Music Recommendation: Guilty as sin? by Taylor Swift.
...….
He looked at her like she was something mythic. Something cursed. Something holy. Like she might be his undoing if he doesn't step away.
He took a step away from her. "Unfinished," he said.
Her throat tightened.
For a heartbeat, silence throbbed between them like a second heart. Her eyes searched his, and something stirred in her. Something rare in the way he looked back. Or was she just reading meanings to him?
There was longing there. And guilt. Plus wonder. His gaze wrapped her like a warm coat, like he'd look after her, no matter what.
He took a step forward, the space between them shrinking like the world was collapsing. She could smell the faint, cold scent of rain on his coat. Most especially, his icy scent suffocated her.
"You didn't come here to fix me, did you?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
His eyes didn't waver. "No."
"Good," she whispered, stepping back like she was trying to steady herself. "Because I don't want to be fixed."
He didn't stop her.
Rielle's fingers curled at her sides, knuckles white. The weight of silence between them wasn't empty. It was dense, and humming, like the moments before an earthquake.
Her ribs felt like they were made of glass, brittle from holding too much breath, too much want, too much everything.
Xander was still standing there. Breathing like he was barely holding himself together. Like one wrong move would make him shatter too.
This was the closest he had ever stood before her. This was the most human she had ever seen him. He still wore his gloves but tonight, they felt a bit transparent to her.
She stepped closer.
Carefully. Slowly. She didn't try to look like someone seducing, but she reached out like someone reaching for something sacred. Her eyes held his, and for once, he didn't look away. Nor did he try to scare her away with his gaze.
She reached out, her fingers brushing the fabric of his coat. Just above his chest. Just above his heart. The heat of him was steady, but there was tension in his bones, tight and locked beneath her fingertips. She felt it.
"You don't get to look at me like that," she whispered, the words fragile on her tongue. "Like I matter."
Still, he said nothing.
Her hand moved up, higher, until her palm rested gently over his heart. The beat beneath it was steady. And loud. Louder than the silence.
She swallowed, visibly surprised for some reason that he was fully human. His heart beat was normal.
"I should hate you," she added. "But I don't. I don't even know if I ever could."
Xander's eyes fluttered closed.
That was her cue.
She rose to her toes, the distance between their mouths was now a single breath apart. Her lips hovered near his, so close, the air between them warmed. She wasn't trying to seduce him. She wasn't trying to do anything.
She was just tired of being alone in this kind of ache. Just as her lips began to close that little space, his hand lifted.
One hand. Just one. It landed on her shoulder
Not harsh, not cold. It was gentle. It was the first time he touched her.
His touch was soft enough to say I care, yet firm enough to say don't.
"Rielle," he breathed.
Just that. Her name.
Not like a warning. Not like a curse.
Like a plea. He was pleading, and mentally, she saw him on his knees, begging her not to. Not one knee, but with both knees. That was the weight of his voice.
Like he was begging her not to kiss him, not because he didn't want it but because he did. Too much. Too much that it could destroy them both.
She froze, caught in that moment. Her breath ghosted across his mouth. Her lashes fluttered, and her heart stumbled.
The look in his eyes wrecked her more than any kiss would have. Because it wasn't rejection, it was restraint.
He was the first man without rejection in his eyes towards her. Could it be because she had a new face and a new personality?
It was something ancient and aching, something that said: If I taste you now, I won't survive the aftermath.
Her throat bobbed. "Xander…"
He didn't answer. His teeth clenched, and his chest heaved. He clenched and unclenched his fist, tempted to run his hand through his hair.
He stepped back. He wasn't escaping, he was surrendering. The fire was too much and he needed to leave before it consumed him.
And without another word, he turned, and walked out. The hallway behind him swallowed his tall frame in shadow, the way only someone haunted could disappear.
He left the door wide open.
Rielle stood in the middle of the room, alone, the memory of her name still echoing in the walls like an unfinished prayer.
She pressed a hand to her chest, to the hollow space he didn't fill. She swallowed multiple times, wondering what just happened.
"What just happened?" she whispered in disbelief, with her fingers pressing on her lips.
She staggered backward, a bit too scared to think.
Her knees hit the edge of the bed, and she sat down hard, as if the weight of everything that didn't happen had slammed into her chest like a wrecking ball. Her fingers were still on her lips. They tingled. Not from the kiss but from the absence of it. From the heat he left behind and the echo of what he didn't take.
She should be relieved. That he left. That she didn't make a mistake.
But she wasn't.
Rielle dragged in a breath, a shaky that was too loud in the quiet room. The echo of his footsteps still clung to the floorboards like ghosts refusing to leave. She tilted her head toward the open door, half-expecting—half-hoping—he'd come back.
He didn't. Of course he didn't. Men like Xander always leave just when they're about to become human.
She stood again, dazed, and made her way to the mirror, like some part of her needed to see what he saw. What stopped him. What almost broke him.
Her reflection stared back at her. Stormy eyes, red hair, parted lips, a wildness in her that hadn't been there before. Not this raw. Not this open. She didn't look like herself.
She looked like a woman on the verge of burning.
Her chest rose and fell as she touched the glass, as if trying to feel herself from the outside in. Trying to find the version of her he saw. Because in his eyes, she'd caught a glimpse of something ruinous and reverent.
It wasn't love. It was worse. It was recognition.
Like he knew her pain.
Like it mirrored his.
She turned away from the mirror and wrapped her arms around herself, the cold biting her skin despite the room being warm. Everything inside her trembled.
What would've happened if she'd kissed him? What would've happened if he hadn't stopped her?
She closed her eyes, remembering the way he said her name. Just her name. And how it had felt like a lifetime poured into two syllables.
"Rielle."
Not a curse. Not a claim. A plea.
The sound of it crawled down her spine.
She wanted to scream. Or sleep. Or crawl into the silence he left behind and scream his name back at him like an answer.
Instead, she moved to the door, slowly, like she was walking through fog. She reached for the handle to close it, but her hand paused halfway. Her fingers curled around the knob and squeezed.
He'd left it open.
Deliberately. Also, why did he give her the name Rielle? Why does her new life look planned by him for a long time now?