Love Is Real
Love Is Real
Sharon's own chest heaved up as Addicus dived into the river, it engulfing him, his dying words—forgive me—echoing in her head. Her own heart was going under as well, dragged by opposing emotions. Addicus was a monster, his darkness hanging over her existence, relentless—her parents, Lily, Seb, Martha, even her own assault. He had to die, but in the moments of dying, bare with remorse, compassion crept in, a glimpse of sorrow for the destroyed man behind the violence. She hated him, but compassion, uninvited, crept in.
"Sharon!" Peter's call sliced through, terrified, as he pounded along the clifftop, the sun glinting off the wet forest. Chris and Jinx followed, boots crunching gravel, the river thunder diminishing below.
"Peter!" Sharon cried, opening her arms, falling into his embrace, his leather jacket cold against her shuddering body. His warmth was home, safety after months of horror.
"Are you okay?" Peter asked, checking her for bruises, his hands gentle but restless. "Did he hurt you?"
"I'm fine," she said, voice steady despite her chaos. "He didn't—and he won't."
She held to him more tightly, gratitude growing for his rescue, for ending Addicus's reign of terror. Unspoken gratitude swelled her heart—he'd gotten away from her with a nightmare. Jinx smiled at Chris, wiping sweat from her brow. "Fun, huh?"
"Fun?" Chris raised an eyebrow, his eyepatch bright white against the morning sun. "You enjoyed that?"
"War's my game," Jinx shrugged. "Thought you'd get it, soldier. The shooting, the killing—spine-tingling, isn't it?"
"No," Chris said, nudging his patch higher to reveal the scarred socket. "War took my eye, nearly took my life. I left it behind."
"Whatever," Jinx muttered, turning to Peter. "Great to see you got your wife back." She offered her hand, her handshake firm as they shook hands.
"Thanks, Jinx," Peter said. "We owe you."
Jinx nodded, starting to turn away, before Chris caught her wrist. "Will I see you again?" he asked, fidgeting. "I'd like to… get to know you better."
"You asking me out?" Jinx teased, smiling.
"Yeah," Chris admitted, blushing.
"Trust me, I'm not your type," she told him, stroking his face, "You wouldn't last five seconds."
"I love a challenge," Chris yelled as she walked away.
"I'll find you," Jinx shot back, glancing over her shoulder.
"Not if I find you first," Chris roared, laughing.
The three walked down the cliff face, pine-scented forest air damp with relief. They discovered Jinx's truck, its black paint newly waxed, a relic from Addicus's garage. The drive to Jacksonville was a long one, the road swinging past neon restaurants and gas stations. Sharon remained quiet, her gaze out the window, her thoughts a knot of Addicus's death and her own survival. Peter glanced at her, his hand still on the wheel. "You all right, honey?"
"I'm okay," she said, her voice distant. "Just… he's gone. I never thought I'd live to see this day, not have to fear him."
"How does it feel?" Peter asked, his eyes gentle but questioning.
She hesitated, the truth raw. "Part of me's glad, but… there's sadness there too. I don't know why." Her words hung, weighty, and she said nothing more.
Peter tightened his grip on her hand, offering a reassuring smile, needing silence in her. The highway unwound ahead, Jacksonville's skyline in view, a vision of repose.
.
.
.
Mrs. Karen greeted them home, apron splattered with flour, house filled with the aroma of freshly baked bread. "Sharon!" she cried, hugging her tightly. "Thank God you're home safe. I was so afraid."
“I’m okay, Aunty,” Sharon said, exhaustion weighing her down. “Just tired. Need a bath and sleep.”
“Go rest, dear,” Mrs. Karen said. “I’ll visit tomorrow, you'll tell me everything. Alright?”
Sharon nodded, managing a weak smile. Mrs. Karen left, and Chris headed to his quarters, leaving Peter and Sharon alone. The house felt both familiar and foreign, its quiet a stark contrast to the cliff’s chaos.
Sharon, feeling dirty herself, headed for the shower, the hot water a balm. Peter stood outside, voice low. "May I come in?"
"Of course," she said, opening to him.
He shed his clothes, slipping under the spray, the vapor curling around them, "Let me help you," he said, washing her scalp, his fingers gentle. "Ever told you I adore your hair?"
"A few times," she laughed, a smile breaking through.
His hands dipped lower, caressing her skin, his face against her neck warm. "And the rest of you?"
She turned to him, her gaze meeting his, her hands on his biceps. "I missed you, Peter. I want you—all of you."
He ended her kiss, guilt flashing across his face. "I'm sorry," he murmured, eyes closed. "I should've found you sooner. He… I promised to protect you."
“Look at me,” she said, lifting his chin. “He didn’t mark me. Rape wasn’t the worst he did—I’ve survived worse. I’ll move on from this.”
Their lips met, sealing their reunion, the shower’s heat a cocoon of renewal, as the forest’s terrors began to fade.