Fable of Happiness (Fable #2) by Pepper Winters

I’d wanted to talk too.

I’d wanted to apologize.

To ask if she was okay.

But the words lodged in my throat, slowly sliding into my stomach where they putrefied.

I couldn’t understand how she wasn’t running—regardless of her assurances that she wouldn’t.

I was in constant pain, waiting for the moment she took off, never to be seen again.

Every hour that she stayed did something to me.

Every minute that she watched me prepare dinner had confirmed what I’d already known had to happen.

I’d been alone for eleven years. I’d had Gemma for only a few weeks.

Yet all it’d taken was a single afternoon to change everything. Or at least, I thought it was a single afternoon. Who knew where my head had been when we’d shared a bath together the night before? What had we discussed? What promises had we given? Had I already reached the conclusion that, despite my selfishness at wanting to keep her, my conscience could no longer condone it?

I couldn’t remember the moment my heart switched loyalties.

I couldn’t remember yesterday...but today? Today had affected me to the point where I was done with all of this. Done with keeping her prisoner. Done with pretending I felt nothing.

I couldn’t do this anymore because I wanted her so fucking much.

I wanted her more than I wanted to keep my secrets. I wanted her with every breath, ensuring my very existence switched from me to her.

It felt as if the switch had happened in a flash, but really, it’d been creeping over me ever since that first fateful day.

I hadn’t wanted to admit it. I’d buried it like all my other unwanted thoughts, but tonight, I couldn’t hide from reality anymore.

The truth of how I felt was undeniable, unexplainable, and went against all my convictions that I would never have the strength to love again.

Turned out, my heart was a liar.

And it made me fucking sick to think how I’d treated her—treated her the same way I’d been treated with no remorse, no kindness. I’d fed off my vengeance and justified my actions every time I forced myself upon her.

I’d shut down the human pieces of me, the parts that recognized what she could become. I’d done my best to fight the inevitable.

But now? Christ, now I felt that guilt, that remorse. I felt it like a hammer, smashing my skull, my heart, my bones.

I wanted to take everything back.

I wanted to confess that she’d yanked out my heart and claimed it for her own. That having her care for me for weeks, nursing a concussed asshole with the temper of a bear and the history of a brutalized boy, had finally snapped me into pieces.

She’d systematically turned me against myself.

And it’d all come to a head as she willingly, happily, worked beside me, hauling armfuls of wood, wiping sweat off her brow as she stacked neat rows for winter, helping me prepare for a season where everything died.

Each winter, I’d always hoped I’d die.

I didn’t have the balls to slit my wrists or starve myself to death, but winter did offer a roulette of existence. All it would take was to walk outside in the dark with no clothing. To lie in the snow. To go to sleep. It wouldn’t be quick, but at least it would be over.

Winter was when my will to stop surviving became vicious and cruel.

But this winter wouldn’t be like that.

I would have company. Her company. I would have a body to snuggle up with. A girl to talk to. A lover who I would do anything to make happy.

And wasn’t that the fucking kicker?

I finally accepted that I couldn’t live without her. I wouldn’t be able to face another endless blizzard where ice coated everything and loneliness ate my very soul.

I couldn’t do it.

I wouldn’t survive another winter on my own.

Which meant I was choosing to end myself because she couldn’t stay here.

She couldn’t be trapped in this valley with me when the snow arrived and covered everything in thick white. She couldn’t exist in this house while my mind slowly disintegrated into nothing.

The amnesia would only get worse.

The blackouts could last for years.

I was a menace, a danger, and I would never be able to live with myself if I hurt her again.

I was her enemy, even if she no longer saw it.

I was her killer, even as she worked beside me and didn’t run.

She has to leave.

The moment she’d hacked off the chain, I’d known it.

The second she asked me to touch her harder, I’d crumpled inside because I finally knew that the kid inside me—the kid who’d sacrificed everything for those he loved—was still in there. Still fighting to be good, even if he’d disappeared for a while.

All it’d taken was Gemma choosing me, showing me that I could be wanted, preparing to help me survive a brutal season, and she’d resurrected a piece of me that I’d thought was long dead.

A piece that’d died the moment my family left and never came back.

A piece I didn’t want anymore.

I didn’t want to be the martyr. I didn’t want to put her needs before my own. I needed her help harvesting, prepping, and weatherproofing for the snow, I knew that.

But now? Christ, now I wouldn’t be able to accept her help. Because that damn piece of me that should’ve stayed dead was back. It was her fault. Her fault for being so fucking wonderful.