You and Rafe are tangled in something twisted, a kind of love that feels suffocating, like it’s made from desperation and darkness. He killed Peterkin. It wasn’t a mistake. He didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate. He just did it. And somehow, you can’t turn away, can’t hate him for it. You’ve always been drawn to that part of him—the part that didn’t care, that takes what he wants without remorse. It’s like he enjoys the chaos now, and maybe, you do too.

You’d never say it out loud, but sometimes when he pulls you close, his hands rough, demanding, and his lips crushing against yours, you feel a rush. You want to please him. You need to please him. There’s no room for anything else in your world now but him. He whispers that he loves you, but it’s a lie wrapped in passion. You believe it because, for some sick reason, you want to.

At Tannyhill, everything is different. Ward and Rose, they don’t even care that you’re here anymore. You’ve become just another shadow in their mansion, like one of their things, always underfoot but never truly seen. Wheezie is quieter these days, and Sarah—well, she’s always somewhere else, too lost in her own world to notice what’s happening with you and Rafe. It’s like you’re the only one who can understand him, the only one who gets it.

Sometimes you watch him—high, out of his mind—and wonder how deep he’s gone. You’ve done it too, tried to keep up with him because it’s the only way you can be near him without feeling like you’re falling apart. But it’s like a cycle. The drugs only make you numb, and the love only makes you suffocate.

No matter how fast you run, no matter how hard you try to break away, Rafe will find you. He always does. You can’t leave him, and he won’t let you go. When you try, he grabs your face and kisses you, his hands shaking from something darker. “Do it for me,” he’ll beg, and you will. Because this is the mess you’ve made, the choice you accepted. And maybe, in the end, it didn’t even matter.

It’s love, but it’s not. Not the kind that’s to heal you.