Page 213 of Breathe Like Hell

I would give anything for a full breath of Heaven’s air.

I can’t fucking breathe. I can’t fucking do this.

I’ll never have that again.

Unless…

Mason knew what bad things happened in Heaven, knew what’d happened to me.

It only happened once, but that experience reshaped my whole life, shattered my entire sense of self, and changed me for good.

It was almost impossible for me to think about, and even harder for me to talk about.

I’d never really talked about it. Even with Mason.

It only ever directly came up two times across the span of our entire relationship. The first time he’d voiced his desire to top me, and the time I actually let him. Both mentions were vague, but enough for him to understand.

All I wanted was for him not to treat me differently, and maybe that was part of the reason I liked fighting with him so much. Even fighting for control, fighting for dominance. It made me feel normal. I imagined that was what I would’ve been like had this not happened to me, and the thought was comforting.

So I enjoyed it.

He took all the discomfort out of the act. He fucked me hard and merciless.

I wasn’t sure I’d ever properly expressed how grateful I was for that. Even though he’d probably felt weird or nervous, afraid of making me freak out again, he never let that show.

It was good until it wasn’t.

Until it wasn’t.

Forever.

Immortality granted me forever, and I hated it. Hated it so fucking much.

Not in every context, but in this one.

━━━━━

It was several hours before I made the decision to return to my house.

Mason’s car was gone when I pulled into the driveway, and the tightness in my chest finally began to dissipate—until I walked inside and saw him sitting in my living room.

I completely froze.

“I want to have a conversation with you,” he said.

“I don’t,” I forced myself to reply. My heart was beating too fast already. “Where’s your car? Were you trying to trick me into coming home?”

“Yes,” he admitted simply, causing anger to heat in my bloodstream.

“That’s fucked up.” My hands clenched into fists, my pulse in my throat. I hated how small my voice sounded.

“We need to talk, Kill.”

“Don’t call me that,” I snapped, feeling almost as cornered as I’d felt last night. Mason wasn’t moving any closer, but he didn’t need physical proximity to trap me in the corners of my own mind. My mouth had gone completely dry.

“Fine. But I don’t want to let you leave until you do this.” He stood up, making my anxiety spike. My shoulders went rigid, refusing to relax.

“Do what? What conversation could you possibly need to have?”