Page 11 of Hymns of the Broken

His lips brush mine before I register he’s leaning in—soft, apologetic, the way he always starts.

“Just don’t be mad,” I murmur, almost to myself.

And just like every other time… I let him kiss me.

Because it’s easier than arguing. Easier than leaving. Somewhere inside, a part of me still wonders if love is supposed to feel like this.

He kisses me again, slow and deliberate. My body answers before my head does; it always has.

“I don’t want to fight,” he says against my mouth.

“We won’t,” I promise, because promising is faster than surviving the fallout.

I don’t kiss him back—not really. But I don’t pull away either. Pulling away has a cost I can’t pay tonight. Pulling away means explanations and reworded history and me on the bathroom floor with mascara tracks, rehearsing apologies I don’t owe.

So I let him kiss me. Let him hold my waist like I’m something precious—even though I know what happens when he’s angry. I let guilt slide in and sit where my voice should be.

He stayed.

He waited.

He said sorry.

And somehow it feels like enough. Even if I know it isn’t.

Even as another part of me still feels that stare from earlier. The one that saw through me like I was glass.

JASPER

Of course she has a boyfriend—fire like that doesn’t go unclaimed. I should’ve walked away, but I don’t. I watch.

I’m on the steps outside the building next door, high enough to see through her window. The glass is slightly fogged, softening the view, but not enough to dull the anger twisting beneath my ribs.

She’s inside, moving like she’s trying to hold herself together. He touches her like she’s his, but there’s no real care in it. Just habit. I see the way she leans back first, the tension in her shoulders before she forces herself still. She’s not kissing him; she’s enduring him. And that’s not the same thing.

Her friend’s voice from earlier cuts through my head like broken glass—impossible to ignore.

“You. Don’t. Deserve. That.”

“This is toxic. This is controlling.”

Something ugly twists in my gut. Not jealousy, but possession. That kiss didn’t mean a thing, but it told me everything I needed. She doesn’t feel safe with him. And when she’s mine—because she will be—she’ll never feel that way again. I’ll strip every shadow he’s left on her, twist her fear into something she chooses, something she craves. I’ll ruin every man who ever made her believe she deserved less than worship.

Let him kiss her now.

It’s one of the last times he ever will.

Chapter 3

SAWYER

I wake up tangled in sheets that don’t feel safe anymore. His arm is still around my waist, heavy like a chain I forgot to unlock. I don’t move. I just stare at the crack of sunlight crawling up the bedroom wall and let guilt creep in like it always does.

We kissed.

And then, like clockwork, it went further.

I didn’t say no. I never do. Saying no to Blake isn’t simple; it’s hours of defending myself against the twist of his words, trying to prove that boundaries aren’t rejection. And still, it’s never enough.