Chapter 58 Confessions
Confessions
“You think I’ll run,” I say, my mouth near his jaw. “That I’ll call you cruel. That I’ll decide you’re too much.”
Behind us my father makes a ruined sound, thick in his throat. The smell of blood clings to the air.
“I won’t. I see all of you,” I continue. “And I want every bit of it.”
My father slides from the chair, collapsing to the floor with a heavy thud. Colsar doesn’t look.
“I am covered in blood and ink,” I say quietly. “My father’s tongue is on the floor. And I am so full of want I can barely stand.” I lean closer, my mouth brushing the line of his jaw. “My underclothes are soaked.”
A low sound breaks from Colsar, something closer to a growl than a word, and his hand lifts to my hair, closing into a fist at the root.
“You think I don’t know what you need?” I whisper. “You need control. You need to feel that nothing can touch what is yours because you are the one holding it.”
His hand slides from my hair to my throat.
“You need to be rough. You need to push. You need to hear me beg so you know I’m choosing it. You’re afraid that makes you a monster, that I’ll look at that and see something broken.”
He does not deny it.
“You have always hated touch, hated anyone close enough to hurt you. But now all you want is my hands, my skin, my mouth.”
“That terrifies you,” I add softly.
He lets out a quiet sound under his breath, caught somewhere between anger and surrender.
“We both survived alone,” I continue. “We both learned that needing someone was dangerous.” I press my palm flat against his chest. “But I am not surviving anymore.”
His fingers press into the side of my neck.
“I am building,” I tell him. “With you.”
He closes his eyes.
“I am going to give you everything they never did,” I say. “A home that isn’t punishment. Loyalty that doesn’t disappear. A family that doesn’t discard you when you become inconvenient.”
His jaw trembles.
“I am going to give you children who want to shift like you. Children who look at you and think strength is safety. Children who hope for love like ours because it’s the only kind they’ve ever seen.”
I stroke his cheek. "For all we know,” I whisper. “Maybe we already started our family last night.”
That is what breaks him. His hand leaves my throat and slams into the ruined table beside us, wood splitting further under the impact.
He pulls me back against him with sudden force until my spine presses to his chest. His arms lock around me as though he cannot bear even the smallest space between us, and his face sinks into the curve of my neck.
For a moment the control he carries so carefully falls away. A harsh sound breaks from him then, rough and unguarded, the kind of sound pulled from somewhere deep inside the chest where pain lives.
Grief.
“No one has ever stayed,” he says into my skin.
“Good,” I whisper. “They left room for me.”
His arms lock around me as if he expects me to disappear anyway.
“I love you,” I tell him.
He goes rigid.
“Even the twisted part of you that knew I would rather see my father dismantled than wake to flowers. Especially that part.”
He lifts his head slowly.
“So do not apologize,” I finish softly. “Do not ask me if I’m afraid. Do not ask if I’m disgusted. I will never be.”
My hand slides back into his hair. “Do not apologize for having darkness that wants to control,” I tell him. “So I don’t have to apologize for having darkness that wants to kneel for you.”
“Yesterday when I said I love you,” I continue, “it did not matter that you did not say it back.”
His breath stills completely.
“I knew you wouldn’t. And I didn’t care.”
“I love you.” I kiss him. “I could not stop if I tried.”
“We are not broken,” I whisper against his mouth. “We are matched.”
Silence stretches between us.
Then—
“Fuck.”
The word comes out unpolished, stripped of anything graceful or romantic. It sounds wrecked, like something torn loose instead of carefully chosen. He lifts his head, and his eyes shine in the dim cellar light.
“I love you,” he says. It sounds like confession and threat at once. “There isn’t a line I wouldn’t cross if someone tried to take you from me.”
His hands slide to my waist, gripping hard. “I want to own every part of you. I need you to be all mine in a way that frightens even me.”
His voice roughens. “I love you in a way that makes me dangerous.”
Behind us, my father groans weakly.
Colsar doesn’t even look. “I’ve never said that to anyone,” he says. “Not once.” He drags a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admits. “But I’m not taking it back.”
"I wouldn't let you if you tried."
His forehead rests against mine. “You are not safe from me,” he says quietly. “Not from this.”
“I don’t want to be.”
That’s when his restraint dies. He kisses me hard enough that it feels like collision, not tenderness. His hand fists in my hair again, angling my head exactly where he wants it.
“You are mine,” he says against my mouth.
“Yours.”
He exhales once, shaky, furious, overwhelmed. “Then get on your knees.”
And when I drop, it isn’t surrender. It’s alignment.