Emily McIntire

Time heals nothing. Just gives things more space to grow and fester and rot.

It’s fake. Just a chemical reaction that people pretend is more.

here I get to enjoy watc

Sitting across from her, I uncork the champagne and pour us both a glass, ignoring the way my chest pulls at the sight of her surrounded by the pinks and purples of the sunset. I wasn’t lying when I told her she was beautiful. She is.

Achingly so.

My chest pulls, insides reeling as I stare down at her, realizing that I’ve never held such beauty in my hands.

And in this moment, I’m not sure how I’ll let her go.

I’ve never done a drug in my life, but I imagine it feels similar to the way it does when Wendy courses through my veins.

All-consuming.

“Darling, if I’m the dark, then you’re the stars.”

For anyone who has been the villain in someone else’s story

I rest my fingers on the counter. “I appreciate the gesture, but… I have plans tonight.”

“That’s right,” he says. “With me.”

“A man can have many things, darling.” He steps in closer. “But the only beauty I hope to have tonight is yours.”