Page 22 of The Last Guardian

“So, how was the East?” I asked, trying to lighten my mood.

“It’s quite picturesque,” Nevan replied, his gaze burning a shade of russet, “but I must admit, I’ve been feeling quite lonely without you.”

“Ah.” I grimaced, glancing away.

For a moment, we walked in silence, and I wasn’t sure how to bring up the subject. I decided to talk about the letter he had sent me before he arrived in town.

“So,” I said softly. I stopped near the greenhouse, looking at him, trying to put some distance between us. “What’s this matter you wanted to discuss?”

But Nevan didn’t answer.

Instead, he pinned me against the greenhouse wall with all his strength, and his lips met mine, forcing. Pressuring.

What was he doing? I tried to push him away, but he kept touching me, using his arms to hold me back.

“I miss your taste and touching you,” Nevan murmured against my jaw.

I pushed against his chest. “Stop, Nevan! I don’t want this.”

But he ignored me, slipping his hand beneath my dress without permission. Roughly. I turned my head, avoiding his kiss. Nausea welled up inside me, but Nevan persisted, his breath warm against my skin.

“You always say ‘no’ when you mean ‘yes,’” Nevan teased. “I am used to it now.”

“I said, stop!” I snapped, but it only made him hungrier.

He gripped my wrists and pinned them above my head.

I froze.

My voice faltered. “Don’t,” a sob escaped me, “please.”

“You won’t remember,” Nevan assured me, with a hint of promise. “Just like always, gorgeous.”

Always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always.

Over and over, the word repeated itself in my head, like a foreign tongue that I was struggling to understand. Was it something he had said before? Had he done this often when we were together like this? I dug through my memories, dipping my hand into a sea of misty thoughts, but nothing rose to the surface. A sensation of longing for something I couldn’t quite pin down washed over me.

No single memory of us together came back to me. Why? Just fleeting glimpses of smiles and mirth. A gentle caress on my waist. The weight of his body in the darkness of a bedroom.

None of this was tangible enough to latch onto or label.

Nothing I could define or recount.

I could not remember.

None of our intimate moments came back to me. Not his warmth. Nor the breathless moments before it happened. No glances exchanged, no tender words in my ear. Only after I awoke next to him, wrapped in sheets, my body sore. His arm over my stomach. But never the act. Had I ever been awake to refuse?

I remembered the beginning, but then it became hazy… Since when? I tried to remember, to find a moment when it had changed, but… A chill ran down my spine.

Perhaps I had convinced myself that this was normal, that love from someone should feel like this. That forgetfulness was simply slumber. But now—with my body pressed against the window, my wrists trapped above my head, and fear coursing down my spine—I understood.

This wasn’t new.

The gardens grew quiet; the sound of shattering glass echoed behind me. Nevan unfastened his trousers as I cried out… But no one could hear me from here. Tears of fire ran down my face as my mind disconnected from my body.

I tried to promise myself that I would remember this time. Not to let him make me forget. How did he manage to make me forget?

My body stopped fighting. My strength left me. And I gave up, staying still, as you did when you knew no one would come to save you. When you could not save yourself.