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“I need you,” she says.
The sudden admission makes my heart stop and my breath falter.
What did she just say?
“Please … don’t abandon me,” she says, grabbing my hands while sinking to her knees in front of me. “If you go, I have no one left.”
“I caused all your misery. All your suffering and loneliness.”
“I don’t care,” she says, shaking her head.
How can she so easily forget about it and pretend it doesn’t exist?
“You should,” I reply, still trying to cling to that single emotion that has kept me going all my life. Guilt.
Her lips part, and with three words, my entire existence up until now caves in. “I forgive you.”
Her words undo me. Strip me of everything I thought I knew about myself.
In disbelief, I stare at her. The moment seems to last to infinity.
But I heard her words. I sucked them in along with the smoke and flames until they pushed out the shame and replaced it with something else.
Responsibility.
Because after all we’ve been through, all the time we spent together in solitary hardship, we’ve connected in a way that transcends relationships.
We’re no longer just killer and victim, enemies and lovers.
We’re one and the same.
Wounded people in search of a bigger meaning.
And in her, I’ve finally found mine.
As the flames engulf the shelves surrounding us, I stand tall and proud, and I pick up her body from the floor. She gasps and then chokes on her own breath, the smoke getting too thick.
In a feat of strength, I shove the chair aside and barge through the aisles, straight through the fire, and walk out the door.
The dark of night blinds me as I step away from the fire, watching the flames lick the outer rims of the shop. But I made it. I’m alive.
And so is she.
The only woman who could chain my heart to hers forever.
I bring her to an alley across the street, safe from the smoke and the fire, and then put her down against the wall.
“Are you okay?” I ask, checking her for serious injuries.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she replies, a smile forming on her lips. “You’re still alive.”
Her worry humbles me and makes me smile too. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
“But I do, though. While you were gone, I did every single day.” She swallows away the lump in her throat. “I tried so damn hard not to … but …”
I place a finger on her lips, and say, “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I understand.”
And I press a kiss to her lips, claiming her as mine once again.
She was right. After all the struggling, the pushing, the tugging, us being together was inevitable. Despite our differences and the misery we caused each other, we belong together. There’s no way I can breathe without her … and she’s not going to let me go either.
If I can’t die with dignity, at least I can use whatever time I have left to make it up to her. And I’ll try my very best until my last dying breath, dammit.
She’s worth it all.
Right then, the firemen have arrived to douse the flames and bravely fight the fire. I turn my back toward her and gaze at my papa’s shop going up in flames. I’m as much sad as I am excited. The flames light a fire inside my soul that ignites a frenzy in me. Fire has always had this effect on me, and I’ve usually taken it out by either lashing out at someone … or by jerking off.
It’s the first time I’ve shared my passion with someone. And for that someone to be Dixie Burrell makes it even harder for me to turn away from her. But I don’t wanna take advantage of her. Not when she’s this vulnerable.
However, her hand touching my back alerts all my senses and makes me tense up.
She’s touching the burn scars that I just created. The scorched off names of the men who killed her brothers. She must think I’m a monster for doing this, but I had to. The pain is my way of dealing with my guilt for being a murderer. But these men deserved nothing less.
“Did you do this to yourself?” she asks with a soft voice. “Who are these people?”
“They’re the men who killed your brothers that night.” I clear my throat. “You don’t have to worry about them anymore.”
I can’t face her when I say this because I am one of those men too.
I should’ve died with that fire right there.
“You don’t have to die for me,” she says, her fingers softly grazing over the tattoo that carries my name. “I want you to live.”
I nod, trying to keep that in mind while I watch the blazing fire, wondering what it would’ve felt like. If I really deserve to stay alive.
