Page 65 of The Wicked Love

A scream.

Covers the back of his head.

A scream.

Covers the floor.

Red.

Red.

RED.

RED.

RED.

RED.

RED.

I.

Break.

Layers of my screams echo in my ears. And soon, they are in harmony, shouting into the abyss together.

The floor falls out from under me, and I plummet into darkness, falling faster and faster.

Until …

I gasp, throwing myself up, and my eyes fly open. My throat collapses as I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with air. My whole chest burns as I take quick, full breaths in, like I’ve been without oxygen for hours.

Something shifts beside me in bed, and it takes me all of three seconds to remember the heaviness of last night and to remember that Cal slept here with me.

Studying his face, so peaceful and serene, I feel like I am exactly where I need to be. Callum has always been there, fighting for me, waiting for me. And last night, I let him back in. He tore my walls down and burned the remains, never to be built again.

And as much as I missed him, his kiss, his touch, I can’t shake the guilt crushing my chest, that I shouldn’t have done it, that if I had pushed him a little harder, he would’ve finally let go.

But in the end, I’m glad that I did it because I deserve to be happy and to be with the guy I love. And fuck right or wrong, Cal and I were meant for each other. I was always meant to shatter, and he was always meant to catch the pieces.

Cal and I have never had it easy, not even in the beginning. When we first met, he was not a fan of mine. He thought I was just this rich brat—which I am, but I’m so much more than that.

I’m not just a pretty face onPeoplemagazine or the girl all the paparazzi follow. I love clothes and fashion, but that’s not all there is to know about me.

I love interior design, to sit in an empty room and imagine all the possibilities. And then to watch it slowly come to life.

I love coloring books, any kind—children’s, complex adult ones, swear ones, et cetera. Coloring is calming to me and one of my fave ways to pass the time. I haven’t colored in so long, probably since my dad died.

But I also haven’t felt peace for a long time, nothing close to what I’m feeling right now, lying with Cal’s arm under my shoulders and his hand across my waist.

Being with Cal again scares me. I’ve been shutting everyone out for so long that the heavy, empty feeling of vulnerability sweeps across my chest every now and then, reminding me of what usually follows close behind love—pain.

First, my mother died of breast cancer. She had fought for so long, and she died right before my eyes. For months, I’d watched her just deteriorate before me, and I held her hand as she passed. It was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do. I felt a piece of myself die with her.

And then my father’s death destroyed me. I was already barely hanging on as it was. But that day … when I walked into his office, every wall in my mind morphed into impenetrable steel. I had lost the two most important people, the two I loved most. Just like that, they were gone.

I was angry for a long time at my dad, pissed off that he could leave me. My fury has dissipated since then, the sadness and loneliness overpowering it.