You Could Stay.

I officially suck. Not only have I failed to produce ONE finished novel, but I have been dashing back and fourth between Volumes 1-3 of Raze. I worked out an entire plotline from Trent's poorly constructed character background for Vol 1 and began writing it, only to think "Man, Vol 3 is going to be SO MUCH FUN. So, here's some Volume 3, towards the end of the novel no less.

"You could stay," she said, squeezing my hand. Her finger tips looked so pale and dainty across my knuckles. I remembered how her hand looked in mine the day I'd slipped the ring over her finger, the day she said "yes."

"I can't, Estelle." I stroked my thumb across her skin then raised my eyes to meet hers. "I'm not the same person you once... knew." Saying "loved" may have been more accurate, but it stung too much to verbalize.

"Trent.. back then, I was young and stupid and scared, and I'm sorry, I truly am. But I don't care what you are."

I cracked a small, sad smile.

"What I am isn't the problem. It's who I am, who I've become... the things I've seen, the things I've done..." I got to my feet, pulling my hand gently from hers.

"What could you possibly have done?" She folded her arms over her chest, stubborn and insecure all at once. "Despite all this talk, when I look in your eyes I still see you. You look sad, you look confused, you look desperate, but you still look like the man I fell in love with."

I flinched at hearing her say that word.

"Looks can be deceiving," I replied quietly. "Estelle... you have a good life here. You have a steady job, a beautiful home, an ambitious future. I have..." I looked down the hallway, towards the bedroom where Gabe and the others were resting or at least politely pretending to. "I'm not part of the world you live in any more."

"You could be," she said. "Or I could be part of your world."

I let out a bark of incredulous laughter and for a moment was angry at her, irritated that she could be stupid enough to think it that simple.

"Part of my world? My world? The last time I dragged you into my world, a man nearly killed you. Or have you forgotten that already?"

Estelle went very still, and her eyes revealed that her mind was somewhere else, a darker place. When she returned, she looked me very squarely in the eye.

"I haven't forgotten. Not a day goes by that I don't remember that night," she took a step forward, defiant. "But even when he was tearing my clothing off, even when he had that gun pressed to my temple, do you want to know what I was thinking about? I was thinking about you, lying on the floor, dying. The thought of losing you was scarier than anything he could have done to me." Her eyes dropped. "The sick irony is, he didn't take you away from me that night. I sent you away. And ever since that day, I've wondered how things could have been different if I could have just accepted you."

The look on her face was strong, but her voice was faltering. I reached out to gently brush her cheek, then tilted her chin up to face me. She looked at me with those clear, beautiful blue eyes, her expression almost begging.

"Oh Estelle." I smiled. "How could you, how could anyone possibly accept me? I don't accept myself."