Extraits

“I’m sorry.”

Did he…just apologize to me? I never thought that would happen in a million years. “You’re…what?”

“I’m sorry for making you feel bad when I should’ve done the opposite. I lost the ability to feel love when I was a boy, but you’ve slowly but surely yanked those feelings out of me. You didn’t only yank them out, you also held tight to a part of me I thought was long gone. For you, I want to go back in time and keep that part alive for the moment I met you. In the past, I thought people were destined to leave, so being attached to anyone was useless. And I thought that at some point, you would leave, too. I fought the pull to you. I fought the lure of your rose scent and your breakable softness. But I couldn’t fucking last. Not when I craved your presence the moment you were out of sight. Not when my thoughts of breaking your purity turned to a need to protect it. I told you how different my love is, how dark it can get, but I do love you, more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life. I don’t only need you; I also genuinely cannot live without you and the light you bring to my darkness. I know you deserve better, but I’m unable to let you go, so I’ll try my best to be worthy of you, Lenochka.”

Mais il y a une chose que ma chère femme semble oublier. Elle m'a un jour qualifié de méchant, et c'est l'étiquette la plus juste qu'elle m'ait jamais donnée. Et comme c'est le cas pour tout méchant, le bien ou le mal n'est jamais noir ou blanc.

C'est toujours gris.

- Je suis désolée.

- Ne t'excuse pas pour une situation sur laquelle tu n'as aucun contrôle. La maladie mentale n'est pas quelque chose dont il faut s'excuser.

Les larmes me montent aux yeux, je les écarquille pour les empêcher de couler.

- Merci.

- On roule ensemble, on meurt ensemble, jeune fille.

“I’ll try to be better. Though I’ll probably never be a hero.”

“Who says I want a hero? I’m perfectly happy with you, my villain.”

“You are?”

“Absolutely.” I wrap my arms around his waist. “I love you, Adrian, and though it hurts sometimes, I’ve never regretted it.”

“He’s smitten with me?”

“He is.”

“Which part?”

“Your softness, Lia. Your finesse, your elegance. He sometimes watches you as if he wants to stab the air for making you cold.”

“Does it hurt much?”

“Not as much as the thought of never seeing you again or leaving you unprotected.”

“Then don’t say you’ll leave me again. You’re my last stop and I plan to stay, not move on.”

“You’re my last stop, too.”

“Is it worth it?”

“Is what worth it?”

“Losing everything for her?”

A small smile grazes my lips. “Absolutely.”

“Remember when you asked me if I ever loved you?”

I nod, fresh tears surging to my eyes.

“I didn’t understand my emotions at the time, but I do now. I do love you, Lia. I always have. But my form of love isn’t sweetness or softness. It’s nothing noble or delicate. My love is selfish and villainous. My love is the type where I will kill people to protect you and erase others to avenge you. My love is possessive, obsessive, and knows no boundaries, not when I first met you and certainly not now.”

“And because my love is selfish, I will put you ahead of everything else.”

“You.”

“Just me?”

“Just you.”