WILLOW
Willow
He gasped a wet, ragged sound.
His brow furrowed as he peered down at the knife protruding from his ribs, angled just right to get to the fleshy organ beneath. He glanced back up at me, the hurt in his eyes drawing a strangled sob from me.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, twisting the knife to take as much of his heart with me as I could.
He wheezed, sputtering beneath me. I pulled the dagger free, tossing it to the side as his blood poured free from the wound without obstruction. It pumped onto the sofa, staining the beige fabric with his life.
“Why?” he asked, his voice hoarse and rough. I couldn’t bring myself to separate from him, to leave him on the sofa.
I didn’t want him to be alone.
I’d needed to deceive him for this to work, so why did his question make me feel even worse? “You know why,” I said, shaking my head as I stayed with him.
His blood continued to spill, his vision going unfocused. He raised a hand to my face, his palm stained with his blood. He cupped my cheek, the wetness of it smearing against my skin. “I love you,” he said, the steely resolve in that voice taking me aback. There was no weakness I would have expected of a man close to death, only a firm warning wrapped in warm words.
He loved me, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t suffer for what I’d done…
I turned my gaze down to his wound, to the stain on his shirt and realized that the blood flow had stopped. My eyes flashed back to his, the calm fury in his gaze more terrifying than any outward rage could have been.
I pressed my hand to his wound in a panic, sinking my fingers into the slit in his shirt. There was no stab wound, only fresh skin covering what I’d done.
If it hadn’t been for the puddle of blood staining the couch, I might have thought I had imagined it all.
I scrambled back, wincing when the movement freed him from me. He watched me go, sitting on that sofa as I stood in the living room. I didn’t bother running, knowing I wouldn’t get far before he sought out his revenge. I wouldn’t allow anyone else to get caught up in his wrath.
Gray tucked himself back into his slacks, standing smoothly without any hint of pain. “Gray,” I said, clamping my mouth shut. There was nothing I could say, nothing I could plead.
I’d tried to fucking kill him.
And I’d failed.
“Have I been that horrible to you?” he asked, approaching me slowly.
Jonathan hissed and retreated beneath the couch, leaving me to my fate. “That’s not—”
“That’s not what, Willow?” he asked, his anger pulsing off of him. “Why you tried to fucking kill me?”
“You used me!” I screamed, wincing when he jerked back. He’d thought we were beyond what he’d done to get us here, but I didn’t think I was capable of moving past it. “And we both know you will do it again.”
“You’re right,” he said, nodding his head. “I used you to get what I wanted, and then I tried to do everything I could to make it up to you. I would never hurt you again. I would never do this. I would never throw us away.”
“Don’t you understand? It was never about us!” I yelled, taking a step back as he approached.
“Always the fucking martyr,” he snapped, his words sinking inside deeper into me. I’d been raised to be a martyr, raised to sacrifice myself to get the bones my father couldn’t get for himself.
I didn’t know who I was without that purpose.
“Let me spell it out for you, Willow. This was always about us,” Gray growled, taking slow steps toward me. I had no choice but to retreat into the bedroom, looking around the room as he followed me. He gripped the door, swinging it shut so that it slammed behind him. I winced as I thought of my friends waiting to hear from me, wondering if they’d feel the way the very school seemed to vibrate with the force of it. “You wanted to get rid of me, because you’re too weak to choose me.”
“You’re going to break me!” I screamed, the shrill sound shocking even me as it clawed its way up my throat. I froze in the center of the bedroom, refusing to retreat any further. I’d given him enough ground and backed myself into a corner. He could kill me; he could hurt me, and there wasn’t a thing I could do to stop it.
I’d deserve it after what I’d done. My guilt pressed down on me, but I forced myself not to think of it. He’d done worse.
“You naive fool,” Gray snapped, and my mouth dropped open in shock. “You were broken long before I found you.”
I blinked at him from across the room, everything in me going still. “You’re wrong,” I said, clenching my teeth in anger. I wanted to hurt him, wanted to stab him again.
“I didn’t have a heart when I hurt you, and it was the most miserable experience of my existence. You have a heart, Witchling, and you would rather murder the man you love than accept that you care about someone!” he yelled, his voice rising.
“Oh fuck you,” I snarled, striding toward him. Determined to get past him, I made my way to the bedroom door. “I admit that I care about plenty of people in my life. They deserve my love, unlike you.”
“Is that why you keep them at arm’s length? Is that why you can’t even say you love plenty of people in your life?” he asked, his voice mocking as it poked at all the little holes in me where that emotion should have been.
I cared. I protected.
Except I’d only loved my mom and Ash. And now they were both gone.
I shook my head, ending the argument by simply not giving him an answer. There was nothing I could say when we both knew he was right, only it didn’t fucking matter. I hurried for the door.
“We aren’t fucking finished,” Gray barked, wrapping his fingers around my arm. He gripped me tightly, pulling me close to glower down at me.
“We never even started,” I said with a scoff, yanking on my arm until he had to choose between bruising me or releasing me. Where he might have once let me go to avoid hurting me, he held me harder.
“You’re terrified of the fact that you love me. You spend every day petrified that I’ll do something to hurt you again,” he said. I shoved at him, pushing him back and forcefully tearing my arm from his grip. I spun away from him while he caught his balance, racing for the door once again.
My fingers wrapped around the knob, yanking it open. Gray’s palm slapped against the wood, slamming it shut as I twisted to face him. I punched him in the stomach, aiming for the wound I’d made between his ribs. He grunted, wrapping his fingers around my throat and slamming my back into the door.
He held me there, his thumb and fingers squeezing just enough to relay his warning. “Enough, Willow.”
“Do it,” I growled, making his brow furrow with my command. “Just fucking kill me already.”
He loosened his grip on my throat, keeping me still as he sighed and leaned forward. Resting his forehead against mine, he paused for a moment. I tensed when he touched his mouth to my forehead, releasing me and tugging me away from the door.
He moved into the living room, and I had no choice but to follow when he picked up the knife I’d used to stab him. I felt the press of its magic the moment he touched it, certain that he’d decided to be done with me already. “You want me dead this badly?” he asked, staring down at the knife and twirling it in his hand.
I couldn’t answer. My mouth filled with sand as I watched the sorrow play across his face. “Gray,” I said.
“Answer me. Do you want me dead? Do you truly hate me so much that you would rather go through your life and never see me again?” he asked. I rubbed my hands over my face desperately, trying to rid myself of the tears that I couldn’t seem to stop.
Gray turned the blade as he came toward me, pressing it into my hand. My fingers wrapped around the hilt, except it wasn’t his chest he guided it to.
It was mine.
“This blade was created to kill me, make no mistake. However it’s not my weakness, Witchling,” he said, releasing my hands and leaving me
standing there while holding the knife to my own heart. “You are.”
“What are you saying?” I asked, sniffling, as he put distance between
us.
I wanted more of it, but all at once I wanted him to hold me too. That
was the conflict of our love⎯the constant push and pull of two people who shouldn’t work⎯but somehow did.
“I’m saying that your mistake was stabbing me. That blade was made for you,” he said, forcing me to drop my gaze to the tip of the knife where it touched me.
“What does that—”
“I bound our lives together when I brought you back, Willow. If you die, I will follow,” he answered, the words sitting between us as he waited. Waited for me to choose. “And this is how you die.”
The martyrdom I’d been raised to want, or a life with him at my side. “They sent you here knowing you would very likely die,” he said. I
couldn’t even muster the energy to argue, considering we’d all known the odds were not in my favor. Success meant death, and none of them had any reason to believe that Gray cared about me enough to spare my life after an attempt on his. “You are worth so much more than a fucking sacrifice, Willow. I’ve failed you if you don’t understand that.”
I moved the knife in my hand, watching as he flinched toward me when he thought I would plunge it into my own heart. “You would let me do this? Even knowing you would die too?” I asked, needing the answer to his question like I needed my next breath.
I couldn’t wrap my head around it, couldn’t understand how we’d gotten here. This was a precipice, and I knew I would never be the same once he opened his mouth.
The sincerity on his face broke whatever remained within me. “Nothing here has any value without you. You’re my home,” he said, unable to take his eyes off mine. I held that stare, waiting for him to continue. “They would gladly sacrifice you if it meant the world survived, but I wouldn’t. I would never walk this plane again if it meant I had you at my side in Hell.”
I looked down to the knife in my hand, staring at it. It felt like the symbol for everything I’d thought I’d known about myself, for the woman who pretended to be strong while hiding the fear of hurt and abandonment.
They would sacrifice me to save themselves, but he wouldn’t. It may not have been the freedom I’d thought he’d give me or the choice I’d hoped
for. Nevertheless it was mine all the same.
Just having it made everything so clear I winced.
I pulled the knife away from my chest, holding it out to the side and dropping it so that it fell to the floor beside me.
Gray was upon me the next instant, pulling me into his arms as my legs caved beneath me. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, letting him lift me off my feet. I wrapped my arms around his head, holding him tight and frantically trying to get closer.
He carried me into the bedroom, laying me across the bed gently and shoving my dress up my thighs.
Laying his weight on top of mine, he drove inside. Coming home.
