52

You own me, Jackson Keller.

I've told a lot of lies recently. It feels so damn good to finally tell the truth.

And I own Jacksontoo. He's mine.

So, I stop trying to run. Icome backto bed withhim, and thenextweek turns into a blur of the best things in the world: pleasure, working on cases, failing to learn chess, and pancakes.

When he fucks me, it feels like he's making up for lost time. The days of him denying me orgasms are behind us, and now he seems dead set on making me blackout from pleasure every day.

I keep thinking the spell will finally break. I'm waiting to wake up one morning and realize just how insane I've been for sinking into this murderer's bed instead of begging him to let me go alive.

But it doesn't come.

In fact, the spell is just getting more powerful.

I try to remind myself I'm a prisoner here. But it doesn't feel that way anymore. I don't see escape routes wherever I look.

When I start feeling cooped up, Jackson drives us out to theedge of the forest. Mist tops the trees, but every once in awhilea ray of sun breaks through. I lie in the grass and close my eyes. There's only the sounds of birdsong,and Jackson's breath next to me. The hints of spring are starting, and it feels like the same thing is happening between us. Something beautiful and green bursting out of soil that looked lifeless for so long.

I want to ask him what's next for us. Hawkins is still suspicious of both of us, and I know the team will still be trying to track down Hyde. But I don't want real life to tear apart this carefully balanced dream we're living out.

I still feel broken. Maybe I always will. But it doesn't feel bad to be broken anymore. It feels good.The cracks let the light in,let the blood spill, let themusic be heard through the walls.If I wasn't broken, my pieces wouldn't fit together with Jackson's broken pieces. We wouldn't make up one imperfect, perfect whole together.

The realization of this doesn't hit me like a slap. It rolls over me like the tide, pushing in andthenfading back out. It's gradual. It takes time, like all good things. But a week later, I wake up and realize it's been there all along.

I'm the girl who ran from her past. I'm the girl who hid from her deepest desires. Butsuddenlythere's a constant in my life.

He'sdark,terrifying, and his soul is drenched in the blood of men that I can finally admit deserved to die. But he'sthere,every morning and every night. And what's more, he's beautiful.

I no longer know where my life is going. I'm a cop without a badge, a guardian of justice without a moral code. Everything I thought I knew about myself has gone up in flames. But I don't feel adrift.

One nightIhave a dream, where I'm standing at theedge of the ocean. Jackson's hand is in mine. Everything is swirling, muted gray. But theoceanis deep, pure black. I should be scared, but it's the most peaceful I've ever felt.

I don't need a psychiatrist to tell me themeaning of the dream. But I tell mine anyway.

Cracking open the lies I've spent my whole life telling myself was so painful. Butnowthere's an ocean of possibilities in front of us.

At night, Jackson whispers beautiful thingsto meuntil I drift off to sleep.

"Don't be scared, little dove. I'm not leaving you. This is the rest of our lives."

I let my body tangle with his. It feels like pure relief. I can't remember any other way to spend my life.

Until the eveningJacksonbreaks my fantasy wide open.

***

Light rain patters on the windshield of Jackson's car.

I should have known something is different. When Jackson tells me we're driving out to the forest again, his eyes are glinting darkly, his pupils blown out with inky blackness.

It's the evening during my fourth week at his house, and bynowI know that look means somekind oftrouble.

"What did you do?" I raise an eyebrow. It's been a long time since I admitted to myself that I really do trust Jackson with my life, but he's still a killer.

He laughs at my accusation. "Suspicious as ever, Detective. I have a surprise for you."

Oh god. A surprise from Jackson could mean anything from another gorgeous painting to chopped-off body parts in a gift box.

"Let me guess," I reply. "It's jewelry or chocolates or a puppy. Something super normal."

His grin widens. "Come on, Ava. I know you. It's something much more fitting to your tastes."

He opens the door for me, reaching out a hand. I sigh, curiosity getting the better of me. I follow him through the trees. The forest air is clean and sharp in my lungs. I love the stillness, but the crackle of twigs under my bootslikea hundred tinybonesmakes me shiver.

He seems to notice, quickly pulling off his coat and draping it around my shoulders.

We reach a clearing. Jackson turns back to me, stepping aside to reveal his surprise.

I blink in the growing darkness. My heart stutters.

There's a man kneeling on the ground, tied up and gagged.

The man lifts his head. His eyes meet mine. Animalistic, icy blue, familiar.

I'm so paralyzed by shock thatfor amomentI don't see Jackson's wide, wicked grin.I don't even feel what he's slipped into my hand.

I look down, barely breathing.

I'm holding a knife.