Page 37 of Say You'll Stay

Sinking back into my chair, I let the visions of her play on a loop behind my eyes - her smiles, her laugh, the cascading rivulets of pleasure that used to grace her features when I worshiped her body.

I need to burn those memories into my ruined psyche. Let them scar me down to the very marrow. Because very soon, I know those precious few recollections will be all I have left of her radiance before she’s gone.

Spirited away by that grinning pretender, that pathetic excuse for a man who fancies himself worthy of claiming what was always, is always, MINE.

The possessive snarl that rips up from my core would be terrifying if it didn’t bring with it a tantalizing new shard of purpose, or retribution. My Cara will not be stolen, not while there’s still breath in my body to fight.

I’ll tear this world asunder and rebuild it in her image if that’s what it takes to reclaim what is rightfully mine.

When my lips claim hers once more, it will be a conquering - a reminder to herself as much as that guttersnipe grifter of who her seared soul truly belongs to. I’ll kiss her until she’s breathless, senseless, consumed by the fire she awoke.

My hands curl into claws, nails biting crescents into my palms until I taste the copper kiss of my own blood on my lips. The pain is a welcome respite, a purifying lash keeping me anchored to reality, to the hunt now stretching out before me.

I am the wolf in these woods, and no helpless lamb will outrun me. Not on my trail, not when the prize is the only thing giving my decrepit existence purpose anymore. Cara is my wonderland, and unlike that golden-haired bitch of lore, I’ve no intention of ever leaving.

Let that soulless puppet attempt to whisk her away from me. I’ll merely be waiting, a rabid Minotaur ready to consume anyone who dares trespass on my sacred hunt for her essence.

Ruin will be their judgment, and by the blackened time I’m finished, they’ll be grateful for something as merciful as mere death. I’ll baptize them in the fires that have consumed my humanity, immolating their very existence from reality.

Only then, when the ashes of their arrogance are scattered to the void, will I pull Cara back in to taste the truth - that she is the Dark Phoenix to my Oblivion, and our real Scorched Earth is only just beginning.

Cara’s impending journey with Louis gnaws at me like a relentless tide, eroding the fragile facade of composure I’ve painstakingly constructed. The mere thought of her in his arms, sharing moments that should rightfully be ours, twists like a knife in my gut, a constant torment I can scarcely bear.

In the days that ensue, I become a phantom, haunting the periphery of her life. I stalk her every move, a silent predator observing its prey, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. The comic convention is my hunting ground, a labyrinth of costumed revelry where I can blend into the shadows, unseen and unnoticed.

I watch her from afar, drinking in every detail - the way her eyes light up when she spots a rare comic, the musical lilt of her laughter as she banters with fellow enthusiasts. She’s a vision of joy and innocence, a stark contrast to the darkness festering within me.

But even in the midst of this colorful chaos, my eyes are drawn to him - to Louis, the interloper who dares to bask in her radiance. They move through the convention together, shoulders brushing, smiles traded like precious currency. Each casual touch is a dagger to my gut, a vivid reminder of what I stand to lose.

It takes every ounce of my fraying self-control not to lunge forward, to rip her away from his unworthy grasp and claim her as my own before the entire world. But I force myself to remain still, to blend into the background like a wraith, biding my time.

The true test of my restraint comes later, at the convention’s after-party. The club is a pulsing, neon-drenched den of hedonism, the bass throbbing like a second heartbeat. And there, in the center of the dance floor, are Cara and Louis, their bodies entwined in a sensual rhythm that makes my blood boil.

I watch, transfixed and seething, as his hands roam over her curves, as she grinds against him with wanton abandon. The primal, possessive beast within me roars to life, demanding that I storm the dance floor and assert my claim, consequences be damned.

But through the red haze of my fury, a single thought crystallizes - Cara. Her happiness, her trust, the fragile bond we’ve only just begun to rebuild. If I lose control now, if I let the monster win, I risk losing her forever.

So I force myself to turn away, to melt back into the shadows, my nails digging bloody crescents into my palms. Every step away from her is an agony, a visceral tearing at the very fabric of my being. But I endure it, for her.

In the alleyway behind the club, I unleash my anguish, my fists pummeling the unyielding brick until my knuckles are raw and bleeding. The physical pain is a welcome distraction, a way to ground myself in the here and now, to keep the beast at bay.

But even as I compose myself, straightening my collar and smoothing my hair, I know this reprieve is only temporary. The war for Cara’s heart is far from over, and I will stop at nothing to emerge victorious.

I may have lost this battle, but the war rages on. And in the end, I know with unshakable certainty that she will be mine - wholly, irrevocably, eternally.

No matter the cost, no matter the ruin left in my wake, I will fight for her until my dying breath. Because a world without Cara is no world at all.

So I retreat into the night, a predator licking his wounds, plotting his next move. Louis may have won this round, but he has no idea of the hell that awaits him.

For I am Juniper Deveaux, and when it comes to Cara, there is no length I won’t go to, no line I won’t cross, to make her mine once more.

The game has only just begun, and I play for keeps.

Chapter fifteen

San Diego’s perpetual sunshine does little to warm the chill that’s taken up residence in my bones. I huddle deeper into my jacket as I navigate the bustling streets, the clamor of Comic-Con fever swirling all around me.

Normally, being surrounded by such vibrant celebrations of creativity and fandom would fill me with anticipation. But today, it all feels muted, as if I’m viewing the world through a grimy pane of glass separating me from the vibrancy.