Fable of Happiness (Fable #2) by Pepper Winters

“Happy?” he grunted, his hands opening and closing by his sides. He looked lost...ready to break. “How...I don’t—”

“We were happy because we opened ourselves up to what we’ve been fighting all along. You admitted you care for me, Kas. And I...I admitted that I care for you too. We didn’t just sleep together. It was so much more than that.”

He shook his head, his scruff-hidden face clouding with temper. “You already said that, and I already said it’s not possible.”

“Why?” I balled my hands, beginning to tremble. “Why isn’t it possible?”

He looked away, focusing on the ruined rabbit pieces. His eyes danced to the spinach smears, honey puddles, and finally the wallpaper with its violent, bloodstained rips. He sucked in a breath, swaying. “It’s not possible because I would remember something like that. I would remember fucking you. I know I would.” His gaze caught mine, throbbing with the same sort of loss I felt, only his was from disbelief and confusion instead of fear that everything we’d shared was gone. “It’s not possible that I would forget something like that. If I did, then...” He trailed off, inky dread coating him.

He didn’t finish.

He didn’t need to.

I heard the hovering, unspoken words.

If he could forget the intensity of last night. If he could forget how we’d bound ourselves together through sex and confessions, then nothing was sacred. Nothing was safe. All of this. Every day together. Every minute of falling and caring and wanting...was pointless.

Utterly, awfully pointless.

Tears stung my eyes.

How was I supposed to navigate this?

How was I supposed to stay standing after I’d dropped my guard and let him in, trusting that last night had changed both of us?

Was I strong enough to do this again?

Did I have enough love inside me to care for someone who might never love me back?

Grief burned, but I inhaled, fighting for strength. “Last night, you had a moment when you spaced. Maybe...maybe this is just another moment. It will come back. Just relax and let your mind recall—”

“Not going to happen.” He shuddered. “My mind is contaminated. I won’t go poking around looking for something that isn’t real. That can’t be real.”

“But it is real.” I rubbed at my goosebump-riddled arms. “Kas...what you did to me last night—”

“What I did?” He punched himself in the chest. “Oh, so now it’s not about what we did, but what I did?” He stalked toward me. “Go on then, don’t let me stop you. Tell me what other stories you have. Let’s see if you can convince me of something I know goddamn well isn’t true.” His anger was a shield, his pain hiding behind it. He looked as if he was one touch away from shattering—as if being told he’d had what he desperately wanted only to find out he’d let it slip through his fingers was too much to bear.

Everything hurt.

Everything.

“Cat got your tongue?” he snipped.

I arched my chin, wrapping myself up in protection. I’d given him every piece of me last night. I’d done it because I’d sensed he’d be unreachable if I didn’t. And by doing so, I no longer belonged to me.

I was his.

And to have him throw that back in my face?

I choked, rubbing at the throbbing agony in my chest.

“Well?” he barked.

What had he asked? Something about what he’d done? Would he fold to his knees in remorse if I told him he’d raped me? Would he snap out of this godawful amnesia if I told him that I’d hugged him, slept with him, and given him access to my deepest fears, even after he’d done something so cruel?

What if everything we’d shared, every connection we’d formed was gone for good?

Just like that.

God.

I hid my anguish with a curt and brittle voice. “I’m doing my best not to use the truth to hurt you.”

“What truth?” His eyes flashed with fear as well as fury.

“The truth that everything changed last night. All of it.”

“I don’t understand.” His eyes narrowed, unable to hide the thorny discomfort building in him. He gave the impression he was all brawn and brutality, but what would it be like to be told events happened, only to have no memory of them? To have holes in the very fabric of your mind—so many, many holes.

I wanted to scream at him. To lay out every second of yesterday—the good and the bad—and force him to accept reality. To accept...me. To accept us.

But if I did, that would be for my benefit, not his.

It wouldn’t ease his pain.

It wouldn’t help his concussion or his sickness.

If he truly didn’t remember, hearing the truth would be horribly unsettling.

Once again, he’d found a way to strip me of all my power, leaving me lost on what to do.

“Are you going to tell me, Gemma?” he snapped. “Can’t dangle something like that and not follow through. Spit it out.”

“The truth, Kas? You want me to give you the truth?”

“Of course the damn truth.”

His harshness wasn’t him. I’d seen behind it. I knew who he was now, deep inside.

I looked at the carpet where he’d taken me by force. Where I’d screamed at him. Hit him. Begged him. All while he’d rutted into me with deranged ferocity. I looked at the wall where I’d willingly straddled him, sank on him, and hugged him as he’d broken.