Chapter Eighteen: The First Time
Evan's POV - Age 17
I had thought about this moment a thousand times.
Imagined it. Dreaded it. Craved it with an intensity that terrified me.
Because making love to Fabiola meant opening myself completely. Meant letting her see the full extent of my hunger, my need, my obsession.
And I was afraid she'd finally understand that I wasn't normal. Wasn't safe.
Wasn't worthy.
But here we were, in my car a black sedan I'd gotten for my seventeenth birthday parked at the overlook outside town where no one ever came. The sun had set an hour ago, leaving us in darkness punctuated only by distant streetlights.
Fabiola sat beside me in the passenger seat, her hand in mine, her thumb tracing circles on my palm.
"We don't have to," she said softly, reading my tension.
"I want to." My voice came out rough. "God, I want to. I just..." I looked at her, and the love in her eyes nearly broke me. "I'm afraid I'll do it wrong. That I'll take too much or be too rough or.."
"Evan." She cupped his face. "I trust you."
Those three words shattered my last defenses.
I kissed her, pouring everything I felt into it love and fear and desperate, aching need. She kissed back just as fiercely, her hands sliding into my hair.
We moved to the backseat, awkward and fumbling, trying to navigate the limited space. My hands shook as I helped her out of her jacket, her shirt. She did the same for him, her fingers gentle on my skin.
When we were both undressed, I just stared.
She was beautiful. Curves and soft skin and dark brown perfection. Pointed nipples and firm soft full breasts. She was everything warm and alive in a world that felt cold and dead.
"You're shaking," Fabiola whispered.
"I know." I couldn't stop. My whole body trembled like I was falling apart. "I'm sorry, I just you're so perfect and I'm so.."
"Hey." She pulled me close, guided me to her. "It's okay. We'll figure it out together."
She was patient. So patient. Guiding me with soft words and gentle touches, showing me what she liked, what felt good.
And I tried to be gentle. Tried to be careful.
But the moment I was inside her, feeling her warmth surrounding me, something in him broke.
He buried his face in her neck and breathed.
Deep, desperate gulps of her scent while my body moved, while pleasure built, while everything else faded to nothing.
"Fabiola," I gasped against her skin. "Fabiola, Fabiola, Fabiola..."
Her name became a prayer. A plea. The only word that mattered.
I scented her neck, her shoulder, her collarbone everywhere I could reach while my body moved faster, more desperate.
She was so warm. So alive. So real.
And she was mine. In this moment, completely mine.
"Evan.." Her voice was breathless, her nails digging into his shoulders.
"Say you're mine," I demanded, my voice raw. "Say it."
"I'm yours—oh god, I'm yours—"I came with her name on my lips, face still buried in her neck, breathing her in like she was the only thing keeping me alive.
Writer's POV
Afterwards, Evan held her.
Not just held clutched. His arms wrapped around her so tight she could barely breathe, his face still pressed to her neck, his body shaking with aftershocks.
"Evan," she said softly. "You're I can't quite.."
"Sorry." But he didn't loosen his grip. "I just need I need to feel you. Need to know you're still here."
Fabiola relaxed into his hold, let him have this. Her fingers traced patterns on his back, feeling the tension slowly drain from his muscles.
"I'm here," she whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."
He shuddered, and she felt wetness on her neck.
He was crying.
Silently, desperately, still holding her like she might disappear.
"Hey." She tried to pull back to see his face, but he wouldn't let her. "Evan, what's wrong?"
"Nothing." His voice was thick. "Nothing's wrong. I just..." He took a shaky breath. "I love you. I love you so much it hurts. And I'm so afraid I'm going to lose you. That you're going to wake up one day and realize I'm not worth it. That I'm too broken, too dark, too..."
"Stop." She managed to pull back enough to cup his face, to make him look at her. His eyes were red-rimmed, wet with tears. "I'm not going anywhere. I chose you, Evan. I keep choosing you. Every single day."
"Why?" It came out broken. "Why do you choose me?"
"Because I love you." She kissed his forehead, his cheeks, his lips. "Because you see me. Because you need me. Because when you hold me like this, like you can't bear to let go, I feel like I matter. Like I'm essential. Like I'm..,"
"You are essential." His grip tightened again. "You're everything. You're the only thing keeping me sane. The only thing that makes any of this worth it."
Fabiola's chest ached. "That's a lot of pressure."
"I know. I'm sorry. I shouldn't put that on you..."
"I didn't say I minded." She smiled softly. "I like being your anchor. I like being the thing you need."
Evan stared at her like she was a miracle he didn't deserve.
Then he kissed her gentle this time, reverent and whispered against her lips: "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For being warm. For being here. For being you." He pulled her close again, and she let him, let him hold her until his breathing evened out, until his shaking stopped.
"We should probably get dressed," she said eventually. "It's getting late."
"Not yet." His arms tightened. "Just... five more minutes. Please."
Fabiola nodded against his chest. "Five more minutes."
But they stayed like that for twenty.
Evan holding her like she was oxygen.
Fabiola letting him, because she understood now really understood that this wasn't just want or need or even love.
This was survival.
Evan needed her to breathe. Needed her to exist. Needed her to be real.
And she needed to be needed.
Maybe they were both broken in complementary ways.
Maybe that's what love was.two damaged people finding the exact shape of damage they needed in each other.
Or maybe they were just seventeen and drowning and calling it swimming.
Either way, Fabiola didn't care.
She was his.
He was hers.
And nothing else mattered.
When Evan finally drove her home, he walked her to the door like always. Kissed her goodnight like always.
But before he left, he grabbed her wrist, brought it to his nose, and breathed deep.
"Your scent is on me now," he murmured. "Finally."
"Is that good?"
"It's perfect." His eyes met hers, dark and intense. "Now everyone will know. Even if they can't see it, can't name it they'll sense it. You're mine. And I'm yours."
He kissed her wrist where her pulse beat, then let her go.
Fabiola watched him drive away, her heart too full, her body still aching in the best way.
And touched her wrist where he'd kissed it, where she could still feel the phantom pressure of his lips.
Mine and yours.
She liked the sound of that.
Even if it should have scared her.
Even if somewhere in the back of her mind, her mother's warnings echoed.
Even if this consuming, obsessive love was exactly the kind that destroyed people.
She liked it anyway.
And that should have been her first real warning.
But Fabiola ignored it.
Just like she'd been ignoring warnings about Evan Harlow since she was nine years old.
Some habits, it seemed, were impossible to break.
Even when they were dangerous.
Especially when they were dangerous.