"Let me guess — you've prepared more psychological torture?"
He smiles. "Something like that."
He moves suddenly and tosses something onto my lap. I stiffen. Soft, black fabric, old and faded rests across my legs. It’s a hoodie, but not just any hoodie.His hoodie.The one from so long ago, with the small bird logo on the shoulder. The same one that was my favorite of his.
How does he still have this?
I take a deep breath, my stomach flipping, my chest tightening so hard it feels like my ribs might crack. I hadn't seen this in thirteen years. Hadn't felt it against my skin since the last night I spent in his arms, whispering secrets between kisses, lying to myself that we had forever.But it’s my fault I lost that, isn’t it? It’s all my fault.
I press my lips together, refusing to let my fingers tremble as I pick it up.
His smile disappears, and he stares at me, intently, like he wants to crack me open and look inside my mind.
I exhale sharply, dragging my fingers over the bird stitched into the hoodie with red thread. "Is this supposed to mean something?" I ask, my voice flat, empty.
A mask slides over his face. His gaze turns blank. "Don't pretend you don't remember, adorable."
I'm annoyed that my breath hitches. Because I do remember. Cold nights. His scent wrapped around me. Laughter. Whispered promises.
I swallow hard, trying to keep the memories away, pretending like they don't fucking matter.
"Is this some new wooing ritual?" I muse, smirking to fake confidence. "Because let me tell you, Ghost, kidnapping a woman and keeping her in your dungeon, isn't exactly romantic."
He chuckles and reaches forward, his fingers curling under my chin, tilting my head up, forcing me to look at him.
“You still remember this hoodie, don’t you?” he murmurs.
I clench my teeth.Don't answer. If I open my mouth, my voice will betray me.
He smiles, his thumb brushing against my jaw, too soft and intimate.
"That's what I thought."
I should pull away, spit in his face, call him a bastard, throw the hoodie back at him and tell him to go burn it.
Instead I slump against the wall. I'm too tired. Too cold. And the hoodie is warm and soft.
I breathe slowly and meet his gaze.
"Letting me starve, dumping water onto the ground, fucking with my head, and now, what? Trying to play nostalgia games?"
His smile doesn't waver. "Not a game, just…wooing" he says, then he stands and walks away.
All he leaves me with is his hoodie clutched between my fingers and the past banging like a raging bull against my skull.
Ghost
She still feels it. Thirteen fucking years and she still feels it.
I saw it.
She can lie to herself all she wants. She can pretend. But the past — our past — isn't a lie. And neither is the way she still wants to bury herself in something that smells like me.
I step into the hallway, taking a deep breath, cracking my neck slowly.
The hoodie wasn't part of the plan. Another deviation. But I couldn't help myself. And because I keep fucking up, I need to adapt.
I'm not going to break her.
