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“Oh, Edward.” I run my fingers along his spine, tracing the lines of his misery. I can’t imagine how cruel it must be for your own father to despise you.
A dark curl falls over one eye as he shakes his head and continues. “One day, I was floating in my boudoir, lamenting my sad end, when I heard a sound. It was tiny, barely discernible. A faint meow.
“I tried to ignore it, but it grew louder and more wretched. I couldn’t think. I floated around the house until I entered the ballroom, where the guest lounge is now, and saw a trembling heap of bedraggled fur sitting in the middle of the marble floor.”
“A cat?”
He nods. “I have seen this cat before. It was a little black cat with white paws – a wretched, skinny thing that the gardener chased with a pitchfork and the cook swiped from the kitchen with the broomstick. Sometimes, she came near the house during our revels, but my friends had no time for such a sad, skinny little creature. They sometimes threw things or teased her or, without meaning to, would be overly friendly and pull her tail.
“And now, here she was, insidemyhouse. I should have been incensed, but her cry rent my soul. When she cried, she sounded the way that I felt inside – miserable and alone and desperate for love.
“And as I stared down at her, I realised that I could see through her midnight fur to the marble inlays below. She was a ghost, too. She had died all alone somewhere and her spirit had come to my house, seeking…what? The same thing we all seek, I suppose. Safety, warmth, kindness.” His voice cracks. “I never gave this creature a moment’s consideration when I was alive. But then, as she stared up at me with her huge eyes and her little pink nose, I realised that we were the same. We had both lived alone and died alone. We’d never known love.”
“Oh, Edward.” Tears pricked the corners of my eyes.
“I knelt down beside her, careful not to put my knee through the floor. She was terribly frightened. I can’t blame her, for she had never known kindness from humans. She darted away but then slowly, slowly, she came back to me. She sniffed me. And then she leapt into my arms. She curled into my shoulder, her head resting on me, and her body vibrated with these perfect little purrs.
“I carried her back to my boudoir, careful not to disturb her, and we lay down together. Her little body radiated warmth that even I could feel as a ghost. I looked down at her and I thought that I was lucky I didn’t have a heart any longer, because it would surely break. She slept. And I slept. Or I drifted to a place where I was the kind of person that could be loved, that could be deserving of love, even if it was only the love of a tiny, perfect little cat. For the first time since I had become dead, and really, for the first time in a very long time, I was at peace.”
His breath stutters. “I awoke sometime later as the cat crossed over. Light surrounded her, the way it did with Ambrose, and she passed through the Veil to the next realm. She lifted her little head and looked me in the eye as she left. She seemed to be saying, ‘Thank you.’ All her life, people had ignored her and mistreated her. No one had loved her. That was her unfinished business. She just wanted to experience love. And I…” he shakes his head. “Sometimes I feel like that – as if all I want in the world is to be held and loved. And so, when I was wandering around the garden feeling sorry for myself one day, and I found those two kittens and their poor, dead mother, I burned out the fuses in the house so that Mike had to go into the outbuildings for the generator, and he found them.”
I close my eyes as Edward’s words wash over me. I open them again, and he gazes down at me, that arrogant expression gone from his face, his eyes swimming with pain and impossible hope. He blinks, and his mask goes back up.
“I wish…” he sighs. “I wish that I could be inside you right now. I wish that I could fuck you until you loved me.”
“That’s not how it works,” I say. “But there is something else we can do. Something even more intimate.”
He perks up. “Whatever you wish.”
“Youcouldbe inside me, in a way.”
He looks confused. “That’s precisely our problem. I cannot, and it’s driving me mad.”
“No, I mean, I could toss the moldavite away, and you could float inside me, the way you did with the Ripper…” I shake my head as I see his expression. “Forget it. It was a silly idea—”
“It’s not silly at all.” Edward’s features turn solemn. “It would be an honour. But I may see things in your memories that you wish were kept hidden. Do you accept this? Because I’d like to try if you’ll have me.”
I take a deep breath. Will I have him? Inviting him inside means giving Edward my memories –allof them. Even the things that I am most ashamed of, like the true reason why I was afraid to return to Grimwood all these years.
Like the way I really feel about him and Pax and Ambrose.
But what he’s given me tonight is more precious than an orgasm. He’s given me a hidden piece of his soul, a piece he’s never allowed anyone else to see. I want to give him the same gift.
I lay back against the pillows. Slowly, I remove the handful of moldavite stones from the pocket of my hoodie and toss them into the corner of the room. They clatter against the wainscotting before dropping to the floor. I beckon Edward.
“Come inside me.”
Edward bites his lip. He touches the collar of his loose white shirt, tugging it to expose that small bruise again. The moonlight streams from the window behind him, touching his midnight hair and making him appear much older and wiser – no longer the Poet Prince, the Lord of Debauchery, but someone infinitely more complex and beautiful.
I hold out my hand. He touches my fingers. The tips graze, but then he loses his grip and slips into me, his hand reaching down through my arm. My skin burns where he’s entered me, and the inside of my arm feels tight, like my skin is holding more than it did before. It’s awkward, but not unpleasant.
“Does it hurt?” I ask.
“It’s wonderful,” he replies. Which isn’t exactly an answer. But then I remember things I’ve read about Edward, that during some of his most sinful pastimes, he has enjoyed pain as part of his pleasure. It’s part of being a poet – finding beauty in the darkness.
“Go deeper,” I urge him.
Edward’s lips purse. His brow furrows as he leans forward. His lips brush mine for a moment before his whole body sinks into me.
