ログインBlurb: He is off limits but every fiber of my being shamelessly wants to have him. After a break up with my ex-girlfriend, I gave up on love–believing my purpose was building my own company and not chasing feelings that leaves me empty. But one short, burning kiss changes everything forever. Her lips melt into mine like the perfect fit, her tongue erasing the numbness I'd carried for months. Everything about that kiss felt magically intoxicating. Until I opened my eyes. And realized that I just kissed a guy. It should have disgusted me, it should have even made me furious. Yet, I strangely wanted more. I told myself to stay away from him, to forget that night ever happened. But the spark in his eyes sets my body on fire, and when his finger brushes my cheek, resistance diffuses out of my body. I know this attraction will destroy me. But how do you resist something that feels so wrong, yet so right?
もっと見るcyrus's point of view.The door closed behind me gently, Machines hummed softly, as Phoebe lay in the bed, impossibly still.For a second, I couldn’t move. I stood just inside the door, my hand still hovering where the handle had been, like I might bolt if I let myself think long enough. She looked smaller like this. Pale. Fragile in a way I had never allowed myself to see before. Her dark hair was spread over the pillow, her face slack with sedation, lashes resting against bruised skin.She looked nothing like the woman who had screamed at me three nights ago. Nothing like the woman who had stared at me with disbelief when I told her I wanted a divorce. I swallowed hard and forced myself to walk forward.Each step felt like trespassing. Like I was crossing a line I had already crossed once too many times. I pulled the chair closer to the bed, the legs scraping faintly against the floor, and sat down. The sound felt invasive. Too loud for a room like this.Her chest rose and fell bene
cyrus's point of view.The door closed behind me gently, Machines hummed softly, as Phoebe lay in the bed, impossibly still.For a second, I couldn’t move. I stood just inside the door, my hand still hovering where the handle had been, like I might bolt if I let myself think long enough. She looked smaller like this. Pale. Fragile in a way I had never allowed myself to see before. Her dark hair was spread over the pillow, her face slack with sedation, lashes resting against bruised skin.She looked nothing like the woman who had screamed at me three nights ago. Nothing like the woman who had stared at me with disbelief when I told her I wanted a divorce. I swallowed hard and forced myself to walk forward.Each step felt like trespassing. Like I was crossing a line I had already crossed once too many times. I pulled the chair closer to the bed, the legs scraping faintly against the floor, and sat down. The sound felt invasive. Too loud for a room like this.Her chest rose and fell bene
NEAR DEATH.CYRUS POV.The smell of disinfectant and old coffee hung in the air, the latter a potent aftertaste left in the throat. I stood in the doorway a moment too long, my feet rooted in place as if they were stuck, my hands clenched into such tight fists they ached. A I didn't have to look far to find them.They were assembled in a cluster near the waiting area outside the surgical side, exactly where I knew they would be. Both families. All fathers. No mothers to temper it all, no one to lower voices and soothe with gentle words. Just angry men with a talent for filling a room.Dad stood by way of the windows, his stance locked in place, his suit a crisp reminder of everything he did not belong in. His presence, when contrasted with Phoebe’s father, stood in stark relief. His tie was undone, his jacket tossed over a chair, his hands moving in a restless pace up and down. His face burned reddened, red-rimmed eyes, as if he had already exhausted all of his reserves of control.A
A SUICIDE ATTEMPT.CYRUS POVI woke up before my eyes opened. There was a tightness in my chest, My body felt coiled, restless, the way it feels when it's been bracing itself all night for impact. When the phone on the nightstand started vibrating again, I didn't jump. I already knew it was there. I cracked my eyes open and stared at the ceiling for a second, breathing slow, trying to convince myself I was still half-asleep. The early morning light barely filtered through the curtains, soft and pale; the world outside was still quiet. Inside my chest, though, everything was loud.I reached for the phone.The screen switched on, and my stomach dropped so hard it felt like I might actually be sick.My father had called a lot.Not one missed call. Not two. A long list, stacked on top of each other, like he'd been calling all night and only stopped when exhaustion or rage finally won. There were voice messages. I didn’t open them.There were texts.Call me now.Do you have any idea what you
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