All That Is Mine I Carry With Me の小説・ストーリー

Manny’s weak smiles, Lexi’s cheerful greetings, even the steady presence of Jean, it all seemed distant, like a painting I could almost reach but never touch. Finally, I knew I could not remain there, trapped in this suffocating loop of loyalty and doubt. I packed a small bag hastily, a change of clothes, some food, a few essentials. Each item felt symbolic, like I was carrying not just belongings but fragments of my choices, pieces of myself that had not yet been claimed by anyone else.

Every inch of me was his, every heartbeat bound to his presence. “Say it,” he whispered, lips brushing mine in a soft, teasing claim. “Say it for me.” “I’m yours,” I breathed, voice trembling with desire, relief, and trust. “Completely yours.” Grayson’s lips curved slightly, a low, satisfied murmur vibrating against my skin. “Good,” he murmured, voice heavy with possession. “Every inch of you is mine. Every part, every thought, every moment you give me… it is mine, Callie. And I will always remind you.”

Every piece of me marked and owned. Peace comes then, quiet and absolute. Let the rut take everything it wants. I already decided whose I am.

And that— That knowledge is lighter than anything I ever carried while alive. Enough.

Only mine. *********************

Least of all me. ---

"Did. You. Fuck. Him?" I throw my hands up in defiance, my voice rising to a shout. "What do you care, Logan? Why does it matter to you?" But before I can continue, he cuts me off, his words dripping with possessiveness. "You. Are. Mine. Nadine," he declares, his voice low and menacing. "And no man, I repeat, NO MAN dares to take what is mine." His gaze bores into mine, sending a chill down my spine as he emphasizes his claim.

His hand finds the small of my back. And we just stay like that. Not because we’re fine. But because we’re not. Because healing takes time. Because we can’t rush this. “Do you still want the Mine?” I whisper after a moment. He’s quiet for a beat. Then— “It’s mine.” His voice is calm. Not possessive. Not proud. Just certain. “It’s the last piece of me they didn’t take,” he says. “And I’m not handing it over now.” I nod.

They were made of a strong metal, that wouldn’t bend or break even if a truck ran through here. Strangely, it was a strange green color and had slight moisture on it, as if they laced it with acid. I wasn’t going to be the one to find out. If I’m going to die, might as well jump off of a cliff instead of painfully suffering through third degree acid burns. “And who’s fault was that?” He drawled out. I resisted the urge to talk back. At this point, I’ve accepted that this whole ordeal was my fault. Not just this, whatever happened today was entirely on me. That was the reason I did what I did.