I look at the body lying beside me and I feel my stomach drop.
The worst, most unforgiveable thing that I could've done, I did.
God knows how many times.
I have no idea how this happens, but it always does.
And I can't stop it.
Every single time she comes around, the flame in my heart that, for years, I tried to smother into a lowly ember, reignites. And then it happens: I snap. Crushing her to my body I get lost in the feeling of her. Of her skin, the silky feeling of her hair, the feel of her limbs bringing me closer, tighter, never letting go.
When we're together, I just want to stay her embrace, always in her grasp, giving her whatever she wants, whatever she needs.
I know I shouldn't enjoy it, that I shouldn't crave her whenever she's near, but I can't help it. I can't help but get lost in her.
Because I want her. Because I need her. Because I love her.
Because she's my imprint.
She's my imprint, and I love her. But it feels so wrong.
So, so wrong.
Her touch, the feel of her, her kiss, the way she moves: it's all wrong. It's too slow, it's too soft, it's too cold, and it's not fluid. It's not enough. It's not what I have.
Had. What I had.
It's not the love I had.
It's not the love I want.
I had her. Leah. The best of the best. I had her rough and sensual touches, I got to feel her smooth skin and her languid kisses. I got to feel the passion in her every movement. I got to feel how her body fit with mine. How everything was so right about her and me. Together. Whole.
Her warm skin tangled in the sheets with mine surpasses the icy kisses from my imprint.
She was above everything. Above everyone.
But then it all came tumbling down. Suddenly, Leah wasn't the only woman vying for my attention, for my love. The pull was too strong. She knew how to abuse it. She knew what to say, how to act. She knew how to draw me in.
She always does.
It always happens.
And I can't stop it.
I want to, I need to, and I have to. But I never can. No matter how hard I try, she'll always come back, dragging me back to her.
Dragging me away from Leah.
Which is why I fought. I fought, and fought, and fought, until Leah left. She left saying that she deserved more than me. She didn't want to share.
I tried to tell her that I was fighting it, that, together, we could make it through. We could break the bond and stay together. That night was the last night we shared a bed. The next day all of her stuff was gone. She made sure to leave nothing behind. All that was left of her was a note. It didn't explain anything. Not that she needed to explain. I knew why she was leaving. Those three words said it all.
"I deserve more."
That was the last time I saw her.
Three months, two weeks, two days, and four hours ago.
I look at the sleeping form on the bed. Her bronze curls are splayed out on her pillow; her creamy skin is covered in a light sheen of sweat, proof that our activities from twenty minutes ago were real. Her slight snore is the only sound in the room. She looks so innocent and small, but I know otherwise.
She's not what I want, but she's what was chosen for me. What I'm chained to. What Fate decided I deserve.
Then why do I feel like this? Every time she comes to me, every time we make love, I always feel so guilty and dirty and wrong. If she was supposed to be my soul mate, shouldn't it feel right? When she breathes my name and pulls me close, shouldn't I feel complete?
I should, but I don't. I never have.
I've only felt this way with one person. The one person I haven't seen in three months, two weeks, two days, and four hours.
Making a decision, I quickly grab my stuff and write a quick note before leaving my imprint.
"I deserve more."
I deserve to choose who I love, who I want to spend the rest of my life with, who I choose to fight for.
So I leave. I leave her, and run to Leah.
Because I deserve to be happy.
Leah deserves to be happy.
We could be happy together. We deserve to be happy together.