My flower isn’t just blooming, she’s blossoming. Immense pride and joy cuts at my sadness. We’ll be together soon.

“You, mom, and dad would want me to live. But I can’t just do that. I can’t just live and move on and forget about you. I’m sorry, but I just can’t.” She shakes her head. “Instead, for you, I’ll survive.” Lilith rakes her fingers through her hair and huffs out an exhausted breath. “I’ll survive in my own way. I’ll grow, I don’t know how just yet. But I will, I promise you.”

I eye her curiously as she tugs off the golden ring. She stares at it for a long moment until her tears dry up and the sun is about to set. The faintest smile paints her lips. I want to capture the sparkle in her eye and place it where the sun should be.

“Dahl, I met someone.” She chuckles as if her sister is right next to her, alive and well. “Well, he met me actually. You’ve met him too.” She uncrosses her legs and leans back against the headstone. Her eyes shine brighter than I’ve seen before. “Questionable morals, but I think you’d actually like him. The way into your heart was always to get you pretty things, and he does so plenty.”

Her soft smile fades slightly, but still, she speaks as if she is talking to a friend. “Oh, and Evan died. That guy I was just telling you about took him. I was mad at first, but now I realize that death is the natural progression of life.” Lilith sighs. “Evan ended up being a dick, which isn’t the point. The accident broke him too.”

The sun dips below the horizon, and still, she continues talking to her sister, telling her what has happened to their friends, about working at the cafe and her little apartment and what it's like to live a life without her other half.

When the moon is the only light guiding her path, she kisses the top of all three tombstones, then heads back to the car.

I told myself that I would wait at least a month for her. It’s been three weeks and she isn’t ready yet, her soul is still blocked.

She needs room to grow and to heal. But I made my dark love a promise: she gets rewarded when she’s good.

And I am nothing, if not a man of my word.

Chapter eleven

Lilith

After over a year of therapy, that was the first time I’ve ever felt better after talking. There was no way I would have been able to do it sooner because I wasn’t ready to accept the past.

The truth is that I survived. Whether I wanted to or not. Even if the only reason I’ve survived this long was because Letum did not want to take me, the fact remains that I’m alive. Living is another question entirely.

My body feels weightless as I climb up the stairs to my apartment. The worst of the medication withdrawals have passed, and I’ve been getting the brain zaps once a day at most.

I wasn’t sure what was worse, feeling everything or feeling nothing at all. I realize now that I may as well ask if I would rather see everything or nothing, to be told the truth or to be lied to. The preference will always be the aversion to harm. Living in a delusion will only put a plaster on my wounds, not heal them.

My apartment is dark when I step inside, and my stomach grumbles. I sigh the weight of a thousand breaths as I go through the motions of eating a meal that I’ll probably just swallow without tasting.

The upholstered wooden stool groans when I put my weight on it, and I almost fall off it when I shift. I twist the spaghetti around my fork and lift it in the air to cool it down. My brows knit together as a barely audible sound drifts through the apartment.

I squint before closing my eyes to determine what the sound is. It almost sounds like… moaning?

The stool squeals against the wooden floor, and the cushioned part swivels as I push back from the seat and try to locate the sound. It’s coming from my apartment somewhere.

My nails mark crescent moons into my palm as I follow the sound to my bedroom with hesitant steps. The closer I get, the more certain I am that it’s definitely the sound of a woman moaning.

My sappy heart skips a beat at the thought that Letum might have left me something. Even if it’s a messed up gift. I try to shake the feeling off when I am supposed to be mad at him for abandoning me. I hate admitting it, but leaving me alone to force me to face my own emotions was the best thing he could have done for me. I wouldn’t have been able to see Dahlia and my parents if he hadn’t.

Artificial gray light shines through my room from the desk, right where the sound of the moans is coming from. Did I get hacked and get a porn pop-up? No, that can’t be right. I haven’t used the laptop in awhile.

I inch closer in an attempt to peer over the office chair. At first, the video is grainy like it was recorded with an old-school camera. Then I make out the shapes in the video; matching white bedside tables with one handle missing, thrifted touch lamps that don’t match on either side of the bed, a slatted wooden headboard and crisp white sheets with a green duvet bunched at the feet.

I’ve seen this bedroom hundreds of times.

It’s my bedroom. The moaning is coming from me. From the nanny cam.

In the video, my arms are slack above my head on the bed, and I’m moaning as I grind my hips. “Letum!” I scream in the video as my entire body buckles. But no one else is on the screen.

It’s time stamped the same night I dreamt about Letum in a forest.

The video flickers and I’m on my hands and knees with my mouth wide open, making gagging noises as my body is jolted forward like invisible fingers were thrusting into me. Because they were. Letum’s soul was.

This whole time it was him. He cut the recording straight from the nanny cam and kept it. Oh god. There must be hundreds of hours of footage that he’s kept of me. Or maybe of him, of us.

Heat pours through my veins at the memory of that night. Did he rewatch the videos to get off on it? God, what if there are dreams that I don’t remember?

My heart skips a beat when I spot a rolled-up brown parchment next to the laptop. Three weeks of no communication or letters. And he chose today of all days to make contact?

I waste no time snatching the letter from the table and unrolling it like my life depends on it.

How I long for the taste of the night. How I long to hear the sound of the storm. I’m coming for you, my love. Once I take a bite, you’re mine until even eternity comes to an end.

The arousal pooling between my legs only grows. I try to act like the note doesn’t affect me, but I rush back to the kitchen to scarf down my dinner, forgetting all about the fact that he hasn’t contacted me in weeks.

Will I see him in my dreams tonight? Will the shadow come out?

I’m consumed with the thought of what might happen when I sleep and the headiness of the words “I’m coming for you.” He’s said it before, and every time it feels like a promise. This time it’s like a countdown.

Bedtime can’t come soon enough as excitement pumps through my veins, making me rush to go to sleep as fast I can. I haven’t felt giddy in so long, I’ve forgotten what it feels like.

The shower runs cold for the first thirty seconds, then it slowly heats. It’s not a particularly small shower, but it could easily fit two people. Not that I’ve ever found out if it does.

Hot water cascades down my body, soothing my tired muscles. The pulse between my legs aches as I remember the video and the night it was taken. Does he think about it as much as I do? What else could that shadow do to me? I know I should be angry because it’s an invasion of my privacy, but all it’s doing is making me flustered.

My hand skates over my heated skin and finds the place that’s begging for relief. I bite my lip as I circle the sensitive flesh. I’m getting far too impatient to wait until I sleep, and I can’t bear the thought that nothing will happen in my dream tonight.