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“You don't even like me, remember?" That's what I try to say. What actually comes out of my mouth is closer to a baby's first attempt at babbling. "Shh." He runs his fingertips along my cheek, caressing my face. "Hush. I'm right here." He looks at me with deep anguish in his eyes. Like there's so much he wants to tell me but feel it's too late now. I want to stroke his face and tell him that it will be okay. That everything will be all right. And I wish so badly that it would be.”

“You don’t even realize you light up rooms wherever you go. When I saw you in the bar that night, it was like the spotlights were all pointed at you, making you glow.” He moves his hands over my bloodstained skin, cupping my breasts, roaming over my stomach, my thighs and hips. “Every man’s head was turned in your direction, and so were the women’s. You’re a thing of beauty, something to be admired and be jealous of. And you do it all just by being you. Your husband made you feel like you were nothing. But you, my sweet Lucy, are everything.”

“You don’t ever doubt me again,” he said hoarsely before his mouth grazed my nipples, first the left and then the right. His scruffy beard scraped the skin beneath raw as he went back and forth. “I will fucking kill you if you ever doubt me again!” he snarled. My eyes rolled back into their sockets at the weight of his words, the desperation in his voice matching the desperation in my movements. I moaned as he bit my nipple harder, almost chewing it between his teeth. I was trapped underneath him, and even though I knew I could push him away, I also knew I wouldn’t. “You answer me when I’m talking to you! ” he roared. “I won’t,” I breathed, my hands in his short hair. “Oh, God, I won’t.” “You won’t what! ” “I will never doubt you again!” “You’re damn right you won’t.”

“You don't feel courageous because courage is not an emotion. There is no such thing as feeling "courageous." It is an imaginary emotion. Courage consists of doing what you said you would do even when you don't want to. In the face of danger, you have a choice to be the delegate of either your commitments or your feelings. It's as simple and as difficult as that. "Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something else is more important than fear." -- Ambrose Redmoon”

“You don’t fucking care!” He snapped through clenched teeth. “You don’t fucking care if you ever see me again. All I do is think about you, every minute, I think about you… I am sick with thinking about you… Every fucking minute… But you… You go on with your life, like nothing is missing. Then you have the fucking nerve to act like you care… Do you take me for a fucking fool?”

“You don’t fucking get it, do you, Sparks?” Out of sheer frustration, Ben thwacked the wall with his hand. Hard. So hard his palm stung. “I love you. I am so goddamned, madly in love with you, I can’t see straight.” Ben’s voice resonated through the offices, echoed in his own ears. “You’re the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing I imagine before I fall asleep. I dream about you. Every single night. I live to see you, at the office, at home, anywhere. I just need to see your face. Hold your body. Touch your skin. I need you, Mel. More than I need air. You can’t walk away from me. You can’t love someone else.” He gulped in a breath and almost choked on the emotion clogging his throat, so when he spoke again his voice was scratchy, and much, much softer. “I screwed up. I made you choose. And I’m sorry. So desperately, pathetically sorry for that. But I can’t let you go. I can’t let him have you, because you’re mine. You were made for me, like I was made for you. We’re two peas in a pod, sweetness. We’re the same, you and I. We’re meant to be together.”