Chapter 18: We Only Love in Ruins

I used to think love was soft.

Sunday mornings.

Late-night calls.

Matching playlists and slow dances in dim rooms.

But with him?

Love tasted like adrenaline.

Felt like ash.

And looked like everything I was warned to stay away from.

We didn't love in pieces.

We loved in ruins.

---

The morning after felt surreal.

His arm was slung over my waist like a claim, and his breath warmed the curve of my neck. I should've been scared—of how fast, how deep, how violently I'd fallen.

But instead, I just laid there, counting the seconds, memorizing the rhythm of his heartbeat like it was a song I'd never hear again.

Because I knew the truth.

We were never going to make it out of this whole.

---

He woke up before me.

I felt the shift in the air before I saw him sit up.

He rubbed his face, sighed like the weight of us was too much, then looked over his shoulder.

"You okay?" he asked.

I nodded. Lied.

"Yeah."

He didn't push. He never did.

He only gave what he wanted, and right now, it was silence.

So I sat up too, clutching the sheet to my chest, trying to keep myself together before I unraveled in front of him.

"Last night was a mistake, wasn't it?" I whispered.

His jaw clenched. His eyes darkened.

"No," he said. "It was a fucking masterpiece."

---

We didn't talk about it after that.

Not directly.

But everything changed.

His texts got more frequent.

His touches lingered.

He stopped looking at other girls like he used to—as if I'd become the only storm in his forecast.

But even with all that, he never promised me forever.

And I never asked.

Because forever felt like a lie when you were constantly bracing for the crash.

---

There was a moment, though—just one—that almost made me believe.

We were on his rooftop again, the city glittering below, his hoodie draped over my shoulders, and his hand warm against my thigh.

"You scare me," I said softly.

He didn't flinch.

"You scare me too," he replied. "Because I don't know how to love you gently. And I know one day, I'll break something in you that won't heal."

My chest cracked at that.

But I didn't move.

Didn't pull away.

Because I'd already decided:

If I was going to break,

It would be in his arms.

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