𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐔𝐒 || ʲᵒᵉˡ ᵐⁱˡˡᵉʳ

xxxii

|[chapter thirty-two]|

" I'd be the choiceless hope in grief
that drove him underground "

Indiana, 2023

COLETTE AWOKE TO THE DISORIENTING SENSATION of being both enveloped in warmth and exposed to the cool air of the morning. For a moment, she lay still, her mind foggy, trying to piece together the fragmented memories of the night before. The blanket was a modest shield against the chill, but as she shifted slightly, the realization of her nakedness beneath it brought her fully awake. Joel lay beside her, the peaceful rise and fall of his chest indicating his deep, untroubled sleep, his own bare skin partially covered by another blanket.

Panic seized her, swift and unyielding, as the weight of their actions began to dawn on her. She went rigid, her heart hammering in her chest, a mix of emotions swirling within her—shock, confusion, and an overwhelming sense of urgency to escape the scene before Joel woke up. Carefully, so as not to disturb him, she extricated herself from the blanket, her movements cautious and deliberate. Her eyes scanned the room for her clothes, finding them discarded haphazardly across the floor, a silent testament to the unrestrained heat that had overtaken them the previous night.

With her clothes clutched to her chest in shaking hands, Colette cast a lingering glance at Joel. The soft morning light bathed him in a glow that softened the hard edges and scarf life had etched into him, revealing Joel. It was this image, so at odds with the rugged, impenetrable man she knew, that spurred her into motion. Within her heart pounding a frantic rhythm, she made her way to the sanctuary of another room, the need for distance to process their actions driving her forward.

As Colette leaned against the door, her heart hammered against her chest, a wild, insistent drumming that seemed to echo through the silent room. She swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump that had formed in her throat, a physical manifestation of the turmoil swirling within her. Her hand drifted to her neck, fingertips brushing against the sensitive skin where she could still feel the ghost of Joel's lips from the night before. The memory sent a shiver down her spine, a mixture of fear, excitement, and a warmth that she couldn't quite name, when their defenses had finally crumbled, the touch, the kisses—each memory a brushstroke painting a picture of their surrender to the desire they had both tried so hard to ignore. The heat, the urgency, the profound sense of pleasure—it was all there, in vivid detail, leaving her breathless all over again.