“You told me once,” I say, my voice low and steady now in a way it wasn’t a second ago, “that I only ever kneel for you.”
His face goes still.
“So I’m kneeling for you.”
The silence that follows is so complete it feels alive. I can hear both of us breathing. I can feel the air shift between us. I can feel his gaze on me so heavily it almost counts as touch.
“I’m yours, Elijah,” I whisper. “You claimed me, remember?”
My fingers twist in the fabric of my own shirt to stop them from shaking.
“You made me yours.”
His throat works. He still doesn’t move. I hold his gaze.
“I’m here.”
And now my voice breaks again, but I let it, because there is nothing left to hide.
“Take me.”
He stares at me. Long enough that time stops meaning anything. Long enough that I can feel my own heart beating in my throat. Long enough that every part of me knows this is the edge of something, that one more breath might tip it either way.
And he still doesn’t speak.
He just looks at me, like he is about to shatter.
fifty
Elijah
I can’t breathe.
That’s the first thing I register. Not the room. Not the silence. Not even the fact that she’s on her knees in front of me.
Just the sharp, suffocating awareness that something inside my chest has locked tight enough that it’s cutting off air.
She shouldn’t be there. She should never have to be there. Not like this. Not asking. Not begging.
My wife does not beg for me.
My wife has never had to ask me for anything.
I’ve always taken. I’ve always known what she needed before she said it. I’ve always given.
And now...
She’s kneeling in front of me.
Because I pushed her there.
The realization hits like a blade straight through my ribs.
I did this.
I took something that belonged to us, something sacred, something instinctive, something that used to exist without hesitation, and I strangled it with my own fear until she had no choice but to reach for it herself.
My jaw tightens so hard it aches.
