18 - FINN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I n my nightmare the bells are ringing. A low, deep resonating thrum that seeps into my brain and shakes my skull. Then pounding. Just pounding and pounding…

"Finn!"

I sit up, blink, trying to make sense of where I am and what's happening. Then I jump up, because while my mind won't accept the bells, it understands that Mitchell is pounding on my door, screaming my name. "Finn!"

I'm still half asleep, groggy and confused, when I open the door and Mitch comes rushing past me. He stops in the middle of the ridiculously large room with his back to me and looks down, pausing. Like he needs to take a breath. Like he needs a moment.

And of course he does. Because those fucking bells are ringing.

But it takes me another second, a second in which Mitchell turns to face me, wide-eyed and mouth open, for me to fully understand what the tolling bells mean .

"I'll go get her. Do you want me to go get her?" Mitchell comes at me, grabs both my shoulders, and looks me straight in the eyes. "Focus." He shakes me a little. "Do you want me to go get Clara?" He says these words slowly and deliberately. Like I don't speak his language.

Or… like I might be in shock and having trouble processing.

I shake myself—my head, at least—then remember to breathe. "No. I'm going to her myself. She will be hysterical."

I turn in place, looking around, then down at myself. I'm wearing a pair of loose-fitting linen pants and nothing else. I look around the room—a bedroom I barely recognize because I don't really live here and this is actually the first time I even bothered finding a bedroom to sleep in. So my mind can't make sense of it.

I'm thinking this and I'm not sure about my clothes, or where I now live, or where I might find a tunic. I mean… I was wearing one earlier, but the maids have been here while I was sleeping and the tunic I discarded an hour ago on the floor has been picked up.

This is just the start of things that are unsettling me right now, because somewhere in this palace I can hear the clanging of pots and pans and other kitchen noises.

Cooks, I guess. Making breakfast, I suppose.

This is when I realize it's not even dawn.

I turn to Mitch, panicked. "What time is it?" If the bells ring before dawn then the Maiden is due at midnight tonight. Not tomorrow, tonight .

Mitchell, of course, has already figured this out. And his voice is low and somber. "Four-fifteen."

Four-fifteen.

Four. Fifteen.

We've got one day.

Less than a day.

Fuck the tunic, fuck the boots.

I turn to Mitchell. "You don't have to come."

"The hell I don't. Those Matron bitches are not gonna let you in that building."

He's right. I might be the Extraction Master, and so-called king of this district. But I'm nothing across the canal. I cannot order a Matron to let me into the Maiden Tower.

But with Mitchell, we could compel them. Even if it means we do it by force.

"All right, let's go. Where's Jeyk?"

"He went home. I stayed—I had a bad feeling, so I sent him home and kept watch outside your door. But I'm sure he's on his way. We'll probably see him downstairs."

We enter the hall and Mitch rushes ahead to call the elevator, but the doors are already open. The lift attendant looks scared when his eyes meet mine. "I figured…" He shrugs. "I figured you'd want to go to her."

I grab his shoulder and give it a quick squeeze as I enter. "You were right. What is your name?"

"Dodge."

"Dodge, you're getting a raise. And you have officially been promoted to"—I make up a title—"lift captain."

"Oh!" A breath rushes out of him as he works the lift controls while looking at me over his shoulder. "Thank you, Master! Thanks!" Then he turns back to his duty and watches the floor counter move on the display panel in front of him as we descend.

Mitch leans in to me, whispering, "There's no such position, you know that right?"

"There is now." And for some reason, these words come out mean. Angry too.

‘For some reason,' Finn? The reason is that the love of your life—the woman who has been planning your wedding for a decade and the only woman you have ever been intimate with—is going into the tower tonight.

And there's nothing you can do to stop it.

The elevator halts, the doors open, Dodge calls out the floor, "Ground level," and Mitch and I exit, making a sharp left towards the central canal. The frigid, night air hits me suddenly because I am half naked and shoeless. But I welcome it because it shocks me into a higher state of alertness.

Once we hit the main walkway, the Maiden Bridge is only a few steps away.

Jeyk is waiting for us at the bridge.

"Are you gonna get her, Finn? Are you gonna hide her? You're not gonna let her go in there, are you?" Jeyk is wound up, his eyes wide, but not the way Mitch's were when I opened the door for him. Mitch is cool under pressure. Composed. He's a thinker.

Jeyk is all instincts. And his instincts right now are telling him that Clara needs saving.

"We'll see," is the only answer I give him. Because, of course, there is no way for me to stop what's happening. I don't have the power.

Well, I guess I could just not show up—keep Clara in my new palace, or make a desperate attempt to leave the city and cross the expanse of desert sands in some kind of hopeless escape—but it's a fantasy.

If I don't have the ceremony… all those Little Sisters. Plus Clara. Plus Gemna…

Of course, this all might be bullshit, but… what if it's not?

Escape isn't possible. There's nothing out there in the sands. It's nothing but wasteland. Every year-four student in Tau City knows this because that's the year they make us run the wall. A twenty-mile marathon that children must complete, in some way or another. You don't have to run the whole way—you can walk or skip or crawl if you want, but you will circle the city on the wall before they let you go home. Because they want us all to understand that this is it . There is nothing out there. It's dust, and wind, and sand and nothing else.

We've been walking across the Maiden Bridge as I think all these things and now we're on the other side, the Maiden Tower looming large right in front of us.

Amazingly, there are no Matrons waiting for us at the door. Though there is a guard. For a moment I think that guard is gonna stop us, but as we approach, he just steps aside, looking the other way.

Mitch pulls it open as Jeyk and I walk through, then he follows us inside.

But we don't even reach the main staircase that winds up the center of the building before those old nags come rushing out from every direction, their blue tunics fanning out behind them.

"No!" one of them is barking. "No! No! No !" She points her finger right in my face as she approaches. "You do not belong here."

I slap her finger away and she gasps. It is forbidden to fuck with a Matron. They aren't in charge of anything but the Maidens, but if you piss one off and end up in front of the Council, they take the Matron's side every time.

Personally, they've always kind of scared me. They cloister themselves back there behind the Maiden Tower, almost never participating in anything outside of this district. But they are imposing and mean. As children we are taught to never question them. Never even talk to them, actually. Especially if you're male. They shun the opposite sex in a way that comes off as… personal .

But I'm not a little boy anymore. I'm the Extraction Master. I might not be in charge of them, but it goes both ways. They are not in charge of me, either. No one—not even the Council—has any sway over me. So these bitches can go to hell for all I care.

In the back of my mind though, I see my mother. Not as my mother, but as one of them. This thought is enough to make me shudder. It also reminds me that I know much, much less about this city, and my place in it, than I thought did yesterday.

One particularly tall and broad Matron steps in front of me, hands up in a full-stop gesture.

"Get out of my way, you bitch." I snarl these words out, making the big woman recoil. Which gives me an opportunity to push past her and head for the stairs. I don't even know where Clara's room is. I have literally never, not once, been inside this tower. But I don't care. There are two Maidens left at this point. Fuck 'em. I'll just yell her name until she answers.

"Clara!" So that's what I do. " Clara !" My shout echoes off the high ceilings ten floors above.

Mitch and Jeyk are still behind me, but both of them are yelling threats and insults at the Matrons, who are following us as we climb the central staircase.

We've reached the third floor and I'm still yelling, but there is a sudden commotion down below and I pause, leaning over the railing to see if it's Clara. I had always assumed she lived up at the top somewhere, but hell, she could be in the basement for all I know.

But it's not her, it's the Little Sisters—haphazardly dressed up in their pretty white nightgowns, all of them in different states of confused disarray and looking like nubile virgins with their tousled hair, and sleepy bedroom eyes, and no corset to keep their breasts from falling out all over the place.

I stop and just look at them. I mean… there is no way I can't look . It's… quite something to behold.

Mitch kinda guffaws as he leans far over the railing to gawk as well.

Jeyk mutters, "Holy fucking shit. Look at them." Like he's never seen a half-naked girl before.

The appearance of the Sisters confuses the Matrons. They split—half of them barking orders at the girls below, half of them still trying to follow us up the stairs.

But some of the Matrons are old. Many of them, in fact. And we are not old. We are in our prime.

"Come on." Mitch grabs my arm, pulling me up the next level of stairs, probably coming to the same conclusion because we're going fast now and the few Matrons still giving chase are falling behind.

I start yelling again. "Clara!" And after a few more times of this, I hear a shout back.

"Finn!" My name comes out as a sob. And when I look up, I see her about three floors above me, leaning over the railing. Her long, blonde hair hangs down, almost covering her face completely. She feels much too far away, but at the same time, I can see every emotion as they flash through her mind and then manifest as an expression.

It is fear, and anguish, and hopelessness.

This is how I will remember her. I know it. I will not think of her as the once fun-loving and playful girl that I grew up with, or the mature, intelligent woman she grew into, or even the way she looked in all those beautiful gowns she's worn over the years.

It's this image of her that will be burned into my memory until the day I die. This moment, as the bells toll incessantly, when she realizes that our dream of forever will never happen.

Gemna is there too, when the three of us arrive on the ninth floor. She and Clara are holding each other. Crying, hysterical, faces buried in each other's necks. And even when Mitch and I try to pry them apart, they cling to each other. Like if they could just hug each other tight enough, then maybe the nightmare will go away. But if they let go, they know they will lose everything.

Mitch is the one who finally manages to pull them apart. Replacing himself with Clara, he hugs Gemna tightly and Gemna hugs him back.

Clara is then instantly in my arms. Just sobbing uncontrollably.

Jeyk must be intercepting the Matrons on the stairs because that's all I hear—sobbing—as I hug the only woman I've ever loved. The only woman I will ever love.

Jeyk won't be able to fend them off for long, so I push Clara off me and hold her at arm's length. "Where can we go?"

She's a mess, but she's paying attention, because she points a finger down a hallway.

"I'm staying with you. All day, do you understand?" I push her wild hair out of her face so I can see her eyes. "Let's go."

She stares at me for a moment. Like she can't quite snap herself out of the shock. But then Mitch says, "Come on!" And he's dragging Gemna down the hallway.

I grab Clara's hand and follow him. Gemna is slightly more in control than Clara, but that's probably because her bell has not yet tolled.

But it will, dear Gemna. It will.

That god in the tower has an insatiable appetite. And he will feast on you as well.

This revelation, that Gemna will not be spared just because she is the last of them, gives me a sense of evil satisfaction and this realization fills me with shame for a moment.

But the anger inside me has been building over the last few days. Ever since someone murdered my father and set this whole fucking thing in motion, I have been living in a controlled state of rage.

And now I fear that my desire for control is waning.

I don't want to be in control. I want to lose it right now. I want to break things. I want to destroy things. Most of all, that god in the tower. Or even just the tower itself.

I want to bring the whole fucking thing down.

We end up in a common room filled with cream-colored couches, and curved plaster walls with river-stone peeking through in some places. Chandeliers hang from the domed ceiling dotted with skylights that perfectly frame the clear, starry sky above us. There are thick, luxurious rugs on the sandstone floors, and all three corner fireplaces are burning so there is a glow of light flickering across the walls and floor that makes the massive room feel obscenely opulent, but also cozy.

This pisses me off. That this is where they live. Not because it's a place fit for a princess—Clara deserves the best. All the Maidens do. That's not what makes me angry.

It's that it's a trick at best and an outright lie at worst.

Because the women who live up in this tower—the Tau City Spark Maidens—they aren't celebrities, or role models, or princesses.

They are sacrifices .

Offerings to a hungry god.

And this lie being told by the serene décor of the community room is, quite honestly, the grossest thing I've ever seen.

Mitchell stops in the middle of the community room and turns to look at me. "The Matrons are still coming." Then he looks at Gemna. "Do you have a private room that locks?"

Gemna nods.

"Let's go. Lead the way." And then they are heading further into the space, towards a door.

I turn to Clara, but she's already heading in another direction, pulling me along behind her. I follow her inside a room and she closes the door, turns a key in the lock, then removes it and places it on a little stone table.

When she faces me again, she breaks, nearly falling to the floor. If I wasn't here to catch her, she might've. But I do catch her. Then I pick her up, cradling her in my arms, and carry her over to the bed. I gently place her on the covers, but she didn't faint, so she's not unconscious. She's grabbing at me with a desperation I've never seen before.

Under normal circumstances Clara Birch is a model Spark Maiden. Poised, proper, polite.

But this is the end of her life and she is completely and utterly lost. Babbling, begging. "Please, Finn." She gets up on her knees, refusing to lie back on the bed, and grabs my shoulders. Her nightgown—a beautiful garment made of the finest cream-colored satin, silk and lace—is hanging off one shoulder, revealing most of her breasts. Her hair is a tousled mess. Tears pour out of her eyes like rivers. Her normally pale cheeks are flushed pink.

And for some reason, I'm turned on by it. By her anguish, by her vulnerability, and by her begging.

" Please , Finn. Do not make me do it! Do not make me! Please !"

I'm sitting next to her, wearing nothing but my own nightclothes—a simple pair of loose linen pants, but barefoot and shirtless—and all I can think about is fucking her right now. Taking every bit of her as mine before I have to hand her over to the god in the tower.

I can't save her. So I don't even bother trying to answer her. Instead I grab her nightgown and pull it down over her shoulders, all the way down to her waist, until both of her breasts are exposed. I look at them, licking my lips as I imagine taking her tight, peaked nipples into my mouth. And then I'm doing it. Pushing her back on the bed. Nipping, and sucking until she's moaning and slipping her fingers into my hair.

There is a loud banging on the door. Yelling from outside as the Matrons demand to be let in.

But we ignore them. I pull back, grip the bodice of her nightgown with both hands, and rip it open. She makes a noise that is something between a moan and a squeal, and instinctively her arms come up to cover herself.

I stand back up and then reach for her arms so I can pry them away from her body.

Then I just stare at her.

We have made love plenty of times. A couple dozen over the years, at least.

But until earlier today, these trysts were carefully planned and executed.

I was gentle. Treating her like something sacred and special, which of course she is.

But I don't want to treat her like something sacred and special right now. I want to flip her over and fuck her from behind the way I did earlier.

Instead, I get a hold of myself and take a deep breath. Then I push my night pants down, revealing my thick, hard cock. She looks at it, tender mouth slightly open, then looks up at me.

"We're not gonna talk about this, Clara." I place a hand on her cheek while slipping the other one around to the back of her neck as I take a step forward.

She knows what we're gonna do instead. She knows what I want. She has put that pretty mouth of hers on the tip of my cock before, kissing it tenderly. A promise of more to come—some day.

But she has never wrapped her lips fully around it and fully taken me in.

And I want that now. I want all of her now. Because this is it. This is the end of us. ‘Some day' is never coming. I have been a patient gentleman for over a decade and all the things she promised me are now impossible.

None of the ways in which I have imagined myself with her will ever happen.

This one day is all I've got left. And I haven't gotten my fill. I. Want. More .

I don't ask. I just use the hand I've placed behind her neck to guide her forward. She resists for a moment, looking up at me. Questioning me. Questioning herself too.

So I explain. What better way to get what you want than to ask for it? "I want all of you, Clara. You're mine, and I'm yours. And today, we're going to take each other in every way possible and we are going to live our dream."

She knows what this means. She knows this is the end and that she will be walking into that tower at midnight tonight.

I see all the questions in her eyes as she stares up at me. Still crying with tear-stained cheeks and red, puffy eyes.

She's trying to decide whether or not this is something she will agree to.

There's a moment here when I figure she's not going to agree, but in the next moment she takes a breath and decides I'm right. Her resistance to my encouragement fades. Her face comes forward, that pouty mouth of hers open. And when she wraps her lips around the tip of my cock, my head falls back, my hips go forward, and I press her forehead into my stomach.

Immediately, she pulls back, tilting her head up to look at me. Breathing hard and eyes filled with confusion.

It's too much. I'm asking too much. I am aware of this, but at the same time I don't wanna stop. So I place my hands on her shoulders and gently urge her to lie back on the bed again.

She resists, but only for a moment. And the moment she gives in, I reward her by dropping to my knees, spreading her legs open, and lowering my face down between her legs.

"Finn." My name comes out on a shaky breath.

I answer her by dragging my tongue down the middle of her silky underwear. Her back bucks up and her fingers are back in my hair, twisting it up and gripping it with closed fists.

If I want more than she's willing to give, then I have to give her more than she thinks she wants. I grab her underwear with both hands and rip it off her just like I did her nightgown. She gasps, grasping onto my head with both hands and trying to sit up.

But I'm ready. My hands spread her knees open, my tongue slips between the soft folds between her legs, and this is enough to calm her down. Enough, at least, to make her lie back and begin to relax.

"Oh, my god, Finn. What?—"

That's as far as she gets. Her head is moving back and forth as I hit the pleasure center and then, suddenly, she's writhing and gripping my hair, and all those inhibitions and insecurities she was feeling just moments ago disappear.

Given a choice, Clara Birch would like to be made love to. Touched tenderly. Worshipped and pampered. She wants it slow and soft.

And I like that. I mean, up until earlier today I hadn't even tried to be more forceful with her. Hadn't even pictured it, though I've heard Mitchell brag about how he is with his women over the years.

But Mitch likes down-city girls. Girls who did not pledge themselves to the god in the tower as a Little Sister when they were twelve. He fucks girls who like men to do naughty things to them in the dark. Not that they aren't nice and sweet in their own way, but they weren't raised to be poised, and proper, and polite.

Mitch likes girls who wriggle in his lap at the seedy clubs in the Shipping District. Girls who charge him gold coins to get naked, and get on their knees, and don't mind being told what to do.

And though I have never once been with a woman other than Clara, I have had fantasies over the last decade. Fantasies of making Clara do those things too. Not in a club, of course. Alone, in the privacy of our own bedroom. And while this isn't our bedroom, it's all I've got.

It's all I'm ever going to get.

Because that piece-of-shit god in the tower is going to rip her from my life and all our hopes and dreams will die right there as I helplessly watch.

If that's how this ends, well… then I'm gonna get everything I ever wanted from Clara Birch before I lose her.

It's a selfish thing, but I can justify it if I give her everything she's ever wanted from me first. I ease a finger inside her, making her moan and gasp ever louder. Making her back arch even higher. And just a few moments later, a powerful release makes her whole body shudder.

In a normal tryst I would hurriedly finish up after she had her climax, but this isn't a normal tryst and so, instead of getting myself off, and instead of letting her relax and fully enjoy her orgasm, I grab both her hands, pull her up, and then get her back on her knees in front of me. She's naked now except for the scraps of nightgown hanging on her arms, but she lets them drop to the floor as she raises her chin to look up and meet my eyes.

Hers are half-lidded. Bedroom eyes. Just-fucked eyes. And she is far, far more willing to give me what I initially wanted than she was five minutes ago.

I don't even have to encourage her. She takes me in her hands, gripping my shaft in a tight fist, and then she begins moving them up and down. I grit my teeth and almost let my head fall back to enjoy the pleasure, but it's not enough. Not tonight.

I want more and I want her to know that.

So instead, I place both my hands on her head and urge her forward as I lean my hips in.

She takes me into her mouth and this time, she tries a little harder. When the reflex to gag comes, she pauses, breathes through it, pulls back a little—but not completely—and then tries again.

This alone is more than I ever thought I'd get from Clara Birch. Even after years of marriage. She's not a prude—she's just poised, proper, and polite. And it's enough. I'm so overwhelmed with desire for her—so completely taken by her willingness to please me—I go stiff, fisting her hair tight as I hold her still in preparation for what comes next.

Just as I close my eyes and let go—a fraction of a moment before my come spills out and sprays down her throat—she pulls back and it hits her in the face before she pushes my cock down and I release the rest all over her breasts.

I don't care, though. It's even more perfect like this. I bend down, pick up her tattered nightgown, wipe the come off her cheeks and lips, and then I kiss her long and deep.

We collapse onto the floor, settling together on a luxurious furry rug, and hold each other as we try and catch our breath.

She's still panting hard when she speaks. "That… was… not what I was expecting."

Even though I'm not yet sure if her admission is a good or a bad critique of my performance, I smile. Can't help it. "Did it feel good? Or was it too much?"

She turns her body, pressing her breasts into my chest as she grins down at me. "Oh, it was good, Mr. Scott. It was very good." Then she's climbing on top of me, straddling my hips.

I wasn't gonna say anything. Wasn't gonna ask for more. Was actually going to let her get some sleep, since I doubt she's had much of that lately. But when you turn your woman on to the slutty side of things and she decides that she's ready for more, you do not discourage her.

I grab at her breasts, fondling them as she lifts up and places me at her entrance. She's slippery wet and I'm still hard—turned on by her assertiveness—so I slide right up inside her and when she lowers herself back down, she takes me deep.

I catch her wincing, so I pause, holding absolutely still as she recovers. And this recovery happens quickly because only a moment later she's grinding into me with hands braced on my chest.

I thrust up, our skin slapping together. And then I'm grabbing her by the ass and moving her back and forth, trying to whip us both up into a frenzy.

This time the climax comes almost immediately and it comes at the same time. We both moan, and gasp, and move even faster, desperate for each little wave of pleasure coursing through our bodies.

When she rolls off me, we're both sticky with sweat and properly exhausted.

We huddle together, arms twined around each other, and start drifting.

I've never spent the night with Clara Birch and I'm sorry about that. Because we have no more nights together. Even now, there is a crack of light on the horizon outside her window. The dawn is breaking, the start of our last day together arriving.

The end is here.

But we've got this day, at least. So I hug her close to me, and kiss her hair, and let my heart slow down with hers. Realizing that at some point the Matrons have given up, because there is no more pounding on the door.

We sleep. Not in a bed, but on the floor.

Not through the night, but through the morning.

And when I wake, the sun is high above us—blazing down through a large, circular window—and Clara is sobbing.

I turn, trying to kiss her. Neck, lips, breasts, pussy—I want to kiss her all over.

But she pushes me away and gets to her feet, completely naked. And this time, when I look at her, she doesn't even try to cover herself.

"What?" I ask, my voice groggy from just waking. "What's wrong?"

She makes a face of confusion. Then she's spitting words at me. "What's wrong ?" She pauses to let out an incredulous snort. "I'm going to the tower tonight, Finn. Are you really, really gonna let me do that?"

I get to my feet as well, and try to pull her into my arms. "Clara?—"

"No!" She pushes me away. Two flat hands against my chest. It's a not a hard shove, but I do take a couple steps back just to give her space. "I want an answer. I need an answer."

I scoff. "Clara. An answer… to what question?"

"Are you sending me into that tower tonight?"

My mouth drops open and I point at my chest. "Do you think this is up to me? Because it's not. I have no say in this. It's the damn god. Do you have any idea what happens if the Extraction Master refuses to send a Maiden in when she's summoned?"

"No. Because no Master has ever done it before! They're all a bunch of cowards!"

Rage flares up inside of me. Because my father was the Extraction Master before me and he was not a fucking coward. But I force my voice to be even and firm when I speak next. "That's bullshit. They have, Clara. Not many of them, because they learned pretty quick that the god in the tower gets what he asks for or else."

"Or else what?"

"Or else he takes you all . Not just you, but Gemna too. And not just you and Gemna, either, but all those Little Sisters down there as well."

Her eyes go squinty. She takes a breath. Lets it out. Then replies in a seething whisper, "That's bullshit ."

"You say that because you've never seen it happen."

"Neither have you."

"No. But I've got a reliable source. Are you willing to chance it?" I'm looking her straight in the eyes as I say this, glaring at her. Pissed off, again. And hating this fact, because this isn't me. But I don't know how to feel any other way right now.

All I can do is try and explain. "Because I'm not, Clara." It still comes out as a growl, but it's not as harsh as it could've been. I am at least a little bit in control. "I'm not willing to chance it. Sending Haryet last night was bad, but you? This is going to kill me, Clara. I might be alive when those doors close, but inside, I will be dead."

I pause here, waiting to see if she's listening closely or not. If she's taking me seriously, or not. And I think she is, because she doesn't reply. Just stares at me with an open mouth.

"I can't kill them all just on the hope of saving you ! Because you won't be saved, Clara. The god will compel you to walk through the doors. That's why none of the Spark Maidens ever tried to run before. It can compel you. It can make you. And after it makes you do it, it'll make all the others do it too. And there is nothing we can do to stop it. I'm not in charge of this."

I pause again, but still she's got nothing to say.

"So now, knowing this, what would you do, Clara? Go into that tower so they can all live? Or kill them, and yourself too? Because those are your options."

She gasps. And then she slaps me, the cyan-blue light once again leaking out of her lit-up hands. There are hundreds of glowing symbols on them now, though. Not just her hands, either. I watch as the weird markings crawl past her wrists, past her elbows, over her shoulders—then her whole torso lights up. A moment later, it's covering her whole body. She points at me, screaming. "Get out! Get out right now!"

I grab both her wrists, grip them so tight she winces and cries out, and then I pull her right up to my chest, forcing her to look me in the eyes. "I will not get out." My voice is even now, my tone low and calm. "I will not. Get out. Because I love you. And this is my last day with you. And I'm gonna miss you. I'm going to wake up tomorrow and have nothing to live for. Because you, Clara, have been my reason to live since I was a little boy. Everything I've done, I did for you."

She yanks back, trying to free her wrists from my grip, her face still hard and angry. "Is that your reason for fucking me like a whore today?"

I actually laugh out loud. " Whore ?" Then I narrow my eyes, the heat creeping up my spine as her accusation fully sinks in. The words come out before I can stop them. And the worst thing is, they are easy words that send all the wrong signals. "Well, you seemed to have a good time, so…"

She wriggles in my grip, itching to slap me again. But I keep hold of both her wrists, staring directly into her eyes, as I speak. "Do not ever hit me again." And these words do not come out easy. They come out like a threat.

She recoils, like I scared her, which is not what I was trying to do, so I let go of her wrists. Immediately she turns and walks to the other side of the room, picking up a silk throw and wrapping it around her upper body to cover her nakedness, the glow she was just displaying gone now. She points at the door and speaks very calmly. "Get out."

I shake my head. "No, Clara. I'm not getting out. I'm staying right here. And I don't care if we spend our last day together spitting insults and hating one another, I'm staying right here ."

She wants to cry. Her face is bright red and her eyes are glassy and bloodshot. She wants to fall into my arms and sob. And beg for me to save her. And hope that there is some way to stop our dreams from dying before we ever even had a chance. She wants to cry because this is it. This is all we get. This one stupid day. And it's not enough. Especially when we had ten years and all we did was piss them away, thinking we always had tomorrow.

Well, we were wrong. We made all the wrong choices, we prioritized all the wrong things, and the realization that this day is happening right now because of the choices we made is a bitter pill to swallow.

After several seconds of silence and staring, Clara lets out a breath. "If you love me, you have a very funny way of showing it." And then the tears once again start falling down her cheeks. She doesn't sob, though. Up until yesterday, Clara Birch was never a woman who felt sorry for herself. She was always acutely aware of her privilege. She was, perhaps, the most poised, proper and polite of them all. A perfect Spark Maiden. Not one black mark against her good name in all those ten years she was on display.

It's just… a lot. The last couple of days have been an absolute nightmare.

And I'm admittedly not handling it well either.

It's my job to keep her steady. It's my job to keep her safe. And I've failed on both accounts. My erratic behavior, my anger, the rough sex—it's done nothing but pile onto the realization that everything she thought was true is not.

I exhale and bow my head. "I'm sorry. I'm making everything worse here. I've said all the wrong things, I've behaved out of character, and I'm just…" I look up at her again. Her face is all crumpled up with sadness now. Not fear, though I'm sure she's still very much afraid of what's coming, just sadness. "I'm just… a huge disappointment and I'm sorry, Clara." I shrug. "That's all I can say."

I have an urge to walk out now. To be alone so I can grieve my dead father and wallow in my own self-pity about having to send the woman I love into the arms of a sadistic god. But that's not me. I'm not a man who walks out.

So I don't. I walk over to her instead, expecting her to push me away, because that's what I deserve, to be honest. But she doesn't recoil. She lets me wrap my arms around her and then she sinks into my chest and just lets me hold her as she cries.