75

DAHLIA I must’ve fallen asleep. Because the next time I open my eyes, Kane’s not in bed. It’s large and consuming and smells of him, but he’s not here. Morning light spills through the large window, but the room is empty and desolate. My throat closes and bile rises up, choking my breaths. I think I’m going to be sick. The silence sounds violent, cruel. There isn’t even the rain to distort it. I look in the direction of the bathroom. “Kane?” Even as I call his name, I know he’s not there. His presence is gone and so are his kisses, his dirty and soft whispers. “Go to sleep now, Dahlia.” Those were the last words he told me, after he dried my hair and held me to his chest. After I asked him about his tattoos and he said the crow represented freedom and the serpent was about control. After he let me stroke his chest and mumble incoherent words against him. After he kissed my forehead and I felt like a little girl who was just too exhausted and needed sleep. Because his arms were safe. Hi