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Fuck. My eyes go hot, and I can’t blink without them spilling over.
Finley snuggles up beside me, and she hugs me hard. Like she can tell I’ve grown a pussy and I need some TLC. I drag in a few deep breaths. A shiver hits me.
Fucking worthless addict.
I cover my face with my hand, and her grip on my chest tightens.
“Did it feel good every time?” It’s such a quiet whisper, it takes me a second to process her words.
“You mean what you did? Hell yeah.”
“No…not that.”
I blink at her hair. Does she mean using? Would she ask something like that? I get a slow breath. Cold sweat flashes through me.
“I was curious. Perhaps it’s too prying. If so, hum your favorite song, and I’ll attempt to guess it. I have quite a few records for reference—”
“No,” I rasp out.
She goes quiet and still, but I can feel her interest. Why the fuck she wants to know…
I don’t get it. But Finley’s stubborn, and that picture got her thinking. That was my fault. I made her upset. I owe her something more now, don’t I? I shut my eyes.
“No,” I offer quietly. When she says nothing, I look down at her hair, dark in the moonlight. “Toward the end…it never felt good. Rarely.”
“I want to ask,” she murmurs, stroking my arm. “But I’m afraid to.”
Good. You should be. I keep my voice light and steady. “What do you want to know?”
She lifts her head off my chest, and her small smile is so sweet, so fucking gentle, it makes my throat tighten.
“If I ask,” she murmurs, “will it make you…want it?”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “No.” I don’t know how best to explain it. Not to someone like her. “It wouldn’t change things that much.” I fix my eyes on a bright star and focus on that. “For me, the cravings are…more physical. Usually. They happen at certain times of the day.”
“Early evening?” she whispers.
I nod. And all night, almost every night. I don’t want to tell her that, though. I don’t want her pity. Even though she says she doesn’t feel it, I’m pretty sure she would if she knew how much worse I feel than I let on.
“To me, you’re so near perfect. Not perfect as in a silly facade. Just…I value you so very much the way you are. And I think I would value you if you were still…actively ill. I would move heaven to keep you safe. But I would view you the same.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Shit. Where is she going with this?
Her hand strokes my hair, and what’s in my chest—this little ball of tension—melts away. My fucking eyes ache.
“It’s not like that,” I manage. In the real world, this shit is nothing like she thinks. She’s trying to get it, but she’s romanticizing. Simplifying. I can’t blame her. “You might value me.” I laugh, a cold sound. “Siren, that’s exactly what would ruin you in the end.”
“Because I’d value you and your safety but…you wouldn’t?”
I laugh dryly. “Not that. I’m still human. Everybody values their life.” Until they don’t. Until it’s too hard for too long. But I would never, ever say that out loud. Not to anyone—but definitely not Finley.
“How did you carry on, then? Weren’t those two desires at war?” There’s a tremor in her voice, as if she’s nervous. I strum my hand down her back.
“These are good questions. I’m not upset you asked. You’re all good, Siren.” She hugs me harder. “When I don’t feel like this—” I exhale. I inhale again and swallow hard to keep my voice smooth. “I value my life like you do.” Liar. “But…I’m not normal without it.” My voice dips down on that. I press my lips together. Lock my jaw.
“Why is that?” She asks so clinically, so smoothly, I find that it’s easier to answer.
“Mm…because I used for so long. Different stuff.” A tremor rolls through me as the next thought scrolls across my mind’s screen. “It’s like my brain’s just…broken now.” It’s whispered. “Doesn’t work right.”
