Voices came from a distance. What sound was that? Rain.
*
I sat quietly beside him while the rest of the world dissolved into noise. Pars and his inner circle laughed at our table, the sound jarring against my silence. The ballroom was vast—a kingdom of excess. One half was laden with food and drink, the other surrendered to the dance floor.
When the feast was over, and the wine had done its work, the tempo shifted. Slow, languid music filled the air. Most people drifted to the dance floor, pairing off.
Pars and I remained seated. He was watching the dancers, his eyes glazed.
"Soon, there will be fireworks," he said suddenly, his voice thick. He turned his gaze to me. "Do you want to watch?"
I didn't think. "Alright."
He tried to stand, stumbling slightly. I rose before him, leading the way to the roof access stairs. At the foot of the steps, I looked back involuntarily.
He was drunk. Properly drunk. He could barely walk.
A pang of unnecessary affection shook my heart. I should hate him, I reminded myself. I should hate him for everything.
I reached out, grabbing his arm to steady him, keeping my body rigid and distant.
"You will fall," I said. My voice sounded unnervingly calm to my own ears.
"Hold me, then."
I frowned at his slur but tightened my grip. We began the slow ascent. He stumbled a few times, nearly slipping from my grasp, but we made it.
The roof was a different world. The city lights stretched out below us—artificial stars polluting the velvet dark.
When the fireworks began, exploding in showers of gold and crimson, I sat down on the cold concrete, pulling Pars down with me.
"Fuck! It's cold," he muttered, trying to stand back up.
I tugged on his shirt, forcing him back down. "Sit."
He blinked in surprise, his defenses lowered by alcohol. Finally, he gave up. He leaned his heavy head on my shoulder, and we watched the sky burn together. For a moment, amidst the explosions of color, I forgot why I was so angry.
Long after the show ended, we stayed there. His breathing evened out against the crook of my neck. He was asleep.
I turned my head slowly, studying his peaceful face. He didn't look like a monster. He didn't look real.
I raised my hands. I didn't use my muscles; I used my mind. With a thought, I wrapped my telekinetic energy around him, lifting his body into my arms as if he weighed nothing. I made sure to keep a layer of air between us, so his skin wouldn't touch mine.
I carried him home like a ghost carrying a corpse.
The ground seemed to shake with every step I took. My head spun. What an idiot I was. How could I harbor such affection for a man who treated me like a weapon?
The house's biometric system recognized my face, swinging the door wide. I floated him up the stairs, depositing him gently in the middle of his bed.
I ran to my own room.
I slammed the door, locking it with trembling fingers. My legs gave out. I collapsed, pressing my back against the wood, gasping for air that wouldn't fill my lungs.
No. No. No.
I stumbled into the bathroom, stripping off my clothes with frantic movements. I climbed into the empty bathtub, curling into a fetal position against the cold porcelain.
I lay there, naked and shivering, my hair veiling my face, my hands balled into fists. I cried until exhaustion took me.
Why?
My eyes closed.
*
I woke with a start.
My body was freezing. I hugged my knees to my chest, realizing I had fallen asleep in the tub. I dragged myself up, sneezing, and went to the closet. I pulled on the thickest, most oversized sweater I could find and a pair of leggings.
I went downstairs. Pars was nowhere to be found.
I opened the front door to check the weather. Rain was pouring down in sheets, drowning the world in gray.
And there he was.
Pars sat on the entrance steps, completely exposed to the deluge. He was soaked to the bone. Even from here, I could see his shoulders shaking.
I stepped out into the rain. The water soaked me instantly, plastering my hair to my neck. I sat down beside him.
Raindrops raced down his face—crossing his forehead, catching in his eyelashes, sliding over his lips to meet the ground.
He was shivering violently.
Without thinking, I pulled off my oversized sweater. I was left in just my thin undershirt, the cold air biting my skin. I bunched the fabric in my hands and swiftly pulled it over his head.
He didn't resist. I pulled his arms through the sleeves and straightened the hem.
"Okay," I whispered, staring at my hands. "You won't be cold anymore."
I froze. What was I doing?
I looked up timidly. He was smiling. But it wasn't a smile of gratitude; it was a blade of sarcasm.
His eyes drifted down to my thin undershirt, clinging to my skin in the rain.
"Idiot," he rasped. His voice was colder than the storm.
"Come here," he commanded, not looking at me.
"What?"
He grabbed the hem of the sweater I had just put on him and lifted it.
"You heard me. Get in."
I swallowed hard. My heart hammered against my ribs. I bowed my head and ducked under the fabric.
He dropped the hem, sealing us in.
It was a small, intimate tent. The world outside was muffled by the wool. Here, it was just his heat and his scent. We were inches apart.
My gaze fell to his lips. A heavy, aching heat pooled low in my stomach. I couldn't breathe.
"Will you be content with looking from afar, as you always do?" he whispered, his breath ghosting over my face. "Or will you dare to take what you want, Reverie? Be brave, little girl."
Be brave.
Something inside me snapped. It was my turn to make him suffer.
I pressed my hand against his neck, pulling him closer, and crashed my lips against his.
I had been starving for years. Starving for love, for truth, for anything real. I hadn't even lived a childhood, let alone a teenage rebellion. And now, here I was, kissing Pars Sarehan as if I owned him.
Good job, Reverie.
He responded instantly. His mouth was hot, demanding. I thought he hated me, yet he kissed me like he wanted to devour me. Was he playing a game?
"Stop thinking," he murmured against my mouth.
He brushed his lips against mine, a torturous friction. "Just know this... I only do this because I like it. Not because I love you."
I know.
"I know," I breathed, pulling back just enough to look him in the eye. "Don't worry. You won't have to love me."
I pulled away, slipping out of the sweater in one fluid motion. The cold rain hit me again, but I felt numb.
I stood up, staring down at him. His eyes were wide, the sarcasm replaced by something unreadable.
"I don't need you to love me, Pars," I lied, my voice steady. "I don't love you anyway. And I never will."
Liar.
I had needed love since the day I was born. But I didn't know if this volatile thing between us was love. I bravely lied to him, lied to myself, unaware of what the future would steal from my heart. If I gave him what he really wanted—my soul—he would destroy me.
I turned and walked into the house, leaving the door wide open behind me.
I ran up to my room and locked the door.
A few seconds later, I heard the front door slam shut. Heavy footsteps thudded up the stairs.
I held my breath.
A shadow slipped under my door, blocking the light from the hallway. He was standing right there.
I could have sworn the shadow grew larger, darker, like a living thing pressing against the wood. He stood there for a long time. Silence stretched, thick and suffocating.
If he wanted to, he could rip the door off its hinges with a thought. He could force me to open it.
But he didn't.
With a final, frustrated grumble, the shadow moved. His footsteps retreated down the hall. His door opened and closed with a definitive slam.
Why did he stop?