Wild Reckless

“And here I thought it was because you loved me,” I confess, my chest caving in quickly, threatening to cut me off from saying the rest. I let it tumble out with my last breath. “Just as much as I love you.”

I let my words hit him, my body still, my thumbnails digging into the palms of my hands—a subconscious effort to create pain anywhere else, to pull this feeling away from my heart. Owen never even moves.

Before the next wave crashes over me, I turn away, stepping over the sweaters and shoes thrown on the floor. I catch House’s eyes on me from the kitchen, his mouth smirking, like he’s satisfied at my failure to pull Owen back to the light. I pick up my pace, not wanting anyone else to notice me, to see how pathetic I am.

I barely open the door as I slip outside, and when I do, I’m hit with a wall of wind, air so cold it practically slices through me. I pull Owen’s coat tightly around me, hating that it’s his, that I need it, but thankful for it. I take lunging steps out into the driveway, through the gravel, past House’s truck first, then Owen’s, until my feet find the pavement of the small two-lane road that brought me here. I can see my breath, and the threat of more snow is very real. I know I can’t walk home. It would very likely kill me. But I can’t stay here.

I won’t.

I pull my phone from my pocket, the few dollars I folded along with it coming out and falling to the ground. “Shit!” I say to myself, bending down and feeling for them, my hands stinging. I grip them clumsily, but stay low, squatting, while I scroll to Willow’s number, knowing there’s a really good chance she won’t pick up. My thumb hovers over her number for a few seconds before my phone lights up, ringing with a call.

Owen.

I stare at the phone, not knowing what to do, then after three rings, his call disappears. Panic swallows me whole, and I drop my money again, my fingers fumbling to call him back when I look up and see him walking swiftly toward me. It takes him three steps more to reach me, his hands clutching my arms. At first I think he’s angry, and I flinch at his touch. But he brings me to his chest, the weight of his body working to shelter me. His hand cradles my head against him, and he only holds me harder when I begin to cry, my body shaking hard with each shudder.

My core is starting to shiver from the cold, and Owen scoops me into his arms, holding me against him as he strides quickly to his truck, opening the passenger side and setting me inside, closing the door quickly, and running to the other side. He gets in fast, starting the engine and moving the heat to high, then slides across the middle of the bench seat toward me, his hands cradling my face, his fingers rough, and cold.

“I brought you because I love you,” he says, his words coming out in a rush, his eyes piercing mine, the darkness fighting with the light. “I wanted you to meet him because he’s important to me…and so are you…because I love you. I hurt you…because I love you…because I’m fucked up, my family’s fucked up, and my problems ruin everyone they touch. I don’t know how to stop them, how to separate the good things from all the shit in my life. I ruin everyone I touch. People leave me…they leave me—” Owen’s breath catches, stuttering, his eyes turning redder as he talks. “People in my life…they die, and if they aren’t dead yet, they look for ways to kill themselves. And all I can do is watch.”

“Owen,” I whisper, my hands wrapping around his wrists. His head falls forward to mine.

“I love you, Kensi,” he says, his lips grazing mine softly, before he pulls his mouth away again, leaving his head against mine. “I love you…but I will suffocate you. Drown you. Loving me…it will kill you.”

“No, it won’t,” I say, my hands shaking his wrists. His fingers are still cupping my face, his thumbs trailing tiny circles along my jaw. He rolls his head side-to-side along mine, his breath coming out in a slow spill, his body full of nothing but fear and doubt.

I slide my hands up his wrists, to his fingers, threading mine through his along my cheeks then bringing them to my lips, kissing them, and letting my lips linger along his knuckles before resting my cheek against his palm. My touch finally opens his eyes, and I look into him, searching for my Owen, making him believe.

“I love you, and I’m not afraid to love you,” I say. I can see the worry behind his eyes, the warnings working to remind him that he should run, that he shouldn’t feel. I can tell I’m not winning the battle, but I’m fighting the war, and every piece of me I give weakens that fear a little more.

“I shouldn’t let you,” he says, his bottom lip held under his teeth, his breath a sharp intake. “But I don’t care, Kensi. Because I think I need you to survive. I think I need you to love me, because that’s literally all I’ve got.”