My eyes were closed, and I couldn’t see him, and I couldn’t hear him, and all I heard was my heart beating out of sync. For a minute at least, it was all I heard.
I didn’t see him move, but his arms wrapped all the way around me, around my knees and my back. He held me. I let myself go. He kissed the top of my head, and I nuzzled into his neck.
“You do what you do,” he said, “and I love you for it.”
“You love me? All stupid? All covered in blood?”
“I love you,” he said.
His hand went into my hair, and he held me like he used to. He held me like he wanted me. I took him by the beard and pulled his face against mine, felt his lips against mine, open-mouthed. His hands went to my hips, my fingers dug into his chest.
Smoke drifted up from the ruins of our home, and love was something in my gut and it made me want to live.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Begin Reading
Copyright
Copyright © 2016 by Margaret Killjoy
Art copyright © 2016 by Mark Smith
Everything That Isn't Winter Page 3
