She cries like she's being torn apart from the inside, each sob more violent than the last. Her fingers clutch at my shirt, twisting the fabric as if it's the only thing anchoring her to this world. I hold her through it, my own chest aching with a sympathetic pain I've never allowed myself to feel for another person.
"You didn't fail anyone," I tell her, knowing she probably can't hear me through her grief, but needing to say it anyway. "Cheryl made her choice. She knew it was coming. It wasn't your fault."
Her body shakes harder with another wave of sobs. I feel wetness on my own cheeks and realize with a start that I'm crying too, silent tears tracking down my face for this woman who cares so deeply it's destroying her.
I don't know how long we stand there, her sobbing into my chest while I hold her steady. Time seems to stretch and compress all at once. Eventually, her sobs begin to quiet, her breathing still ragged but no longer the violent heaving of before.
Just as I think she might be calming, she shifts in my arms. And then her mouth is on mine, hot and desperate. Her hands slide up to clutch at my face, fingers digging into my skin with bruising intensity.
The kiss is nothing like the ones we've shared before. There's no tenderness here, no passion or play. This is desperation, a drowning person grasping for anything to keep from going under. She presses against me harder, her body arching into mine with a frantic energy that speaks of escape rather than desire.
I want to give in. Fuck, how I want to. My body responds instantly, hard-wired to react to her touch, to her taste. It would be so easy to lose myself in her, to let physical sensation drown out the emotional storm swirling between us.
But that's not what she needs. Not what either of us need.
Gently, I catch her wrists, pulling her hands from my face. I break the kiss, drawing back just enough to look into her eyes. They're wild, unfocused, and still glazed with tears.
"This isn't what you need," I say softly, my thumbs stroking the insides of her wrists where her pulse hammers rapidly.
Her face crumples, then hardens. "Don't tell me what I need." Her voice breaks on the words. She tugs against my grip, trying to pull me back. "I need to feel something else. Anything else. Please, Sebastian."
The plea in her voice nearly does me in. I release her wrists, but instead of pulling her back into a kiss, I frame her face, thumbs brushing away the tears that continue to fall.
"You're hurting," I tell her, forcing her to meet my gaze. "And you think this will make it stop. It won't. It'll just give you something else to regret tomorrow."
"I don't care about tomorrow," she whispers, her lower lip trembling. "I just want to forget today."
Her hands find my waist, fingers slipping beneath my shirt to touch bare skin. The contact sends electricity racing up my spine, my body betraying me with its immediate response. She feels it, a flash of triumph crossing her tear-stained face as she presses closer.
"Mia." Her name comes out strained. "Stop."
"Why?" She leans in again, her breath hot against my neck. "You want this. I can tell."
Moving my hands to her shoulders, I gently but firmly put distance between us. "What I want doesn't matter right now."
She tries to move forward again, but I hold her steady. The fight drains out of her suddenly, her shoulders slumping beneath my palms as fresh tears spill down her cheeks.
"I don't know what to do," she admits, the words barely audible. "I don't know how to make this stop hurting."
Something breaks inside me at the raw vulnerability in her voice. Instead of answering with words, I wrap my arms around her again, one hand cradling the back of her head, guiding it to rest against my shoulder.
Her knees buckle, and I go down with her, both of us sinking to the floor in a controlled collapse. I shift to lean against the couch, pulling her into my lap, cradling her against my chest. She wraps her arms around my waist and pressed her face into the curve of my neck as her body shakes with quieter sobs now.
"I've got you," I murmur into her hair. "I've got you, baby."
She cries against me, her tears hot on my skin, her breath coming in ragged gasps that gradually slow. I hold her through it all, one hand making soothing circles on her back, the other tangled in her hair, anchoring her to me.
Slowly, so slowly, her breathing steadies. Her body grows heavier against mine as exhaustion begins to claim her. The shadows in the apartment deepen as afternoon slips towardevening, but I just continue to hold her as the storm within her gradually calms.
When she finally speaks, her voice is so soft I almost miss it. "I can't go back there."
I press my lips to the top of her head. "You don't have to. Not right now."
"I threw my badge at Henderson." A hiccup that might be a laugh breaks from her throat. "Actually threw it. Hit him in the chest."
Despite everything, a small smile tugs at my lips. "I'm sure he deserved it."
She shifts in my arms, tilting her head back to look up at me. Her eyes are puffy, her nose red, tear tracks still visible on her cheeks. She's never looked more beautiful to me.
