His hand rested respectfully at her waist, his other hand clasped in hers. His face tucked in the crook of her neck. I could still see the soft, unguarded smile on her face. There was happiness in the ordinary. Contentment braided with love. There once was a time, I’m certain of it, that my mother had felt emotions the way normal people did.
But what is normal, if it could so easily rot and shift into something evil?
Inside me, wars were being waged. The battle between love and evil. Memory versus reality. The collision of two worlds that didn’t make true sense. The pieces didn’t fit, no matter how hard I tried to force them together.
Maybe I should change.
This dress meant something to me—about as much as something could. I had passed that little boutique countless times on my way home from therapy, watching it hang in the window. From the moment I’d laid eyes on it, I’d known. This was meant for a special occasion.
If I was being honest with myself, I had wanted to kill myself in it. I had wanted it to be what I wore in the afterlife, should one exist for someone like me. I wanted to be beautiful in another life—if I couldn’t manage it in this one.
The dress was soft, timeless. Elegant in a way that didn’t beg for attention. It was a fitted silhouette with a hem that skimmed my knees and a modest slit in the side—nothing overtly sexual, just undeniably feminine. The neckline scooped gently, offering a subtle suggestion rather than a promise.
The velvet beneath my fingers felt foreign, grounding. Real. Like something meant to tether me to the very moment I was in.
Asher could be someone like my dad had been. He could be gentle. Protective. Safe. He carried the kind of quiet steadiness you wanted beside you for the long haul, the kind that didn’t vanish when things got hard.
Maybe I could…
I shook my head, snapping myself out of it. Nothing long term. Nothing committed.
Before I could rationalize any further, I stepped out of my room to face him. When I did, I noticed he’d changed, too—and damn, he cleaned up well.
“W-when did you…” I stuttered.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed what I could only assume were nerves. “I came prepared,” he whispered, his voice staggered. Then softer, almost reverent, he said, “Jesus, Lennon, you look…”
He trailed off, trying to conjure up the right word to use. And when he couldn’t, he shook his head and crossed the space between us. The look in his eyes was intentional—dangerous in the way that felt thrilling rather than frightening. He reached down and picked me up into his arms.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, my legs instinctively locking around his waist as he subtly growled into my neck.
“You are everything that’s right with this world,” he said quietly. “The way you light up a room, Lennon—I’m…lost for words. You are so fucking beautiful.”
The compliment was pure. It lived within every feeling of his bones. And somehow, that made it hurt more. I couldn’t see myself the way he saw me, and the discomfort hollowed something out inside my chest.
I leaned in and bit his ear playfully. “Just so we’re on the same page—this isn’t a date.”
A soft chuckle vibrated against the space near my neck. “Oh, it’s a date,” he chimed. “Whether you want to put a label on it or not.”
I pulled back to look at him. His eyes were bright, curious, teasing. A faint wrinkle at the crease of the crow’s feet outlining his eyes made my heart flutter. He would look so good growingold with someone. The thought landed heavier than it should have.
“Just this once, Asher,” I said softly. “Just for tonight, I’ll say it is. Okay?”
A wide, genuine smile spread across his face. “I’m going to treat you so good you won’t even remember any other date you’ve ever been on.”
Then his lips collided with mine, deliberate and all-consuming, washing away all the demons that had been clawing at the edges of my mind—if only for that moment.
* * *
Sitting across from Asher, I felt as though I was having an out-of-body experience. He sat there, effortlessly dapper, the embodiment of old money while this blonde sat beside him—wide-eyed, chin resting on her clenched fists—hung on to everything he had to say. The couple shared laughter and exchanged knowing glances throughout the night.
But it was me.
The restaurant held a warm, golden hue, the soft lighting glinting off the chandeliers and creating an ambiance fit for the wealthy. The wait staff moved gracefully, dressed in tailored shirts and modest dresses, their smiles dazzling and effortless.
Our waiter had loose, short curls that fell across his forehead as he poured our wine. I watched him carefully, wondering if his cheerful demeanour was genuine or simply a well-practiced act.
Our eyes met momentarily, and I quickly averted my gaze, looking anywhere but at him. A flush crept up my neck, warming my cheeks, and I was certain it was obvious.
