I know when she’s asleep.

  I know how her breathing changes when it finally slows. How her fingers twist the blanket when she dreams. How she swears under her breath, thinking no one hears.

  I stopped counting the nights.

  Maybe because it would sound insane.

  Maybe because it’s not insane enough.

  I’m no guardian. No savior. Just some fucked-up addict watching his own collapse and pretending he’s in control.

  I saw her before she ever saw me.

  And that’s where the real trouble started.

  She showed up like a storm on legs, with that look like she doesn’t wanna know shit, but still sees everything.

  Not pretty. Not sweet.

  Like vodka on an empty stomach.

  Like a question you already know the answer to and wish you didn’t.

  She ignored me.

  That’s when I knew I was screwed.

  Everyone thinks I smile because I’m chill.

  Because nothing gets to me.

  Yeah, right.

  When I smile, it’s a weapon.

  When I flirt, it’s armor.

  And when I go quiet, that’s when it’s burning the loudest.

  I kissed her. The other one. The blonde with the dead space behind her eyes.

  In the chapel, where no one looks. Pinned her to the wall like it meant something.

  And when her fingers curled into my hair, there was no spark. No fire. Just an idea. Maybe Lia sees us.

  Maybe it’ll get to her.

  Maybe she’ll hate me after.

  I smiled. Pretended I was still me.

  But in my head?

  It was Lia pushing me off.

  Lia spitting in my face.

  Lia ripping my heart out just to prove I still had one.

  Spoiler alert: She didn’t see. Of course not.

  Didn’t matter.

  Still felt like shit.

  Regret’s not the word.

  I tore myself apart over it.

  Sometimes I wake up thinking I hear her whisper.

  Not my name. Worse.

  Nothing.

  Just silence where her chaos used to be.

  And it fucks with me, ‘cause that means she stopped thinking about me.

  I wasn’t always like this.

  I used to be…I don’t know, order in a divine shitshow.

  An Ophanim. The ones with the wheels and eyes. With the Movement and Structure.

  A Boring-ass angel.

  We were meant to keep the world in orbit.

  No feelings. No fuck-ups.

  Then the revolution came. Lucifer screamed. Maliel stayed silent.

  And me?

  I doubted.

  Not loud or brave.

  I just stopped flying straight.

  Eventually, I fell.

  Not outta pride.

  Not outta love.

  Just ‘cause I was tired.

  The first few centuries down here?

  I just survived.

  Buzz. Violence. Women. Repeat.

  I wanted to feel something, but nothing burned enough.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Then came Lia.

  First girl, I didn’t know if I wanted to save or let burn.

  I watched her.

  Not once. Not by accident.

  I stood on her damn balcony when she thought I was gone.

  Felt her dreams. Smelled her fear.

  She thinks she’s alone.

  She’s never been alone.

  Not since she got here.

  Not since the first time I heard her laugh- this broken, raspy thing that sounded like a lie and hurt like truth.

  Maliel knows something. Of course, he does. He says she’s dangerous. That she’s like Ann. And me?

  I pretend I don’t get what he means.

  But I’ve seen it.

  Seen how she fights, how she breaks, how she cries.

  She breaks beautifully.

  Yeah. I said it.

  And I don’t feel bad about it.

  Because I break too.

  Just slower and quieter.

  There are moments- rare, too damn rare- where she sees me.

  Not the smirk. Not the show. The broken leftover of something that once thought it was holy.

  And when she looks at me like that with those eyes that scream and whisper all at once…

  I don’t wanna save her.

  I wanna keep her.

  Locked in.

  With soul scratches that spell out my name.

  She thinks she’s the danger.

  She’s just the spark.

  I’m the fucking fire.

  And the more she dodges me, the more I wanna hear what she sounds like when she really breaks.

  That soft, shaking “fuck it” you only say when you’ve got nothing left to fake.

  That’s where I want her.

  Right there.

  And I wanna be the reason.

  Last night, I stood at her door.

  Not the first time.

  My hand on the handle. Just breathing.

  I could hear her inside, breathing light, unevenly.

  Nightmare or arousal: I can’t even tell anymore.

  I wanted to go in.

  Not to help.

  To see if she flinches when I whisper.

  If she wakes up when I touch her.

  If she says my name when she comes or if she curses it.

  I’m no hero.

  I’m a fucked-up void with angel wings, and she’s the first person I hope falls in.

  Wanna know what’s really twisted?

  I feel better when she’s hurting.

  Not because of me. Just so I’m not the only wreck in the room.

  When she fights, she’s more like me.

  When she shakes, she’s real.

  When she yells at me, I see myself in her eyes.

  And when she hates me?

  At least she saw me.

  I remember Ann.

  Her voice. Her scream. Her death.

  Lia’s not Ann.

  And that’s the worst part.

  Thinking about it now: Ann was a mistake. Lia’s a temptation.

  I lost myself in Ann.

  But I find myself in Lia.

  And I hate every second of it.

  Maliel says she’s not for me.

  He’s right.

  But I want her anyway.

  Dirty.

  Defiant.

  Doomed.

  And fucking mine.

  I picture her bleeding.

  The moment she realizes no one’s coming to save her.

  That I lied.

  And she still wants me.

  Maybe she won’t.

  Not yet.

  But I’ll wait.

  I wait like someone who learned not to bite too soon.

  And if she lets me in?

  I won’t be gentle.

  I’ll be honest.

  I don’t love her.

  I don’t own her.

  But she’s mine.

  Not ‘cause she chose it.

  Because I did.

  And one day.

  One fucking day,

  She won’t know where she ends and I begin.

  And that, sweetheart,

  That’ll be the moment we’re finally free.

  Or completely fucked.

  It might be the same.