9.

Mega

I lie in bed, wrapped in Lash"s arms, feeling the warmth of his body against mine. It"s a strange sense of comfort, a mix of safety and danger. We lie there, our faces inches apart, sharing whispers and secrets in the quiet of the dawn.

Lash"s fingers trace delicate patterns on my skin, moving over the scar near my collarbone. His touch is tender, almost reverent, as if he"s afraid to hurt me. "I know who gave you this," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

I freeze, my heart skipping a beat. "How do you know?" I ask, my voice trembling with the weight of old memories.

He looks into my eyes, his gaze steady and intense. "I was there. I saw what they did to you, saw their methods of discipline." He pauses, his eyes darkening with a mix of anger and regret. "When you ran away, I followed."

Shock floods through me. "You... you were at the reformatory too?" The words come out in a rush, a jumble of disbelief and recognition.

He nods, his jaw tightening as he recalls the past. "I couldn't stand it there. But I put up with it for the rare occasions I'd catch a glimpse of your face."

I shiver at the memories, the cold, harsh treatments, the endless days of discipline and pain. "I wish I could kill them all," Lash says, his voice filled with a dark, simmering rage. "For what they did to you."

His words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of shared suffering. I reach up, cupping his face in my hands. "We're free now," I whisper, trying to reassure both of us. "We're not there anymore."

He leans in, his lips brushing mine in a soft, lingering kiss. "No, we're not," he murmurs against my lips.

Tears well up in my eyes as the enormity of the moment crashes over me. I have never felt so safe, so understood. Lash might be dangerous, but he's my kind of dangerous, and a part of me craves that thrill, that edge.

"Meggie," he says softly, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes. "Have I been very, very bad?"

I let out a shaky laugh, brushing a tear from my cheek. "Yes," I say, my voice trembling with emotion. "Were the phone calls really that necessary?"

"Had to find a way to get close to you."

"And you couldn't think of anything more…romantic?"

"I thought that was pretty romantic?" He smiles, a hint of mischief in his eyes, but the darkness lingers just beneath the surface. "See, that's why you never belonged at that place," he says, his voice hardening. "But I definitely did."

I shake my head, refusing to let him go down that path. "You belong with me," I whisper, my eyes locking onto his. "And you're not all that bad. Only just enough."

He pulls me close, his lips capturing mine in a kiss that is both tender and fierce.

We stay like that, wrapped in each other, the past and the present melding into one. And for the first time in a long time, I'm not just surviving. I'm living.