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He’d shown me that I wasn’t helpless or weak, and I’d let him, even though every intuitive nudge had screeched not to do this. Not to be so stupid. So reckless. Not to play with such dangerous fire when my parents were just down the corridor.
I’d tried to stop him.
I’d snapped and fought him—fiercely and genuinely—trying to snap him out of his drunken stupidity. But the longer we battled, the more I lost myself to memories of Ethan touching me, not Aslan. Of a stranger pinning me down, tying me up, and entering me against my will.
I forgot where we were.
I forgot who I fought.
I let all my unresolved trauma and repressed pain blind me, and the war between us became far, far too real.
But then we’d crashed to the floor.
Aslan had sprawled amongst the fallen pillows, tonguing the blood I’d drawn on his lips, wincing at the pain I’d delivered between his legs, and...something happened.
Something snapped free inside me.
The drowning darkness that’d steadily been smothering me these past few weeks cracked.
Just a sliver.
Just a splinter.
But it was a crack full of me.
The girl I’d forgotten. The girl full of power and tenacity.
A girl who’d let a monster do his best to smother her light all while the son of a true monster struck a match and relit that flame inside her.
I shivered with strength.
I felt reborn.
I’d pounced on Aslan in gratefulness.
I’d been the one to beg him to fuck me, right there, without a thought to the consequences. I’d needed him with desire bordering on violent.
He’d tried to stop me.
I’d argued and cajoled.
And because he lived and breathed to keep me safe and happy, doing whatever it took to deliver what I asked, he didn’t say no again.
In one colossal mistake, we’d grabbed our fragile future and torn it into smithereens.
No.
Just no.
I wouldn’t let him wear the blame on this. I wouldn’t let my parents hate and judge him when he’d been nothing but good and kind.
Fuck that.
Fuck Ethan.
Fuck fate.
Aslan wasn’t going to be deported and killed because of me.
