Trapped by Lies (Truth or Lies 3)

Love is fear.

Love is dangerous.

I understand, it’s how I feel. I’ve never felt so vulnerable as I do now—loving him.

I didn’t want to admit it to myself. He’s evil incarnate. But it doesn’t matter. Because he’s my evil, and I’m his broken.

And I’m completely fucked. Because as much as I love Enzo, he will never admit his love back. He will never show his love beyond protecting me, beyond claiming me as his.

I thought that could be enough, being his. But my heart is already pierced by his confession. He doesn’t love me. He’s willing to give me up when this is over.

Enzo deserves to be Black. I already think of him as Black. But I will fight every day to prolong the game as long as possible. Because the longer the game lasts, the longer I get Enzo. And I need him, forever.

I need him to love me like I love him.

I’m only just learning what love means. It’s the first time, I’ve admitted it to myself. I thought I wasn’t capable of love. But maybe because I’m not capable of loving someone who isn’t broken. And Enzo is

as broken as it comes. His life has been just as tortuous as mine.

I should end it. Give him peace. Let him win what he deserves. I spent six years being tortured. He’s spent his entire life. But I’m selfish. I want him. I love him. And if I only get a few more months to love him, then so be it. I’ll take it. I just won’t ever admit it. Because admitting my feelings out loud would hurt worse than keeping them inside.

I’ve forgiven him for hurting me, which only verifies my feelings for him. Only my love for him could allow me to forgive him for the sins he’s committed against me. And these feelings are going to screw me over more than anything else.

I’ve been tortured, abused, shot, but I’ve never had a broken heart. Never had love ripped from me. And I know that’s where our journey ends. With my heart bleeding for him.

Enzo stirs. His body is draped over me, warming me more than any blanket or heater ever could. I never liked fire, never liked being hot living in the Miami sun, but with Enzo I welcome it.

He smiles at me.

“You’re sticky,” I say with a smile. The condom fell off sometime while we were sleeping and his cum now sticks to my thigh.

“You complaining?”

I stretch. “I guess not.” I smile wider. I’ll never complain as long as I keep getting sex like that. It wasn’t my intention when we started. I just wanted him to understand how serious this is to me. This isn’t a game. This is my life.

But then I made the mistake of touching him, and that lit a flame neither of us knows how to extinguish.

“Shower with me,” he commands instead of asking.

He rolls off me, and the bed dips as he stands up.

I nod and slowly follow. Apparently being in love means I don’t mind when he gives me orders. Am I doomed to spend the rest of my time with him meek and weak, merely following orders like a lovesick puppy?

Yes, and I’ll be all too happy to do it.

I watch Enzo walk; his tight ass is too hard not to watch as we enter his ginormous bathroom. He starts the shower before tossing the condom in the trash bin.

His eyes are fixed on me, and he stops me to examine my neck wound.

“Does it hurt?” he asks.

I shake my head. Of course it hurts, but it’s nothing compared to what I know I will feel when we are over.

He frowns. He knows I’m lying. He drops his hand and disappears into the bedroom, reappearing with two pills and a bottle of water. I take the pills without arguing and then take a sip of water to wash them down.

He nods, satisfied.

And then we step into the shower, neither of us keeping our eyes off each other. We stand close together but don't touch. If he moves, I move, like a dance we orchestrated, instead of a stalemate.