His words repeated in my mind, a relentless chant that slowly chipped away at my anger, leaving only a hollow ache of sorrow behind. I knew three months wasn’t a lifetime. I had survived a year without him before, yet this felt different. This pain was raw and fresh, a wound that hadn’t had time to heal yet. I didn’t understand why it hurt so much, perhaps it was because of the intense emotional state that I was in at the moment.

  “Three months...” I said to myself beneath my breath, hoping to make sense of the chaos swirling inside me.

  Gunner saw my whisper as an invitation. He leaned in, and this time, he succeeded. His lips brushed against my forehead, soft and warm then, he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me tight against him.

  “Please, Syl…” he murmured, his voice low and filled with an ache that mirrored my own. “Please...”

  His cries began to fade, while mine grew louder and more desperate.

  In his strong embrace, I felt the weight of my sadness pressing down on me, heavy and unyielding. I needed to let it all out before I burst apart at the seams. With my trembling fist, I hit him—not hard, just a gentle reminder of my suffering, a plea for understanding rather than a desire to hurt. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he wrapped his arms tighter around me, as if trying to shield me from my own pain. His hand found its way to my head, gently patting it.

  "Shhhh... I know... Shhhh..." His voice enveloped me like a warm bnket, calming and soothing. “Everything will be okay.”

  "Gunner..." I whispered, my voice cracking under the weight of my sorrow as I continued to hit him. "Please don't let go... Please don't... Please, Gunner, don't... Don't go..."

  "I'm here now, Syl. I'm not going anywhere," he reassured as a fragile promise neither of us truly believed.

  Longing for intimacy and eager to forget the impending separation, I looked up at him, initiating the kiss this time. My nose collided with his, causing him to flinch. A fsh of pain from the fresh wound I had created what felt like a lifetime ago. But instead of pulling away, he kissed back, his lips moving against mine with an intensity that mirrored my own. Trembling, I undid his pants, my hands shaking as if I were convinced he might vanish before my eyes at any moment. Urgency guided our every move, discarding the yers of clothes that separated us. But only the parts that were essential before he turned me around and prepared me with his spit.

  “Gunner…” I gasped, the sound barely escaping my lips as he pushed himself inside me.

  The cold metal of his belt buckle pressed against my bare behind. It was a sharp discomfort that sent shivers through my spine. But in that moment, there was no pain in the world that could make me deter his fervent thrusts.

  "You're mine, Syl. Fuck... I'm going to miss this so much..." his voice low and primal, filled with possessiveness.

  Each thrust was a decration, each movement a promise that left me breathless. I could only moan in response, lost in the rhythm we created together. The way he cimed me, trying to carve his shape into my hole with a lustful rage yet passionate. A combination I never knew existed. When our lovemaking came to a close, I found myself in his embrace, drifting off to sleep just like always, feeling safe and cherished.

  As the first light of dawn slipped through the gap in the curtains, I jolted awake, feeling a surge of panic, thinking he might have already left.

  "Gunner!" I called out.

  But the warmth of his body still pressed against mine, and a sense of relief washed over me. He looked at me, surprised by my sudden shout, and let out a soft chuckle.

  "Morning, sunshine," he said, a smile spreading across his face, effortlessly handsome.

  I gently shifted, feeling the pain in my left arm and the soreness between my buttocks, a reminder that st night wasn't a dream. I sat up on the edge of the bed. The room was a mess—our clothes on the ground, the first aid kit opened and its contents scattered—another cue that it was not just a fantasy of mine. I wrapped my arms around my knees, staring at the cluttered floor.

  "Morning..." I replied, my voice barely audible.

  He settled in behind me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. I could feel his soft member pressed against my lower back, a touch of a shared secret that belonged only to us. A sign that he was still here, still mine, if only for a brief moment. His breath tickled softly against my cheek, a faint smell of the morning mixed with the metallic tang of yesterday's blood contacted my nostrils. It should have repulsed me, but instead, I felt a heartwarming realization: he was not some untouchable dream, but a man, fwed and real.

  “I should probably get going. Gotta pack up and head home. Spend some time with June too before, you know...”

  “Right.” I nodded, though my stomach twisted at the thought.

  He broke our embrace, leaving a warm and wet patch on my tailbone that quickly turned cold from his absence. When he stood up, flexing his muscles, my heart sank a little deeper. Each piece of fabric he put on felt like another barrier being built, and I could feel the distance between us growing already.

  "I'll miss you..." My voice trembling, a plea for his st touch of affection before we parted ways.

  He walked over and knelt in front of me, pnting a kiss on my forehead.

  "I know," He said nonchantly as if he didn't feel the weight of our goodbyes.

  I looked into his eyes, searching for some sign that he cared as much as I did. But I saw only a void in his gaze, a determination to leave as quickly as possible. As he turned around, I felt an unbearable ache growing in my chest. I wanted to run after him, to hold him tight and never let go. But I stayed rooted to the spot, watching him walk away, a part of me breaking with each step he took. When the door closed behind him, the silence filled the room, heavy and suffocating. It was all so unfair. The way he could just walk into my life, ciming my body and heart without hesitation, then slip away just as easily. He was like a beast with a full stomach, leaving me—a lifeless carcass, a remnant of his feast.