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As we drink, the room feels less like a battlefield and more like a sanctuary, a place where two wounded souls can find solace in the company of one another. The path forward is uncertain, fraught with potential pain and betrayal, but for the first time, I feel equipped to navigate it. Not alone, but together, as friends who share a bond deeper than mere attraction. A bond that, despite everything, offers a glimmer of hope for something more.
33
JADEN
The solarium at Harmony Hills is bathed in a gentle sunlight, casting a warm glow over everything it touches, including Rayne. She's there with Summer, the two of them lost in a world of music and shared silence. I'm on the outskirts, watching, waiting for Sasha's intake process to wrap up. It's a moment of quiet before the storm, a brief respite that allows me to confront the turmoil swirling within me.
Seeing Sasha today, for the first time since the attack, feels like stepping into a ring I've been avoiding, one where the opponent is my own guilt and remorse. Despite Rayne's logical arguments—that we fight against the darkness, and risk is part of our calling—my heart refuses to listen. It's burdened with the weight of what-ifs, haunted by the thought that if only my focus hadn't been so divided, I might have prevented Sasha's suffering. And though she's never voiced it, my distraction, my preoccupation with Rayne, almost cost Sasha her life.
Now, Sasha's journey, one she's been thrust into without choice, gnaws at me. The path she's on, the gender confirmation surgery that was more a necessity than a choice, strikes a chord deep within. We've never delved into the depths of such personal matters, but I've always known, always been aware of her contemplation of this step. The forced acceleration of her decision, the invasive transformation she's had to undergo, it's a pain I can only imagine, and it bites and bites hard. I have no idea how to be there for her, support her. Something that comes naturally to Rayne.
My gaze drifts back to her. There she is, a vision of comfort and support, her presence a stark contrast to the coldness of the world. My gaze lingers on her, and I'm struck by a realization that shakes me to my core. My desire for her, it's different—it's more potent, more consuming than anything I've felt since that defining event that shattered my world. It's as if she's become the center of my universe, the pivot on which my desires turn. Each day with her I need less time to retreat into the recesses of my mind, to images and fantasies, to find release. Rayne, in her very essence, has become my solace, my escape from the shadows that haunt me.
In the solarium's warm light, unease wraps around me like a shroud. Tonight, more than ever, I'm drawn to Rayne, compelled by a need to sift through the chaos that's been our lives of late. Observing her, I'm struck by the ephemeral grace that dances around her as she works her magic on Summer. It's like watching fairy dust in motion, a visible sign of her growing powers that she's only beginning to master.
Music is a catalyst for her as it is for me, connection to whatever mystical force she channels . . . And to me. This dual-edged gift, though, has its toll. Each session leaves her diminished, drained of the vibrancy that so defines her. Usually, I welcome the quiet that follows, a selfish respite from the emotional tempest our visits to Harmony Hills stir within me. The stories of pain and survival we encounter here wage war on my senses, a relentless siege that leaves me craving silence and solitude to regroup.
But now, Rayne's the eye of my storm, the center of a chaos I've let swirl too long. I need that voice.
After the shitshow with Tempest and witnessing Rayne's fling with Nick, I'm staggered by the depth of my fuck-up. Our confrontation, raw and searing, left no illusions between us. Rayne had no problem leaning into the discomfort of taking me on no matter how fucking intimidating. One of the very best things about her is that she holds nothing in, needs to purge and clear the air. It’s a breath of fresh air and I always know where I stand with her. Her declaration, that we're merely friends with benefits free to pursue others, felt like a gut punch. Her words, sharp and final, echoed with a strength I'd forced her to muster. Behind her armor, I'd sensed her pain, a sharp sting across our bond before she slammed it shut.
"You sound as if you’re saying you’re going to fuck someone just to get even. Well, that’s just juvenile." I'd spat the words out, desperate and defensive.
Rayne's retort was a slap, her defiance clear. "Oh, I won’t fuck him out of revenge for you, you asshole. I’ll fuck him because you just opened the door for me to see just how cute he is and how much better he treats me. He likes me and has absolutely no problem showing it." Her fire, her unyielding spirit, was and is both infuriating and intoxicating.
Fuck, she's right. In my quest to keep her at arm's length, to maintain this facade of detachment, I've only succeeded in pushing her towards what I fear most—her finding someone who can give her what I convinced myself I couldn't. Or wouldn't.
As I watch her, a resolve solidifies within me. A resolve to face the fears that have kept me caged, to confront the feelings I've denied for too long. Rayne isn't just someone I can push away with harsh words or cowardly actions. She's become the linchpin of my existence, the challenge and the comfort I didn't know I needed.
Stripping away the layers of defense around my heart feels like standing on the edge of a precipice, the drop below both terrifying and inevitable. As I watch Rayne, her generosity of spirit shining as she gives herself over to the healing, I'm confronted with a truth I can no longer ignore. The thought of a life without her, without the light she infuses into my darkest corners, is more frightening than any demon I've faced. Imagining my existence, confined within the shadows of my own making, without Rayne's spark to guide me, is a future too bleak to contemplate.
Calling myself an idiot doesn't begin to cover it. Instead of owning up to my mistakes, of letting her believe I sought comfort in another's arms, I pushed her towards someone else in a moment of pique. The truth is, I hadn't been with Tempest, not really. No amount of alcohol could dull the sharp sting of jealousy that lanced through me when Rayne saw us together. And the realization hits hard—I didn't want Tempest. Not then, not ever. Especially not when Rayne has shown me what being with someone could truly feel like.
This realization tears at me, a painful acknowledgment of my own failings. Yet, it's also the jolt I needed, a sign that it's time for change. I can't keep fleeing from what I feel for Rayne, from the intimacy that terrifies yet calls to me. I'm the architect of the barriers between us, barriers that seem to be nudging her further away with each passing day.
Her willingness, her openness with me, it's something I've begun to rely on more than I care to admit. I suspect our intimacy does more than just satisfy a physical need—it seems to rejuvenate her, to bolster her abilities. And it does the same for me, binding our powers together, granting us a strength that's as intoxicating as it is bewildering. Or maybe, I've just found a convenient excuse to keep her close, to claim that I bring something of value to this... whatever it is between us.
Closing my eyes, I take a moment and bring Rayne's lithe body to mind. Her warmth seeps into me when our bodies meld together, her small curves fitting perfectly against my hard lines. I’m an average size, but Rayne’s insistence that I’m “huge” speaks to my sagging ego and delights my power. Our breaths mingle, hot and heavy, when we fuck, the mingling of our lust tangible in the air. It's a dance, one of passion and power, as we explore each other without reservation or constraint.
Her responsiveness is like a drug, addicting and all-consuming, blurring the boundary between where she ends and I begin. The way her body arches into me, her soft moans a symphony to my ears, it's a balm to my soul, blotting out the horror of my past. She possesses an uncanny ability to put aside her feelings no matter how pissed at me she may be, allowing our bodies to speak the language only they understand.
Then there’s the way she scratches my arm, a simple gesture she offers tirelessly, understanding my needs without judgment or disdain. Her touch, light yet electric, sends a warmth coursing through me, igniting a desire that's become synonymous with her presence. This connection, this silent exchange of need and fulfillment, has become our unspoken language.
Sasha's entrance, guided by a young attendant whose patience seems as boundless as her kindness, snaps me back to the present. Sasha's essence, once a beacon of strength and defiance, now flickers softly, dimmed but not extinguished. She navigates the room with a deliberate, measured grace, her attire—a testament to her recent journey—loose and forgiving, yet another marker of the battles fought and still to face.
Once Sasha is comfortably settled, her characteristic grumbling met with an attendant's practiced ease, she seeks me out with a gaze that cuts through the residual awkwardness of our prolonged separation. "Did you get him? Rayne says you did."
The weight of her question, the things left unsaid between us, hangs heavy in the air. There's an apology in my silence, a regret for the distance my own turmoil has imposed. "That poison’s thoroughly purged.” My words are more a promise to myself than to her. "As for not visiting…" The sentence trails off, unfinished, but loaded with the weight of unsaid apologies and explanations.
Sasha's response, a simple acknowledgment in her glacial blue eyes, bridges the gap my words cannot fill. "Yeah, I know," she says, an understanding that transcends our spoken language.
In the quiet that follows, a silent agreement passes between us, a mutual recognition of the new ground we're navigating. Sasha breaks the silence, her voice rough with emotion as she touches the tender scar along her neck. "You know, I wouldn’t have made it without her."
Her admission, raw and unguarded, leaves me grappling for a response. "How so?"
“I wanted to die," she confesses, her gaze drifting to where Rayne continues her work beyond the glass. "She showed me a future without me in it, and suddenly, I found a reason to fight."
As Sasha's focus shifts back to me, there's a hesitance before she shares something unexpected, "You know, she's stepped in since I've been out of commission."
