Fuck.

I fuck Willow. Veins igniting, muscles on fire. My hands on her hips, I sit up some on my knees and pound into her—and her palms fall off my shoulders and find my wrists, clutching me for support.

“Garrison,” she cries in a sharp moan, her eyelids fluttering.

I lower back, our mouths meeting. I kiss her as deeply as I rock in, and she pulls at my hair. I lift her leg higher on my waist.

Every thrust is filled with an emotional current that ravishes both of us. Like we’ve both been asleep and we’re slowly recharging, coming back to life.

My forehead presses to hers. “I love you.” I breathe it out a few more times. Rocking, rocking, and her love swims inside her eyes.

I lose time. I lose sense of space. It’s just her and me. The world around us is gone until we both ride into pure bliss.

“Ahhh,” she cries into my shoulder, and I hold her while her toes curl, her back arches. A groan barrels through me, and I milk out a climax that seizes my tendons in a vice.

We kiss and kiss, my lips stinging against hers—it’s going to take heaven and Earth to pull me away from Willow.

I just want this to last. Longer.

Much longer.

How much time is left?

Sitting side-by-side in bed, naked, wrapped up in the sheets, and eating semi-warm pizza, I stroke her head while she picks off the mushrooms and puts them on my plate.

“I could have made the cheese,” I tell her.

“Supreme is better.” She licks her finger. “I like the olives.”

This, right here, feels normal. Pizza in bed, like the degenerate I am. Can’t even eat at a table. Being together at night should be happening all the time, not just once every four months.

Okay, so maybe it’s not normal, I guess.

This, right here, is rare. I hate that.

“How do you think we’re doing?” She hands me the plate with the mushrooms. “With this whole long distance thing?”

Terrible.

I shrug. “I miss you, but I think that’s supposed to happen. Right?”

Her knees knock into mine. “Is it supposed to hurt this badly?” Her voice cracks.

I kiss the top of her head. “I don’t know.”

She leans her cheek against my shoulder. “Maybe I should…should I just…I could transfer to Pe—”

“No.” I stop her before she says Penn. “You’ll be harassed every day by paparazzi.”

“Then NYU, it’s not too far a commute from Cobalt Inc.,” she mutters.

“No,” I say, my chest on fire. I’d love to agree with her. To say sure. Yes. Please fucking come home. But I couldn’t live with myself. I couldn’t wake up with her in my bed, knowing she’s sacrificed something for my shitty existence.

I’m not meant to be fully happy. I’ve known that since I was little and my brothers were shoving me to the ground.

I’m cursed. It’s just the way it is. She doesn’t need to share in this damn thing.