Author's POV
Ethan stood in his bedroom for a long time after she left.
Motionless.
Breathless.
Her words echoing in his head.
"The man I was starting to trust, starting to want, starting to maybe love—that man just called me unable to keep it in my pants."
He had said that.
Those words.
To her.
To his little star.
The most innocent person he had ever known.
The girl who didn't even know what lust was until she saw him naked.
And he called her unable to keep it in her pants.
He called her desperate.
He called her horny.
He called her things no one had ever called her.
Things she didn't deserve.
Things that would haunt her forever.
---
He moved finally.
Walked to the guest room.
Knocked softly.
"Meera."
Silence.
"Meera, please."
Nothing.
He tried the handle.
Locked.
Of course.
"Open the door. Let me explain. Let me apologize."
Her voice came through.
Tears in it.
Pain.
"Go away."
"I can't."
"You can. You just won't."
"Meera, please. What I said—it was wrong. All of it. I didn't mean—"
"You meant every word. That's why you said them."
He pressed his forehead to the door.
Eyes closed.
Breathing hard.
"I was jealous. I saw you touching him and I lost my mind. I didn't think. I just reacted."
"So you called me a slut."
"I didn't say that."
"You said I couldn't keep it in my pants. You said I wanted to fuck anything that moved. That's the same thing."
He had no response.
Because she was right.
---
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry doesn't fix it."
"I know."
"Sorry doesn't erase what you think of me."
"I don't think that of you. I was angry. I was scared. I was—"
"Scared of what? That I'd leave you for someone else? That I'd touch another man? That's not fear. That's control. That's possession. That's not love."
"It is love."
"No. Love doesn't say those things. Love doesn't think those things."
He slammed his palm against the door.
Frustration.
Anger.
Fear.
"You don't get to tell me what love is. You've never felt it. You don't know."
Silence.
Then quietly.
"Maybe not. But I know what it's not. And this—what you just did—that's not it."
---
He heard her moving inside.
Things being thrown.
No.
She was trashing the room.
Pillows hitting walls.
Sheets ripped off the bed.
A lamp crashing.
Frustration.
Pain.
Anger.
All of it pouring out.
He tried the door again.
Still locked.
"Meera, stop."
"Go away!"
"Meera—"
"Leave me alone!"
Another crash.
Glass breaking.
Worried now.
Worried she'd hurt herself.
He stepped back.
Kicked the door open.
Splintering wood.
Lock breaking.
---
She stood in the middle of destruction.
Pillows everywhere.
Sheets tangled.
Lamp shattered on the floor.
Breathing hard.
Tears streaming.
Eyes wild.
"Get out."
"No."
"I said get out!"
She grabbed a pillow.
Threw it at him.
He caught it.
Dropped it.
She grabbed another.
He moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
His hand caught her wrist.
Then the other wrist.
She struggled.
Thrashed.
Tried to pull away.
He pinned her against the wall.
Holding both wrists above her head.
Body pressed against hers.
Trapping her.
---
She froze.
Not from submission.
From shock.
From fear.
From the realization of what he just did.
He was holding her against a wall.
Like an enemy.
Like a prisoner.
Like one of his victims.
"Let me go."
"Not until you listen."
"I don't want to listen. I want you to leave."
"Tough."
She struggled again.
He held tighter.
Her eyes blazed.
Hurt.
Anger.
Betrayal.
And then he did something worse.
His hand moved from her wrist.
To her throat.
Not squeezing.
Not choking.
Just holding.
Palm against her skin.
Fingers curling around her neck.
Pulling her closer.
Bringing her face inches from his.
---
"You want to know what I felt? Seeing you touch him?"
She couldn't speak.
Could barely breathe.
"Rage. Pure, burning rage. The kind that makes men kill. The kind that made me want to walk over there and end him. Not hurt him. End him. Permanently."
Her eyes widened.
Fear now.
Real fear.
"I've killed men for less. For looking at what's mine. For breathing near what's mine. And you—you touched him. Caressed him. Gave him what should be mine."
"Ethan—"
"I didn't say those things because I think you're a slut. I said them because I was drowning in jealousy and couldn't find words. I said them because watching you touch him broke something in me. I said them because I'm fucked up and broken and don't know how to love without destroying."
---
His grip on her throat loosened.
Slightly.
Just enough.
"But that doesn't excuse it. Nothing excuses it. What I called you—those words—they were wrong. Every single one. You're not those things. You've never been those things. You're the most innocent person I've ever met. And I hurt you because I couldn't control myself."
She stared at him.
Terrified.
Confused.
Torn.
"I'm sorry, Meera. I'm so sorry. I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you let me. Just—please—don't look at me like that. Like I'm the monster from your nightmares."
"But you are."
The words were quiet.
Honest.
True.
He flinched like she'd stabbed him.
"You are a monster, Ethan. I've seen it. In the basement. In this room. In the way you hold me now. You're a monster who sometimes pretends to be human."
---
His jaw tightened.
His hand moved from her throat to her jaw.
Grabbed it.
Hard.
Fingers digging into her cheeks.
Forcing her face close to his.
"You want to see the monster? Fine. Look."
She gasped.
Pain.
Fear.
He was hurting her.
Actually hurting her.
"You want to talk about what's real? About what I really think? Fine. Let's talk."
"Ethan, you're hurting—"
"You want to fuck so badly? Is that all you need? Is that why you touched him? Because you're so desperate for it you'll take anyone?"
Tears streamed down her face.
His grip didn't loosen.
"Then fine. If fuck is all you need, I'll give it to you. Happily. Willingly. I've done it so many times with so many women. It won't be different. Just doing the deed. Just bodies. Just release. Is that what you want, Meera? Is that what all this has been about?"
---
She should have pulled away.
Should have screamed.
Should have fought.
But something in her broke.
Something in her gave up.
"Yes."
The word was small.
Defeated.
Lost.
"What?"
"Yes. That's what I want. That's what this is. Just bodies. Just release. Just fuck. Since that's all you think I'm good for anyway."
He stared at her.
Shocked.
His grip loosened slightly.
"Meera—"
"You want to give it to me? Give it. I don't care anymore. I don't care about love. I don't care about waiting. I don't care about any of it. Just do what you want to do. What you've always done. What you think I am."
---
She reached for him.
Desperate hands.
Tugging at his shirt.
Pulling it up.
Trying to get it off.
Trying to get to skin.
Trying to get to anything that would make the pain stop.
Her fingers fumbled with buttons.
Tore at fabric.
Scrabbled at his chest like he was air and she was drowning.
"Meera, stop."
"No. You want this. I want this. Let's just—let's just do it. Get it over with. Then maybe you'll stop looking at me like I'm something to control. Maybe I'll stop feeling like I'm going crazy."
She got his shirt open.
Hands on his chest.
Touching him the way she'd wanted to.
The way that felt like fire.
But his chest wasn't warm now.
It was cold.
Still.
His hands weren't moving.
Weren't touching her back.
Weren't pulling her closer.
---
She looked up.
Saw his face.
Pain.
Raw.
Bleeding.
His eyes weren't dark with desire.
They were dark with grief.
With loss.
With the death of something precious.
He looked at her like she was dying.
Like he was watching her disappear.
Like everything he loved was crumbling in his hands.
Her hands froze on his chest.
"What?"
"Look at yourself."
She looked down.
At her hands on his bare skin.
At his shirt hanging open.
At the mess of desperation she had become.
"What are you doing?"
The question was quiet.
Devastating.
"I'm—you said—"
"I said a lot of things. Angry things. Hurtful things. I didn't mean for you to become this."
---
She stepped back.
Her hands fell away.
She looked at him.
At herself.
At what she was about to do.
Horror dawned.
Slow.
Cold.
Absolute.
"Oh god."
"Meera—"
"I was going to—I was about to—" She couldn't finish.
Couldn't say it.
Couldn't face it.
"You were hurting. Confused. Reacting to my words."
"No. I was—I was going to let you—I was going to—"
She covered her mouth.
Took another step back.
Then another.
Her eyes were wild now.
Not with desire.
With terror.
Terror at herself.
At what she almost became.
At how close she came to giving everything away for nothing.
---
"Meera, look at me."
"No."
"Please."
"I can't. I can't look at you. I can't look at me. I almost—we almost—"
"But we didn't."
"Because you stopped. You stopped while I was—" She gestured at herself. "While I was tearing your clothes off like some—like what you called me."
"I shouldn't have called you that."
"But it's true. Look at me. Look what I just did. I was going to—with you—after everything—"
She was hyperventilating.
Panic attack building.
He stepped closer.
She stumbled back.
"Don't touch me."
"I won't. Just breathe."
"I can't—I don't—what's wrong with me?"
"Nothing. Nothing is wrong with you. You're reacting to pain. To hurt. To confusion. That's human."
"I was going to fuck you. Those were my words. In my head. I was going to fuck you just to make it stop. Just to feel something else."
"That's not who you are."
"Then who am I? Because I don't know anymore. I don't know anything anymore."
---
She turned.
Ran.
Out of the room.
Down the hall.
To another room.
Any room.
Away from him.
Away from herself.
Away from what she almost became.
The door slammed.
Lock clicked.
Silence.
---
Ethan stood in the destroyed guest room.
Shirt hanging open.
Hands empty.
Heart shattered.
He had done this.
His words.
His anger.
His jealousy.
He had pushed her to the edge.
Made her doubt herself.
Made her willing to give away everything just to stop the pain.
He was the monster.
Not the one in the basement.
The one in this room.
The one who hurt the person he loved most.
He sank to his knees.
Head in hands.
And for the first time in centuries.
Ethan Moretti wept.