for it. But after what they did to her, I know that she is more at peace now than she would’ve been alive.” He stays silent, and I’m not sure if I’ve made him feel worse or better. But I told him what I believe to be true. Sometimes people just aren’t meant to live through that trauma. A shell of who they could’ve been. Broken and fighting every day not to die. I think if she had lived, she could’ve learned to be happy again. I think everyone who suffers from internal demons can find that. We're all capable. But sometimes, unseen forces take it out of everyone’s hands, and maybe that just means they were meant to find their happiness in the afterlife instead. I unwrap myself from Zade and move away. His head drops, and he looks almost disappointed. He stands, and aims for the door, but he doesn’t make it two steps before I’m snatching his hand and tugging him back. He looks back at me, silent and confused. “T still hate you,” I mumble, and the lie tastes chalky on my tongue. “But I want you to lay down with me, Zade.” I peel back the covers, indicating for him to get in. It takes tremendous effort to look away from him as he kicks off his boots and climbs in next to me. He makes it a point to stay on top of the duvet, part of me resenting him a little for that. I’m nervous. Up until now, every encounter Zade and I have had was forced upon me. And now that P’ve made the decision for him to be here, I don’t know what to do. “Why were you on my balcony?” I blurt. He chuckles, facing me and urging me to do the same. Stiffly, I roll to my side and try not to faint from the intensity of this man. “I wanted to watch you,” he confesses. And then he tacks on with dry amusement, “In peace.” I snort. “So sorry for being so disruptive to your stalking. Next time I'll strike a couple poses for you.” I'll never admit how his answer gives me chills. Both ice cold and fiery hot. He smirks, and it makes me sad that it doesn’t reach his eyes. “IT’d appreciate that,” he murmurs distractedly. His eyes are tracing my curves like they're scripture, and he's a sinner that is searching for proof of a God that he no longer can hear. “You need space from me while wanting to be close. Sounds like a marriage,” I deadpan. “Tt will be.” It’s instinct to deny that. I still want to and do so in my head. But I don’t give voice to it. Not tonight, I won’t. So, I swallow the words and let him dream.