, and deflate, falling back into the mattress.

"For fuck's sake," I breathe to myself as my body moves like a magnet to his mouth. Knowing exactly what pace he wanted to set, when he finally suctions his mouth around my clit, I'm already panting, squirming in place. I'm already there.

He suckles the silky flesh until the pleasure overcomes me, and I tense beneath him, releasing my lip with a soft cry, allowing him to hear my helplessness. It happened so fast, built entirely on the mere thought rather than his actual work.

When my climax begins to subside, and I can try to catch my breath, I reach down fully satisfied and dive my hand into his thick locks, fully intending to bring him up to me. With one look from him—one piercing, determined, lustful look—I know it's not happening.

He pulls me closer, right back to him, and flattens a hand to my belly as his head disappears between my thighs again. Using the aftershocks of my orgasm, he begins to make love to my flesh again, ridding any of the discomfort of the sensations, bringing me to another one faster than how the first arrived.

I begin to lose count, delightfully trapped beneath his hands, brought to heel by his persistence, his desire to see my pleasure. Each time, the ecstasy is heightened, making my movements rougher, my voice louder. Hearing my moans, my whisperings of his name spur him on, pushing him further despite the discomfort he must be feeling in his jaw.

My begging falls upon deaf ears. I beg him to take me, to give me him, utterly delirious. But he's intent on inflicting me with his tongue until I'm swollen, blatantly ensuring I'll feel this later. He jumps between the use of his fingers, fluttering to my clit, then intrusions through my sensitive canal, and his mouth, which possesses talent and drive I've never encountered before...that I hadn't thought possible.

It all comes down to one thing.

This is a man who has no desire to fuck me.

His endurance is a reminder of a bigger picture. He's ensuring I experience more pleasure than him. He's reminding me that this is what his devotion feels like, what I've been missing since I forgot who he was. That to think any other man would enjoy laying down countless orgasms upon me is ridiculous.

I whimper, literally whimper, as he pushes me into another, my entire body coated in perspiration. My trembling hasn't stopped for a while now, and it shows no sign of subsiding. He kisses my thigh at a loss for breath, remaining there for a moment, letting us both recover from the exertion.

I could cry. I realize that there are actual tears falling when he moves over me, wiping the water from my burning cheeks. I laugh at the oddness of my emotions, but it comes out as more of a choke since I haven't found my breath yet.

His cheeks are flushed, his eyes clearly wondering why I've been overcome with this particular reaction. He smiles, softly and curls his hand around the back of my neck.

"Why are you crying?"

"I-I don't know." My hands lightly trace the curve of his back, admiring the damp, soft feel of him. My chest feels swollen and fearful and I want to make that go away. "I want you in me," I tell him bluntly and he nods, reaching over me and down into my drawer, knowing exactly where to find the condoms.

He tears the wrapper and hands me the condom, but my fingers are violently shaking—disturbingly so. He looks down at me, observing my newfound panic. I've never been this full of emotion in my life, and it's fucking terrifying.

"Jo." My hands stop fumbling when he presses his hand over my heart, holding it there. It's unhealthy how fast the pace is, and it makes his brows furrow with concern.

"I don't know what's happening to me," I confess to him, embarrassed. He meets my eyes, calmly, lowering so that he can kiss me, gently, with no intent to push things faster. He nuzzles my nose with his, gazing down at me.

"It's all right."

"I'm really nervous." And I can't breathe.

He smiles, that confession clearly giving him pleasure. "There's no reason to be. It's just you and me, Jo."

That's what's fucking terrifying.

Never in my life have I allowed these kinds of emotions into my life. Never.

They are daunting now, and something I hadn't been prepared for.

I shake off the fear, nodding to him, handing over the condom. "Y-You should probably do it."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

I nod, smiling. The minute he looks down to place it on his cock, my smile fades, replaced by the vulnerability that's choking me from the inside. I make that fade again by the time he molds to me, and of all things, pushes the hair from my eyes to get a better look at my face.

"Look at me."

Fuck.

It's shockingly intimate how he eases my thighs apart, settling between them comfortably...how he holds my attention and pushes into me. Both of us groan at the intrusion, at the tight space he's sinking into, space that's clenching and swollen, still recovering from his attention earlier.

"Oh, god," I gasp, sucking in what feels like gallons of air. My chest is heaving, and I'm sure I'm undergoing a panic attack. It's harder to recover when he takes my mouth, which tastes sweet like arousal, rocking his hips into me deeply.

He feels like literal heaven, every damn inch of him. He's within me and it feels so right, so overwhelming. It's daunting how fast that feeling of awe in him can change into pure panic, as something takes hold of my body, frightening the shit out of me.

It's like flashes in my brain. Flashes of orange. Flashes of white. They hit me like bulldozers, blinding me to anything but them. I can't make out much, apart from falling snow...falling snow from above. I'm looking at it. It's dark. I'm alone. I'm so scared I can't move. It's cold.

I shut my eyes, gasping, shoving my face into his shoulder, trying to get rid of the thoughts. Are they memories? I'm not sure. Are they meant to represent the feelings coursing through me now? Maybe.

"Ah," I moan, digging my nails into his skin, trying to cling to him. He's cradling my head, moving over me with tender passion, savoring the feel of the connection. Except I'm not looking at him. He turns his head into mine.

"Be here with me, Jo."

"Yes," I breathe, willing it to be true. Yes, I'm here. I'm here...with him. I lay my head back, closing my eyes when he begins to gift sweet kisses to my jaw, my chin, then my mouth.

As much as I want to be here, there's a fucking army of parasites keeping me far away.

He's nudging the deepest part of me he can reach, coaxing my sensitive cervix to build with him. And my body reacts. Oh god, does it react. I'm clenching him so tight that neither of us can seem to breathe, holding off, right at the edge.

I can't get there, and I'm sure he won't let go until I do.

"Jo, look at me."

I do it, and I see his eyes flinch slightly at whatever he sees within me. His grip tightens on the back of my neck, willing me to focus on him.

"Baby, get that shit out of your mind and be here with me." He kisses me, hard and roughly, picking up speed, thrusting hard despite our exhaustion. I wrap my arms and legs around him, gasping, fisting his skin to bring him closer to me. I want to consume him, but lack the strength.

"Aidan," I cry into him. He nods over and over again, sensing the imminent release.

We're both there...and both completely unraveling.

We come together, mouth on mouth, both freezing at the jolt to our nerves, the orgasms that are strong enough to rid us of any more speech. My thighs are surely bruised, and his lips must be aching but neither of us say a word.

I hold onto him, quivering beneath him, trying to get rid of the pit that's formed at the bottom of my stomach. Now truly feels like the time to weep, but I'm too shaken to allow myself to feel the full force of what just happened.

When Aidan lifts off of me, and flashes his eyes to mine briefly...in that moment, I know that same sense of dread is hitting him as well.

                                                 ***

Dawn is peeking out through the buildings. The space needle is a high point in the sky. Aidan is dressed in the same sweats and t-shirt he intended to go to sleep in, seated beside me on the balcony, also stuck in reflective silence.

We're both day drinking, dark, strong liquid in our hands.

I'm in a robe, and although hours have passed since Aidan was inside of me, I can hardly bare to close my legs. There is so much to say, and I know he's waiting for me to say it.

I rub my head, my exhausted eyes, still seeing that damn scene. Snow, falling snow.

"I-I thought I was ready...I'm sorry," I finally utter, shame leaking through my hoarse voice. He nods to the buildings, topping off the rest of his drink. When he finally sets his gaze unto me, it's full of confusion, of resentment.

"Why aren't you?"

"I-I don't know how to explain it."

"Try, Josephine."

"I don't know who I am." I look down at my thighs. "Ever since I woke up in that damn hospital bed, I've been told what I should do, who I should be with, what kind of person I had become. I think you realize...that I'm not that person."

"You're acting as if you're a completely different woman." He turns to me. "You are Josephine."

"No, I'm not."

He scowls, growing angrier, suspicious. "I didn't put this into your damn head, Jo. Who the fuck did?"

I shake my head, reluctant to open my mouth further. Unlike a few hours ago, where I felt so many emotions I was sure it was harming me, I'm rid of them now, that panic replaced by a damning numbness.

"Yes, I've told you what you were like before," he says, thickly. "I've said it...more than I probably should have, I admit that. In fact, we all have, but it's because we're trying to spark something, to make you remember..."

"I'm not going to remember, Aidan."

He breathes out angrily through his nose. "Yes, you are."

"I don't understand how you can have so much faith in me...in this. I don't understand it. I'm not like this. I don't search to feel this way. I like the control I have over my life, and I don't have that here. This is like my best and worst nightmare put together. Maybe the woman you knew had evolved, maybe in that year she realized what she wanted, but you don't understand. In my mind, I've just gotten out of a confining relationship. I've just escaped all of that, and I've tried. I've tried to let down my guard because everyone told me how wonderful you are, and god, I completely see it now, but I don't know how to give you...to give you what you want."

"I feel it too, Jo. I feel the pressure. I feel the obstacles in you, and I'm sorry if this bothers you, but when we met, you were just like this." I look at him, and he nods. "Yes, you were stubborn and infuriatingly independent. What changed within you was knowing how much I needed you."

I close my eyes, shoving out of my seat, guilt swarming my senses. I must move or he will break me. I hear his chair move as he follows me into the room. I pull at my hair, holding my face between my hands, thinking of how badly I wished I'd taken it slow.

"Listen to me. I know how shitty and demanding that sounds, but I'm not trying to trap you. I'm just trying to make you see my damn point. I can't give up, not on this. I mean, do you honestly want me to give up?"

I blink at him, and just like that, he's bringing me to my knees.

I should say yes. I should tell him to find someone better than me.

But I can still remember what it felt like when his mouth was on mine, when his hands were marking my skin. I can still hear his words in my ear, his sounds as he succumbed to the pleasure of being within me.

That, and every encounter with him, is inside my mind, and I have to close my eyes to steel myself.

"No," I finally whisper. I cross my arms over my body, exhaling. "I-I don't want you to give up...but I do need time away from you. I need time to think on my own, to realize what I want, on my terms."

I look at him, imploringly, for the first time in nearly half a year choosing a true path for myself.

"I want to be her for you, Aidan...I can't be less."

He stares at me, letting those morbid words sink in. He covers his face, exhaling. My blood runs cold as he leaves the bedroom, walking into the living room. I hear him grabbing his things, and I consider how large of a fuck up this probably is. He's putting on his shoes when I've gathered enough courage to face him before he leaves.

"This isn't over," he says, looking up at me. His features are hard, and stern. He's not hoping for an answer. He's stating it. He shakes his head. "I've waited too damn long for you. I've gone through hell and back for you. I will wait."

My mouth involuntarily begins to tremble, my firm stance breaking under his determination. I cover my body with my arms, wanting to fold in on myself, feeling sick at the thought of letting him walk out, but too far ahead to take back all of the things I said and meant.

He stands, his features softening at the complete war going on under my skin. He walks around the furniture, and strides up to me, clasping both sides of my face, forcing me to stare into his.

"You are still the woman I love, Josephine. And I can see it in your face...you love me too."

I clasp his wrist, tightly. "Aidan."

He inhales, as if it's hard for him. "I'm going to Leavenworth. When you can do this, you can find me there."

"Aidan," I repeat helplessly, gaping as he turns around, letting me go. He grabs his coat, his back ridged as he makes his way to the front door. At the knob, he stops himself, holding himself facing the doorway for a few moments. Then he twists, his face an impassioned plea.

"Do you want to know why I'm so sure that you love me? How I can know it, beyond a shadow of a doubt?"

I stare at him, unable to utter a word. He walks up to the edge of the couch, squinting in remembrance. His eyes have darkened from lack of sleep, the new bruise taking pride of place under his eye.

"When we were stuck, stuck in the manor, we fought and you were so angry with me that you went walking alone outside. I had no clue you were gone until I went to look for you, hours later. I found you nearly dead. I carried you up the mountain. I tore off your clothes. I tried to warm you as fast as I could...but your heart gave out. Your heart couldn't take it."

It's stopped right now. It's fucking squeezing in my chest.

I can't believe the words he's saying.

"You died in my arms," he says, passionately.

I shake my head, horrified. He looks down, trying to control himself.

"I couldn't let you die. I couldn't fathom it. You were my saving grace, and there was no way you were going to be taken from me. No way. I didn't stop pounding into your chest until I saw you breathe again. I didn't stop—"

He gathers himself together, refusing to make this a plea for me to make him stay. I can tell that's what he's doing, that's why there are no tears in his eyes.

He truly is positive I'll come back.

"That night, I gave you my heart. I gave you everything." He looks into my eyes, courageously. "And I took yours. It's mine. You...are mine, Josephine."

He's saying it through his teeth, his voice full of intense truth, of the true gift of belief.

I don't get time to say another word. He's shut the door behind him, leaving only the faint whiff of our scent together moving through the room. He's gone, because I've sent him away.

And it hurts. It hurts because I did what I had been trying to avoid all along.

I hurt him.

But his hope is infectious. His belief in me, even more so.

He deserves the woman I had become. He deserves someone who can look herself in the eye and understand who is staring back at her. He deserves someone who is willing to fight.

And despite how badly I want to chase after him, tell him to forget everything I said and just come up here and be with me, I won't.

I won't unless I can offer him the same thing he's offering me.

Unconditional love.