15. His Sinner
Chapter fifteen
His Sinner
I lay there, curled up on the bed, tears slipping down my cheeks, silent but relentless. I can still feel the weight of him pressing me down, the silent intensity in his eyes hidden behind that mask.
He was so close, close enough that I could smell him, could feel the warmth of him through the glove as he pressed his finger to my lips.
The familiar scent of pine needles and motor oil still lingers faintly in the air, a reminder that he was really here, that he found me. And then, just like that, he was gone, slipping back into the shadows he’s been haunting for so long.
My heart aches in a way I can’t even begin to explain. I thought I was past this. I thought I’d locked that part of me away, the part that wanted him, that needed to know he was safe. The part of me that’s always felt a hollow ache where he used to be, that’s been searching for some kind of closure since the night he disappeared.
But seeing him again, feeling him above me, his touch, the way he left without a word—it’s like he ripped open an old wound, raw and bleeding, all over again.
I know it was him. I can’t explain how, but I just know.
I sit up slowly, wiping my face, the room feeling colder, emptier without him. My gaze drifts to the closet, to a small box on the top shelf that I haven’t touched in years.
I stand, my feet moving of their own accord, and reach for the box, pulling it down gently. The cardboard is faded, the edges worn from the times I’ve handled it in the past, back when the memories of him were still fresh, still vibrant.
Opening the lid carefully, my breath catches as I look down at the worn black hoodie inside folded neatly. The last piece of him I’d ever hold. I pull it out, feeling the soft, faded fabric under my fingers, the worn cuffs, the faint tear in the left sleeve,
His scent is long gone, faded with time and a million washes, but just holding it brings him back in a way that nothing else could.
I slip the hoodie over my head, the fabric loose and worn, settling around me like a second skin. It’s too big even though I am a big girl myself, the hem brushing against my thighs. But it’s warm, comforting, a piece of him wrapped around me.
I pull the hood up, closing my eyes as I clutch the fabric close, feeling the ache in my chest sharpen, the tears slipping down my cheeks all over again.
“Dominic,” I whisper, barely a breath, his name slipping from my lips like a secret. I don’t know if he’s still out there, listening, watching, or if he’s vanished back into whatever life he’s been living in the shadows.
But right now, with his hoodie wrapped around me, it’s enough to pretend. To pretend that he’s here, close, that this piece of him is something solid, something real.
I crawl back into bed, curling up beneath the blankets, pulling his hoodie tighter around me as I close my eyes. The fabric is warm, soft against my skin, and for the first time since he left, I feel a faint sense of calm, a quiet peace that’s somehow more painful than anything else.
The tears keep coming, silent and steady, but I don’t fight them. I let myself feel it.
I feel it all, the memories, the nights we spent together, the way he used to look at me, his face bruised and bloody, but his eyes fierce, unbreakable. The way he’d laugh, calling me “Little Sinner” like it was the only name that mattered.
I don’t know how long I lie there, wrapped in the memory of him, but eventually, sleep pulls me under, soft and relentless, taking me back to the last place I ever saw him, to the cell, to the cold darkness where we whispered secrets, where he told me to run, to live.
And even as he fades into the dark, even as I feel him slip away, I hold onto the sound of his voice, the warmth of his touch, clutching his hoodie close as I drift into the quiet peace of sleep, wrapped in the only piece of him I have left.