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Chapter 6| Guilt

It had been a week since the gala, and I lost count of how many times the infamous encounter with Malachai replayed in mind.

The knot had loosened since, but it took great effort to keep from rousing it up. Instead of going away like I hoped it would, it settled itself in my lower abdomen, often rearing its ugly head with every thought and every dream of him.

One whole week of being in this state and I loathed it. I wanted it gone, I wanted to forget, but the sick and depraved part of me that I tried so hard to hide loved it.

No amount of cold showers, no amount of ministration-by toy or physical touch-was enough.

The need just wouldn't go away; maybe he was right when he said that only he could make it go away, and while deep down intuition told me this was true, there was a part of me that hoped it wasn't.

I felt guilty for feeling this way so soon after Aaron. It had been two years since his passing; two weeks before our wedding I came home to the most gruesome display of violence I had ever seen. Just the mere memory made my stomach turn with unease.

The sheer terror etched on his face as he laid there, dead, in a pool of his blood surrounded by our wedding gifts. The potent scent of copper overwhelming the air.

He was scared, and there was no doubt in my mind it was a painful death. Who could be that heartless, that soulless?

To come home to something like that, I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. Up until about a week ago, these were the visions that plagued my dreams, kept me up at night.

Up until a week ago, I sought to use whatever I could to suppress those memories, whether the means were unhealthy or not, I couldn't care less.

Two years later and still no leads, I thought to myself as I played with his bracelet. It was all I kept to remember him by, everything else-the house, the pictures, the gifts, the ring-were too painful to keep.

Too many stolen promises of what could have been. Even without the mementos, the mind was still a traitorous bitch. Every now and then, I imagine what it would have been like had life not interfered.

Two whole years without the love of my life, and yet two years was all it took for me to be sitting here craving the touch of another, and even worse, envisioning a life with him.

What did that say about me? What kind of person was I? Is this what it's like to move on? Isn't it too soon to move on? Was I confusing my carnal needs with emotional intimacy?

When I looked at Malachai, when he touched me, the sensation was indescribable. That night, I had eyes set on Matthew, I figured he fit the bill for a few dates and a fuck or two, but Malachai ruined that, and I for one was not complaining.

The moment my eyes landed on him, all thoughts of Matthew were gone from my mind.

Matthew's purpose was to fill a void, Malachai Rendell was so much more.

He awoke something primitive in me, wild even. The burgeoning raw emotion I felt was both exhilarating and frightening at the same time.

To simultaneously feel so powerful and yet so weak, to be so utterly consumed by one person was overwhelming and tantalizing. No one-not even Aaron-ever made me feel this way, but I loved him all the same.

Still, the ability to spur such dichotomy in someone with just a touch, a look was no small achievement. Maybe it was all in my head, but when I think of Malachai I feel like there's more than what's meet the eye.

The feelings he stirs in me are too profound, I can't help feeling like whatever happened between us that night extended beyond the physical.

It registered too deep, the effects of our meeting too lasting. I wanted to know more, but what were the odds that I'd see him again?

My phone rang interrupting my thoughts and I reached over to find that Linda was calling. "Hi Li-"

"Yes, Yes, kisses, kisses, she interrupted, with no response coming from my end she continued, "Anyway, a few of us are headed out tonight. You're coming with, this isn't a request, be ready by 10, love you bye," the call ended before I could even get a word in.

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