Page 103 of Bloodlust

It's odd. I've lived in New York my whole life, and yet, I feel like I barely know this city. As I pass cafes, restaurants, and a plethora of eccentric stores, I'm left longing for more time.

There's so much that I've wanted to do, to see, to experience. I had twenty-seven years and I did nothing I've wanted to do. The Empire State building looms in the background as I meander into Central Park. I've never even been! What the fuck is that?

Sighing, I sit down on a park bench and watch the dogs chase each other for what feels like hours. Frenchies, labs, pitties, and poms. All playing together, rolling around, chasing sticks and then, when their owners call, they run to them. Loyal. God, I miss Pinto. He was so fucking loyal. Never left my side. Always chose me.

"I knew I'd find you here." I gasp as Hayden sits down beside me and hands me a cup of coffee. I frown at him and he rolls his eyes. "Just take the fucking coffee, Camilla."

"What are you doing here?" I ask quietly, blowing into the piping hot liquid. Unable to look at him because if I do then it might just start to rain. I keep my eyes glued to the park. "Everything's all set, Hayden. There's nothing left to discuss."

"Green," he whispers, sliding closer to me on the bench, our thighs touching.

"What?" I manage as my breath hitches, my body betraying me in every way that matters. "Green?"

"My favorite color," he elaborates, clearing his throat. "It's green." Blinking, I face Hayden, cutting him a puzzled look. He swallows, licking his lips as he meets my eyes, "You said you didn't know anything about me. I want to change that."

"I don't think?—"

"I'm an only child," he continues before I have a chance to shut him down.Why is he doing this? Why is he putting us both through such torture?The muscles in his neck tighten, pain flashing across his face. "My father..." He sucks in a sharp breath. "My father was a Marine." Hayden's gaze floats down to his watch on his left wrist. "He was... He was a good man, a good father—" He pauses, stirring uncomfortably. "Until he wasn't."

"What..." Despite my better judgment, I shift my weight, rotating to face Hayden. "What happened?"

He lets out a cynical chuckle. "War. It, uh, it changes people."

"What changed?" I ask in a whisper, my palm finding his knee all on its own.

"He did." Hayden glances down, the corner of his lips curling in a ghostly smile as he reaches for my hand. His thumb strokes my skin as he looks at me, trying so fucking hard to mend the pieces he broke. "He suffered from severe PTSD."

"Oh."

"Yeah," he continues, spilling a river of truth that is bound to drown us. "My mother tried to get him into a program, she tried to get help but—" Hayden closes his eyes, his grip on my hand tightening as he siphons off his pain. "He found other ways to...cope."

"Other ways?" I nudge closer to him, my tone soft, gentle, like the feathers of a pillow. He can fall without fear. In this moment, I'll catch him. "Like what?"

He gives me a knowing look, and I do know.

All too well.

"He became a monster. It was... It was horrible. My mother—" He swallows, wincing. "My poor mother became a fucking punching bag."

"I'm sorry," I whisper, my eyes welling up with sympathetic tears. I can feel his hurt, his helplessness, his authenticity. Raw. Like a wound that's been reopened. "That must have been hard to watch."

"I couldn't do anything to help her," he murmurs, staring at the pavement. "I was too young to help her, and by the time I could—" He pauses, jaw clenching. "It was too late. She... She found a solution. She found a way to escape the abuse."

"Did she…?" I wipe a tear off my cheek. "Did she…?"

"Yes," he whispers, gaze flitting across my face before he tucks a wayward piece of hair behind my ear. A shiver courses down my spine. "She did."

"I'm so sorry, Hayden." I close my eyes as he comforts me. It's wrong. I should be comforting him, not the other way around. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay.” He palms the back of my head as presses his lips against my forehead like he's branding me with hope. "Don't cry, it was a long time ago."

"I know but…" I hiccup, unable to stop the flurry of tears. I'm malfunctioning. "She was your mom and?—"

"She's the reason I went into psychology," he says, wipingunder my eyes. "It was the only way I could... I could somehow make it right, if that makes sense."

"It does," I hum, sniffling. What is happening to me? "I, uh… I get it."

"After I received my credentials, I was—" Hayden looks over my shoulder, giving me a questioning glance.