Page 109 of Blurred Red Lines

“Someone once told me I was an emotional black hole. I may’ve done some light Googling.”

* * *

In the middleof the night, I watched my husband sleep. No one would ever accuse Valentin Carrera of sleeping peacefully, but in the sanctuary of our bedroom, we let down our guards and let trust rule the night.

Wrapping the blanket around my shoulders, I realized that I barely thought of my old life anymore. Although we both lost our entire families and still mourned our slain loved ones, the ache they left would’ve eventually destroyed us. Ironically, the catastrophic events that their deaths set in motion created a love we found in each other, easing the ache and filling a void neither of us knew existed.

Some people were raised to see only two sides of a world—good or evil. You either stood on the side of righteous or damnation. I discovered life wasn’t predictable and people weren’t necessarily all pure or all malicious. Perceptions changed when cultures and survival were on the line.

Val said we fought hard and fucked harder. I supposed that was true. My emotions ran at heated fluctuations when we were near each other. He angered me and loved me like no one ever had or ever would.

My father’s favorite quote referred to the fine line between love and hate. He’d tell me not to confuse or blur it. I should recognize the difference and turn my back on the latter.

I disagree.

Val Carrera taught me that life didn’t necessarily run in clear shades of black and white. Gray areas clouded a side of people they had no idea existed—a side capable of unspeakable acts when thrust into darkness. In those gray areas, love and passion ran volatile in two people whose paths were never meant to cross.

Hearts.

Hatred.

Blood.

In this life we’d chosen to live, the blurred line between love and hate was sometimes stained red.