The Undoing [POV: Abigail]
The ride back to my flat felt like a blur. Neither of us spoke. Vincent sat beside me in the passenger seat, his posture tense, his gaze flickering toward me every so often, as if he were waiting for me to stop him—to tell him to leave. But I didn’t. Because, deep down, I didn’t want him to.
When I pulled into my parking space, I shut off the engine and gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white. The rain was still coming down hard, droplets sliding down the windshield like they were racing each other to the bottom. I could hear my own heartbeat, loud and uneven, hammering against my ribs like it was trying to escape.
Vincent shifted beside me, exhaling slowly. “Do you want me to go?”
I turned to him, my breath caught in my throat. He looked at me, really looked at me, his dark eyes searching mine. There was no arrogance, no expectation—just a quiet, careful hesitation, like he was afraid of the answer.
I swallowed hard, knowing I should say yes. Knowing I should tell him that this night, this moment, couldn’t happen.
But instead, I whispered, “Come inside.”
That was all it took.
The second the door to my apartment closed behind us, Vincent was on me.
His hands cupped my face, his lips crashing onto mine, and I let go. Every wall I had built, every attempt I had made to erase him from my heart, shattered in an instant.
I kissed him back with the same desperate intensity, my hands fisting into the wet fabric of his coat, pulling him closer, needing more.
His fingers traced down my arms, my sides, until they gripped my hips, pressing me against him. His breath was ragged, his body tense, like he was barely holding himself together.
“Is it still okay if…” His voice was low, rough, breaking against my skin.
I nodded.
And that was all Vincent needed to hear.
He lifted me effortlessly, carrying me through the dimly lit hallway, his mouth never leaving mine. I barely registered the moment we reached my bedroom, barely noticed the rain still pounding against the windows, because all I could focus on was him. The way his hands moved over my body, the way his lips tasted like everything I had spent months trying to forget.
The moment we hit the bed, it was over.
We didn’t stop.
Didn’t hesitate.
This wasn’t slow. It wasn’t careful.
It was raw, desperate, unforgiving.
A collision of love, anger, pain, and longing—years of history and heartbreak all spilling into a moment neither of us could fight anymore.
And for the first time in a long time, I let myself feel everything.
