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Every tower of self-confidence I had built came crashing down, and Mercedes was the cannon fire.

I couldn’t look Miles in the face after that because…she’s right. I am fat, and my hair does look trashy. I look ridiculous in my costume and was stupid to wear it out in public. What if her words made him realize it the same way they made me realize?

I can’t handle him breaking my heart again. I can’t handle losing him and it being my fault.

I’m home and tearing off my costume before I can comprehend what’s happening. My horns get tossed somewhere in the kitchen. My heels get thrown down the hall. My nails rip at the fishnets, tearing holes in the threaded material in the rush to get them off.

A scream rips from my lips as I abandon the fishnets and move to the bodysuit. My arms strain to reach the zipper behind me, and a broken sob pours from my lips when I can’t reach it.

“Fuck! Fuck this! Fuck you, Mercedes! Fuck you! Fuck me!” My back hits the wall, and I slowly slide down until my butt hits the floor. “Fuck,” I whisper, “Fuck you for making me feel this way and fuck myself for allowing it.”

A loud pounding has me jumping up from the ground, the breath I was struggling to catch jumping up in my throat. The pounding continues as I look towards the door, watching the old wood rattle on its hinges.

“Sonnet.” My name is spoken like a command on the other side of the door.

“Miles?” My voice comes out as a whisper just as another round of pounding starts up.

He followed me home? After hearing all that?

“Sonnet. Open the damned door.”

He followed me here. He didn’t let me run. He didn’t let her come between us again.

“Please.”

The word is softer this time, laced with desperation. The mirrored pain in his voice is what has me walking forward and twisting the knob, opening it slowly to reveal the man in front of me. His dark hair hangs around his face in waves, dripping water down to the carpeted floor. His eyes meet mine as his chest heaves with exertion, his breath coming out in a choppy gasp.

“You left.” He gasps for another breath and shakes his head. “You ran from me. Again.”

“M-Mercedes. She was saying these things and –”

His voice cuts through mine. “I know what she said. Just like I know it’s all bullshit.”

I look down at my costume and scoff, “It’s not. I look ridiculous. I look –”

He cuts me off again, “You look so fucking good that it’s taken everything in me not to throw you on the ground and make you delirious with orgasms. You look so devastatingly beautiful that I’m pissed at myself for not claiming you yet.”

Miles takes a small step forward, his boots leaving mud tracks on my carpet. My feet mimic his and take a step back. “Miles…”

“Stop fucking running from this, Sonnet. I spent years waiting on the sidelines, but I’m done. There’s no way in hell I’m going to let some miserable assholes let you think I look at you as anything other than beautiful.”

“Beautiful?” I ask. My voice is timid with uncertainty, but somewhere deep in my heart, I start to believe him.

No one could look at me like he does and be lying. Not when he’s standing in my apartment, soaking wet from the storm, and looking at me like I’m the one thing that could warm him up. Not when he’s staring at me like I’m the answer to every question he’s ever had.

Miles takes another step forward and reaches out, grabbing a stray curl from my face and twirling it around his finger. “I’m done pretending that I’m not in love with you. I’m done pretending I don’t see the same emotions reflected back at me. I’m done.”

“Miles…”

His words, the look he’s giving me, the way he’s approaching me – it’s all showing me that he means everything he’s said to me since he walked in, but it’s challenging everything I’ve believed about myself. Just like when he told me the truth of what really happened all those years ago. He keeps challenging me, and I keep rising to the occasion. He needs me to believe I’m beautiful – that he wants me – and I think I’m finally getting there.

His hand shoots up, a single finger landing on my lips. “You have one chance to tell me to leave. If that’s what you really want, fine. I’ll fix your car and quit the job at the school. We never have to see each other again.” He leans in, his tongue darting out to lick a drop of water sliding down my cheek. My breath hitches as he continues, “But if there is anything else out of your mouth besides to leave…I’m going to make up for these seven years apart. Starting with laying you out right here in this hallway and devouring you like a man starved.”

He’s offering me everything I ever wanted, willing to forget the last seven years of pain, all to experience what we could be together if I let him in. He’s asking me to disregard all the mean words and share my body with him when I can sometimes barely stand looking at it in the mirror.

It’s another challenge – and I never back down from a challenge.

My own tongue darts out to wet my lips, and I watch his eyes track the movement. “Is that what you are, Miles? Starved?”