Chapter 6
Ghost
I wanted to destroy her, piece by piece. Instead, she summoned a dead man. How the fuck did she do that? She said my name before. Back at her place, when I came for her. But it didn't hit this hard.
I clench my jaw, pacing the length of the hallway outside her cell, like a caged animal.
I can't get my head straight.
I spent years convincing myself that the man she knew died long ago, when those steel bars closed behind him. That all that was left is what I've become during those five fucking years.
But the second she spoke my name, my real fucking name... FUCK! It felt like the ground shifted beneath my feet.
The memory hits out of nowhere, slamming straight into my ribs.
…
“I have to go home,” she mutters lazily and nuzzles into my chest, her soft, naked body warm against mine. There’s something in her voice that sounds like music.
“Stay the night,” I murmur, smiling down at her.
She smiles back, and it feels like sunshine and summer rain. Like she can make me break the world just to keep that smile on her face.
I only met her yesterday, so how the hell does she already have this power over me? I don’t know, but I don’t care either.
“I can’t,” she whispers, looking away. Then her eyes come back to mine and her smile stretches. “I want to see you again. You’d better call me tomorrow, Dominic.”
…
I shake my head, trying to throw the past far, far away from me.
It doesn't matter.
She's here. She's mine.
That's all I need to focus on.
I need to remember that the past is buried and never coming back. That’s where I lost everything. And now she needs to lose everything, too.
Adora
I look at him with quiet mutiny, refusing to speak first. Refusing to ask where the fuck he has been. Why did he stay away longer than usual?
He crouches in front of me, his movements deliberate. Controlled. I don't like it. I prefer the cruelty, the mockery, the fire. At least then, I know where I stand.
"Did you miss me?" he asks.
I narrow my eyes. "Like a knife to the heart."
His lips twitch. I lift my chin, forcing my voice to stay even.
"Let me guess — you've prepared more psychological torture?"
He smiles. "Something like that."
He moves suddenly and tosses something onto my lap. I stiffen. Soft, black fabric, old and faded rests across my legs. It’s a hoodie, but not just any hoodie. His hoodie. The one from so long ago, with the small bird logo on the shoulder. The same one that was my favorite of his.
How does he still have this?
I take a deep breath, my stomach flipping, my chest tightening so hard it feels like my ribs might crack.
I hadn't seen this in thirteen years. Hadn't felt it against my skin since the last night I spent in his arms, whispering secrets between kisses, lying to myself that we had forever. But it’s my fault I lost that, isn’t it? It’s all my fault.
I press my lips together, refusing to let my fingers tremble as I pick it up.
His smile disappears, and he stares at me, intently, like he wants to crack me open and look inside my mind.
I exhale sharply, dragging my fingers over the bird stitched into the hoodie with red thread. "Is this supposed to mean something?" I ask, my voice flat, empty.
A mask slides over his face. His gaze turns blank. "Don't pretend you don't remember, adorable."
I'm annoyed that my breath hitches. Because I do remember. Cold nights. His scent wrapped around me. Laughter. Whispered promises.
I swallow hard, trying to keep the memories away, pretending like they don't fucking matter.
"Is this some new wooing ritual?" I muse, smirking to fake confidence. "Because let me tell you, Ghost, kidnapping a woman and keeping her in your dungeon, isn't exactly romantic."
He chuckles and reaches forward, his fingers curling under my chin, tilting my head up, forcing me to look at him.
“You still remember this hoodie, don’t you?” he murmurs.
I clench my teeth. Don't answer. If I open my mouth, my voice will betray me.
He smiles, his thumb brushing against my jaw, too soft and intimate.
"That's what I thought."
I should pull away, spit in his face, call him a bastard, throw the hoodie back at him and tell him to go burn it.
Instead I slump against the wall. I'm too tired. Too cold. And the hoodie is warm and soft.
I breathe slowly and meet his gaze.
"Letting me starve, dumping water onto the ground, fucking with my head, and now, what? Trying to play nostalgia games?"
His smile doesn't waver. "Not a game, just…wooing" he says, then he stands and walks away.
All he leaves me with is his hoodie clutched between my fingers and the past banging like a raging bull against my skull.
Ghost
She still feels it. Thirteen fucking years and she still feels it.
I saw it.
She can lie to herself all she wants. She can pretend. But the past — our past — isn't a lie. And neither is the way she still wants to bury herself in something that smells like me.
I step into the hallway, taking a deep breath, cracking my neck slowly.
The hoodie wasn't part of the plan. Another deviation. But I couldn't help myself. And because I keep fucking up, I need to adapt.
I'm not going to break her.
Not yet.
Not like that.
I want to smother her in the memories. I want her to feel the pull again.
And when she does? Then maybe she'd finally fucking understand what she took from me.
I'd finally see her suffer, and hopefully, I won't drown right alongside her.
Because I'm remembering, too. I'm realizing that I never actually fucking forgot.
I can still see her wearing that hoodie, all those years ago. Standing in my room, stealing it off my chair, grinning as she pulled it over her head, the sleeves swallowing her hands.
Is that why I kept it all this time?
Fuck.
Adora
I can’t sleep. Not because I’m cold or because I’m locked in a dungeon and my situation is pretty fucking dire, but because of the hoodie sitting in my lap. It's just fabric. Just an old, worn-out piece of clothing that carries memories of lost dreams.
I curl my hands into it, gripping it so tightly my knuckles ache. I wish it were meaningless, but this piece of fabric used to bring me so much joy.
This isn't just another one of Ghost's games. It's something I don't know how to fight.
If I were strong enough, I would have thrown it on the ground.
Kicked it across the cell, torn it apart with my teeth, my bare hands.
But I’m not that strong. And even though I know what he’s doing, even though I can see the strings, feel the walls closing in, hear the whispers of the past calling my name, I still pull it over my head.
The lock clicks. That sound. That fucking sound is going to drive me nuts.
I clench my jaw. At this point, I'll be grinding all my teeth into dust in no time.
I feel him hesitate and I know that I’ve surprised him, wearing his hoodie.
He takes another step closer. Slow. Careful. Like he's looking at something he doesn't recognize.
I swallow, forcing myself to meet his gaze head-on.
His eyes are unreadable. But his hands tell me everything I need to know. His fingers are flexing, curling and uncurling at his sides.
I smirk, breaking the suffocating tension. "Something wrong, Ghost?"
His jaw ticks. Then he speaks, his voice quiet, dangerous, "You wore it."
I force a scoff, rolling my eyes. "You gave it to me. What did you expect me to do? Throw it in the bucket in the corner?"
A shadow of a smile touches his mouth as his eyes rake over me. "Would've been on brand for you."
"Oh, just fuck off." My voice is soft and there's no heat behind my words.
We’re playing with fire, aren’t we? And the flames are already too high.
Ghost
Fuck. This isn’t good.
I wanted her to fall into the past. Not drag me down with her.
I roll my shoulders, schooling my features, burying the messy tangle of my feelings beneath a smirk.
"You always liked stealing my shit."
Her gaze flickers. "What can I say? Your hoodies were the only good thing about you."
I chuckle. "Liar."
She stiffens, the reaction barely noticeable. There’s a need rising inside me, demanding more. It’s suddenly louder than anything else.
"You look ado—good in it," I murmur without thinking.
That surprises her. She looks at me with bated breath, waiting for me to ruin this moment. I almost do. I almost fucking do. Instead, I turn and walk out.
I don't know what the fuck I feel about her anymore.
Adora
He left. He just fucking left!
I expected him to be smug, to gloat about how I was falling right into his hands. But he didn’t. He just walked away.
Like I am the problem now. He's the fucking problem!
I feel fury claw its way up. Rage. At myself. Because the moment he turned and left, something that felt too much like loss twisted in my chest..
I inhale, exhale, slow and controlled.
It's a game. It's always a game. But I'm not sure who's winning anymore. I saw the hesitation in his eyes and the way his arm moved just a little, like he wanted to touch me, but couldn't.
The rules have changed, and I don't know if that's good or bad.
The next three days he doesn't come back. Or I think it's been three days. I'm done trying to figure out the passing of time. It's useless in this hole.
Food and water are left for me, always there, at the edge of the cell, when I wake up.
I eat.
I drink.
And I hate every second of it.
Because Ghost isn't watching. Because he's not here to force me to break, to smirk when I cave, to whisper in my ear and remind me that I'm still at his mercy. This is too fucking twisted. Wrong. I know it is.
I want to be relieved that he’s gone. But somehow, his absence doesn’t feel good.
The only thing worse than fighting him is not fighting him at all.
The lock clicks. My heartbeat speeds up, my entire body tensing as the door creaks open.
Finally!
I don't make a move right away. I don't want to show him how fucking stupidly excited I feel.
He steps inside, his movements stiff, like he's unsure of himself. But Ghost is always confident. He is always planning something. So if he doesn't know what comes next, then I'm not alone in my madness.
I drag my gaze up to his, searching his eyes.
He stares at me, like he's trying to figure me out. As if I'm the only question he doesn't have an answer to.
"Took you long enough," I breathe.
His eyes narrow. He didn’t expect me to say that, to admit I’d been waiting.
His lips curl slowly. "Worried about me?"
I tilt my head. "Worried that you finally grew a conscience."
His chuckle is low, dark. "You still think that's possible?"
I shrug, keeping my expression blank. "I think you left me alone for a reason."
His smirk fades, just a bit. He's obviously holding something back. And the need to know what that is, what he's guarding, is riding me like a fever, burning hotter with every second.
When I speak, I force my voice to stay neutral.
"You're getting lazy with your mind games."
He laughs quietly, crouching in front of me, his gaze too knowing.
"You think this is a game?" he murmurs.
I force myself to smile. "Isn't it?"
His eyes darken. And then, fast as a lightning bolt, his hand wraps around my throat.
"Is that what you tell yourself? That this is a game?"
I swallow hard. "You're trying to turn me into the girl I used to be. But here's the thing, Ghost. She doesn't fucking exist anymore."
Something in his gaze shifts. I wish it was anger, but it’s something worse, and it makes my stomach twist into a pretzel.
He lets go of my throat and leans back slightly.
"Then who the fuck are you now?" he asks, voice quiet.
I clench my jaw. "It doesn't matter. What matters is that I'm someone who deserves the punishment. And who also doesn't belong to you anymore. This remembering game is stupid. You don't think I see what you're trying to do?"
His fingers flex. And fuck, I see it.
I see it.
I've hit something real and he wasn't expecting it.
His tongue swipes over his bottom lip, slow, calculated. "Is that right?"
Ghost
She's lying. But she thinks she isn't.
Her fingers grip the fabric of my hoodie tight, like it's a lifeline she desperately needs. Like it's still hers, and she's still mine.
I run my tongue over my teeth, watching her. She thinks she's gained something. That's cute.
"You don't belong to me anymore?" I look straight into her eyes, daring her to deny it.
She lifts her chin. "That's what I said."
I shake my head, with a quiet sigh. "Then take it off."
She blinks. "What?"
I nod toward the hoodie. "If you don't belong to me anymore," I say, my voice steady, with a hint of danger, "then take it the fuck off. I'll wait. You still have a blanket. I'll even trade you something else for it. Something warm and soft."
Her throat bobs in a swallow. And there it is. It's her turn to hesitate now. She's not so sure of herself anymore. She wants to fight but her body betrays her.
I smirk. "Go on, adorable."
Her jaw locks. Ah, stubbornness makes its grand entrance.
Her hands fall to the hoodie, gripping the hem. And fuck, I know she's doing it just to spite me. Let her. Let her try to prove a point she can't fucking prove.
But the second she starts pulling it up, revealing just a sliver of the skin I used to touch, the skin that my hands knew so well, something inside me snaps.
Before I can think, my hands shoot out, grabbing her wrists, stopping her.
Our eyes clash.
She freezes.
Her breath catches.
Fuck.
I didn't plan for how fucking wrong it would feel to see her try to strip herself of me. I didn't plan for the sudden panic curling in my chest — something I haven't felt in years.
Her eyes flicker, searching mine.
Waiting.
For me to let go?
For me to say something?
I should let her go.
I should. But I don't.
Instead, my fingers tighten, and I whisper something I shouldn't. Really fucking shouldn't.
"Don't."