Light flashes in my eyes. I squeeze them shut in an effort to block it out. It’s too much.

“Shhh.” That voice. It’s so soft, so gentle. How could a sound so sweet have hurt my ears before? “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Fingers stroke the side of my waist in slow, soothing motions. An arm is still curled around me, a warm body pushed up against my back. I start to breathe again, one inhale at a time. It’s okay. I’m okay.

As though sensing my relief, the hold around me loosens, letting me go little by little. I let my eyes open. One by one, each piece of furniture comes into view. My furniture. My photographs above the mantle.

And then it clicks. Where I am, and who I’m with.

I whirl around, almost losing my balance if it weren’t for his arm keeping me steady. It’s him. Right in front of me. He’s okay. I’m okay. That place . . . How did I lose myself like that? A visible shudder runs down my spine as it all sinks in. I never would have found my way out of the darkness, not with the all-consuming way it lured me in.

I could have been stranded there forever. An empty soul. A lost mind. A silent shadow.

Content with never speaking. Never feeling. Never loving. Never fighting. Never touching. Forever numb. Even now, the empty sensation crawls across my skin. How could I have thought I needed that?

All at once my fingers are in his hair, my face buried in the curve of his neck, standing on my tiptoes as I curl my arms around him and let silent tears run down my cheeks. His body stills in my hold, like he doesn’t know how to react. But soon he pulls me in, warm arms wrapping tightly around me and enveloping me in his soothing heat.

I take in the scent of him, dizzyingly masculine. The texture of his hair, soft and full. The frame of his build, large and strong. The way his chest rises and falls, pressing against mine with each movement. The way his fingers twist my silk robe as though he can’t get close enough, reminding me of just how thin the material is.

My breathing picks up, a bit faster, harder. My mouth is already so close to his neck . . . I inch closer, until my parted lips brush over his throat. It’s such a subtle move, barely noticeable, yet the way his fingers dig into my skin in response tells me he’s just as aware of our bodies as I am. My eyes close as I listen to his breathing quicken.

It’s not quiet, the way it hits me—the deep-rooted need to feel him. To touch him. To have him touch me. Kiss, taste, explore. Take me as far away from the numbness as possible and just make me feel something. Make me feel everything.

My lips are pressed against his neck before I even register what I’m doing. They part a little more, until I’m kissing, tasting, exploring. A raw, guttural sound vibrates from his throat as I make my way up to his jaw, and for a moment he tightens his grip around me. But then he lifts his chin, pulling his lips away from my reach just before I can find them.

“Lou . . .” It’s a plea, a desperate sort of groan.

Fine, if he won’t let me have his lips, I’ll take the parts of him I can reach. My mouth finds its way back to his neck, his collarbone, then my hand slips under his T-shirt, the fire of his skin coursing through me and making me feel alive. Exactly what I want. Exactly what I need.

His hands come down on my waist, planting me in place as he takes a step back. All that I’m left with is the grip on my waist and the heat I’m growing used to, and it’s not enough. Every moment without feeling him is like another moment of being in the void, and I don’t want it to take over. I can’t let it take over.

“Lou . . . I can’t.”

“Why?” My exasperation is clear in my voice, my hand running through my hair. “Why can’t you? Tell me.”

He blows out a breath, his jaw clenching as he drops his head.

“Just tell me already. Please. Do you not want to be here with me? Do you not want to touch me?”

“I—dammit, Lou. Of course I want to be here with you. Of course I want to”—his hands come up and scrub down his face—“to touch you.”

“Then why won’t you? I’m throwing myself at you, and all you can do is push me away. What is it? Why won’t you let me want you?”

“Because—” He squeezes his eyes shut, inhaling deeply. “Because it’s not real, Lou. None of it is real.”

“What?” I’m shaking my head. “What are you talking about?”

“Haven’t you ever wondered why you’re so drawn to someone like me?” He turns and takes a few steps away, fast and intimidating, with tense waves of anger rippling through each movement. “Why you weren’t scared that first night in your bathroom, when you couldn’t even see me?”

“I—I was scared. Kind of.”

“No, you weren’t. I see fear every day, Lou. And you, you weren’t scared.”

I don’t reply, because he’s right. That first night, and the next, I remember thinking I should have been scared. It would have been the logical reaction. But I wasn’t. Instead I felt calm. I felt trust. And I wanted more.

“You felt connected to me immediately, didn’t you?” He’s taking a step toward me now, his voice quieting. “Just like that night in the lake. A pull to me, a call.”

Still, I say nothing. What can I say that he doesn’t already seem to know?

He comes closer. “It’s not something I can shut off.” And closer. “But you need to know, Lou. You need to know that what you think you feel for me? It’s. Not. Real.”

He whips away before I can respond, making his way to the far window and leaning forward, gripping its ledge. I stare at his back, unsure of what to say, what to feel. The trouble is, I’m not feeling much of anything right now. I suppose I should be experiencing a sense of shock, or anger, or unease. And I can sense it trying to stir within me, the appropriate reaction.

But all I can think about, all I can remember, is the darkness. The void. The numbness. The single moment I lost any semblance of who I was, including any will to find out. All in a matter of what? Minutes? Seconds? And I was calling that place my home. I blended into the pitch-black pit so completely I became it. Any memories before entering it were gone, wiped clean, any sense of purpose taken with them.

Is that what my life will be soon? Will my heart just stop, and then poof, I’ll be a barren shadow of the void? An empty soul, unable to experience anything? A slave to the darkness, forever?

I can’t suppress the way my lips tremble at the thought of it all, and I don’t want to, either. I don’t want to suppress any emotions at all, whether sad or happy. Right or wrong. Not tonight. Not after that glimpse of my future.

“I am scared,” I finally whisper, gazing distantly at his back. “I’m scared that I won’t wake up tomorrow. I’m scared my heart will freeze, and then when I open my eyes I’ll be stuck there, in that horrible place. But mostly . . . mostly I’m terrified of the way I won’t even fight to get free. The way I’ll think I need it, the numbness that takes over.”

He pushes off the ledge, slowly turning to face me.

“Do you know that I can still feel it lingering on me, even now?” I continue, taking a step in his direction. “Like this heavy, sticky, empty sensation I can’t seem to shake. I just want to feel something.” My voice breaks, betraying my desperation, but I don’t care. I keep my steps slow and steady, one in front of the other. “I want a little bit. I want a lot. See, I don’t care if what I feel for you is real or not, because it’s sure as hell real enough to me. Just tell me one thing . . . is what you feel real?”

He rips his gaze away from me, shakes his head. “That doesn’t matter, Lou. I’m not going to take advantage of the situation—”

“Answer the question. Is what you feel for me real?”

“Lou—”

“Yes. Or no. It’s a simple question, really. Just—”

“Yes,” he grits out, giving his head another shake and distancing himself. “Okay? Yes, the way I spend every damn second of every damn day thinking about you is real. Yes, the way I wish I could spend every Sunday with you so you’ll never have to cry again is real. The way I wonder what it’d be like to be here when you wake up, to hold you when I want to, to kiss your lips, kiss your neck—yes, it’s fucking real.” He sweeps his hands across his eyes and pulls his hair. “Is that what you want to know?”

A fresh tear escapes, and I nod. Soak in the new feelings pouring into me. The shock over his confession. The way it almost makes me sadder, knowing I may never get the chance to hear those words from him again. May never again get to see that expression on his handsome face, both pained and longing as he stares deep into my eyes.

“So show me,” I plead softly, taking a step forward. “Just for tonight, show me what it’s like to feel. To be kissed, to be held, to be wanted by you.”