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I Love You

Hypothetical Question: If you had to eat a body to survive, what part would you start with, and how would you mask the taste? Would you season it to make it more palatable or eat it raw to keep the experience real?

Carina

It's been two days since Lucian died. Since I killed him.

The media grew bored when they didn’t see any movement, eventually giving up and going home.

The weight of it all presses down on me. Not the guilt. Not exactly. It's knowing my body still hums with the memory of the moment—the way the blade sank in, the way the light drained from his eyes.

Arms wrap around me from behind, and I flinch instinctively.

But the scent grounds me.

Nate.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he whispers softly, his breath warm against my neck as he rests his chin on my shoulder.

I exhale. “I’m just… jumpy,” I murmur, trying to shake off the tension that lingers in my body.

He turns me gently, his hands light but firm. His expression is soft, familiar, and safe. A small smile plays at his lips—not cocky, not teasing, just for me.

"I bought you something," he says, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice.

My brows pull together. "What?"

He places a bag in my hands, his gaze never leaving mine. “Open it.”

Inside, I find the dye, the bleach, the pink.

It’s the exact same set I use every time.

My chest tightens. A rush of warmth floods my body, so sudden and overwhelming that my vision blurs.

Tears burn the back of my throat.

It's such a small thing. Stupid. But it's mine. A reminder that even after everything, I can still be Carina.

“Thank you,” I croak, my voice thick with the sudden rush of emotions I’ve been holding back. The simple gesture means more than he knows.

“Anytime, Princess.” His lips press gently to my forehead, a quiet reassurance that makes me feel like I can breathe again.

“Will you help me?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper, a sense of vulnerability creeping into my words.

He doesn't hesitate. "Of course."

Nate follows my instructions without question. First, he lifts strands of my hair and coats them in bleach until my dark roots fade to a pale blonde. Then, carefully, he works in the pink.

The process is slow and methodical. The rhythm of his hands, the familiar routine—it soothes something in me.

When it's done, he runs his fingers through the soft strands, his touch lingering.

He steps back, surveying his work. "Perfect."

I see his gaze in the mirror.

Something in my chest tightens. A strange mix of fear and certainty.

I stand and turn to face him. Heart pounding.

And then—before I can talk myself out of it—I say it.

“I love you.”

His breath catches.

He tilts his head to study me, a mischievous smile softening his face. “You once told me you didn’t know what love was.”

I swallow hard.

I need him to understand.

“You said love is when they’re the only thing that keeps you grounded, when the thought of losing them terrifies you more than the fear of trusting them.” I step closer, pressing my palm to his chest, feeling the steady drum of his heart.

“I love you, Nate. I love how your eyes light up when you talk about your work, the glint in your eyes you get when chasing down a monster, how you protect me like nothing else matters. I love everything about you—your strength, your kindness, your fire.”

I exhale sharply. "Being away from you…" My voice breaks. "It was worse than anything they ever did to me."

Nate stares at me like I've just knocked the breath from his lungs.

For a long moment, he says nothing.

Then—he surges forward.

His hands frame my face, his lips crash into mine, and I feel the intensity, hunger, and pure, unrelenting love.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, his breathing uneven.

"God, Princess," he murmurs, voice rough. "I love you so fucking much."

I move towards the mirror, my heart pounding as I take in the reflection.

The grin that spreads across my face is huge, uncontrollable. I may still be too thin, and my eyes may lack some of the fire they once had. But… I’m getting there.

One step at a time.