Page 8
He presses his lips to my jaw, trailing kisses down the column of my neck. My breath catches as his hand slides up my skirt, fingers firm on my thigh.
I gasp as the tip of his fingers graze near my slick slit. “This,” I moan softly, “is not what I came here for.”
“No?” he asks, sarcasm coating his words in warm amusement, much like I’m about to coat his thigh. “Then what are you here for? Because for a woman who’s so adamant I can’t love her, you seek me out for reasons outside of our arrangement quite often.”
I melt into his embrace despite pushing his hand away, unable to help myself in the unnatural calm and safety he offers. His chest presses firm against my back, strong arms winding around me as he nips my bare shoulder before straightening my blouse to cover the spot as if keeping it hidden, a reminder of our affections meant only for us.
“You seem to be right, and maybe that’s against my better judgment.”
“I quite like it,” he whispers, hugging me tighter.
“You shouldn’t,” I whisper back, longing carving a hollow in my chest.
“And yet, here I sit, wishing you’d let me love you. That you’d allow me the honor of knowing every fiber of your soul, even the parts you find unlovable or irredeemable.”
I know I shouldn’t, but I ask anyway. “Why?”
“So I can show you how wrong you are,” he answers, as though the truth itself requires reverence. His hand comes to rest at my waist. Not possessive, nor urgent—just there, steady as breath. “There isn’t a single part of you that isn’t worthy of love and devotion. Not your sharpness. Not your fear. Not the way you guard yourself as though the world has already proven it cannot be trusted.”
His thumb traces a slow, absent-minded circle, grounding rather than intimate.
“I would spend the rest of my life proving this to you,” he continues, gaze unwavering. “Not through grand gestures or promises you never asked for, but in the quiet ways that matter most. By choosing you again and again. By standing where you need me. By remaining, even when you are certain you do not deserve to be kept.”
My chest tightens, breath faltering.
“And when you finally come to accept this truth,” he says, voice lowering, something devout taking shape in it, “I would still stay. Not because you need saving. Not because you belong to me. But because I am your most fervent and dedicated worshipper, and it would be the greatest honor of my life to love you—fully, faithfully, desperately.”
The certainty in his voice frightens me more than any desire ever could.
I clench my eyes shut, breaths faltering as his determination sinks in—for the first time in five years, my resolve splinters. But just as quickly, I gather the shards, glue them back, and promise myself to harden them further.
He has it all wrong. He’s the one who should be afraid of me.
I push out of his lap, catching the glimpse of pure anguish etched into his features as I right myself.
“I’ll see you tonight, yes?” I ask, knowing I won’t be able to stay away but needing space to gather my wits.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” he murmurs, confirmation soft and aching. As my heels click across the cold floor, I reach the door just as he says, “And Calista, I would never speak to you the way that bastard just did.”
For a moment, my heart stills. Then I realize he isn’t prying into my memory but referring to Adrian and Philomela. Still, I’m shaken, offering only a small nod before slipping out.
Journal Entry
She has yet to tell me the circumstances surrounding his passing, but every year on this day, she becomes distant. The first year I’d noticed, of course.
In the three years since, I’ve come to find the nightmares take hold of her the nearer the date arises. I don’t wish for her to be alone, hoping she’ll allow me to be there for her someday, and until then, I watch over her, waking every few hours to check that she hasn’t slipped out of her room and sleepwalked like she so often has in years prior. On this day, we often remain rather quiet, soaking in the silent comfort of our proximity and nothing more.
I bring her chamomile tea to soothe her soul and take the day off from classes, ensuring my schedule remains wide open in the event she needs any part of me: mind, body, or soul.
Today is no different, and I must give her my attention and cut this entry short.
Until tomorrow,
Alastair
Chapter 4
Five Days Until Christmas
