Chapter 6: When Wanting Became the Problem
Wanting was quiet at first.
It lived in small things, like the way I noticed Lucien's footsteps and knew it was him before I saw him. Or how my body relaxed when he was near, as if safety had a shape and it looked like him. Wanting didn't ask permission. It didn't care about contracts or rules or carefully built walls.
It just existed.
I tried to bury it under routine. Wake up. School. Homework. Dinner. Sleep. Repeat. If I stayed busy enough, maybe my heart wouldn't have time to misbehave.
It didn't work.
One evening, Lucien came home later than usual. I was on the couch, pretending to read, though I'd been stuck on the same page for twenty minutes. The door clicked open, and I looked up automatically.
"You're late," I said.
He loosened his tie. "Work ran long."
"Oh."
That should have been the end of it. Instead, silence stretched between us, awkward and heavy.
"You waited up," he said.
"I was studying."
He glanced at the untouched book. "Of course."
I felt heat rush to my face. "Why does that sound like you don't believe me?"
"Because," he said carefully, "you look disappointed."
"I'm not."
"You are," he insisted softly.
The truth pressed against my chest, painful and undeniable. "You don't get to question me like that."
Lucien's expression shifted, regret flashing across his face. "You're right. I'm sorry."
He walked past me toward the kitchen, and something in me snapped.
"Why do you care?" I blurted out.
He stopped.
"Why does it matter if I wait up?" I continued, standing now, my voice shaking. "Why does it matter what people say, or what I feel, or whether I'm hurt? This is just a contract, right?"
Lucien turned slowly. "Is that what you think?"
"That's what you said," I replied. "No emotions. No expectations."
He rubbed a hand over his face, tension radiating from him. "I said that because it was supposed to protect you."
"From what?" I demanded. "From you?"
His silence was answer enough.
The argument burned out as quickly as it flared. We retreated to opposite ends of the house, wounded in ways that didn't have names yet.
The next morning, we avoided each other.
By afternoon, I hated it.
I found him in the garage that evening, sleeves rolled up, working on something I didn't recognize. The smell of oil and metal filled the air.
"We need to talk," I said.
He didn't look up. "About what?"
"About us."
That got his attention. He straightened slowly, eyes guarded. "There is no 'us.'"
The words hurt more than I expected.
"Then why does it feel like there is?" I asked quietly.
Lucien stepped closer, stopping just far enough away to be safe. "Because feelings don't disappear just because you tell them to."
"So you admit it," I whispered.
He closed his eyes briefly. "I admit that this is becoming dangerous."
"For who?" I asked again.
"For you," he said immediately. "For me."
I laughed, hollow. "I didn't know wanting something could be so terrifying."
Lucien opened his eyes, and for a moment, all the control slipped. "I'm scared because I want more than I should."
The confession hung between us, fragile and exposed.
"We can stop," I said. "We can go back to pretending."
He shook his head. "Once you see something clearly, pretending becomes a lie."
My heart raced. "Then what do we do?"
Lucien took a step back, creating distance where there had almost been none. "We remember why this started."
"Because we needed each other," I said.
"Because we needed survival," he corrected. "Not love."
The word hit like a slap.
I nodded, blinking back tears. "Right."
That night, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, realizing something that scared me more than rumors or rules.
Wanting wasn't the problem anymore.
The problem was that Lucien wanted too.
And if this kept going, one of us was going to get hurt in a way no contract could protect.