Chapter 5 The Things We Touch in the Dark

Chapter 5: The Things We Touch in the Dark

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The storm came without warning.

Wind howled like a beast outside the D'Amelio estate, rain lashing against the windows like a thousand desperate hands trying to break in. Lightning cracked the sky open, throwing wild shadows across the grand hallways and flickering the antique chandeliers.

Inside, the mansion felt smaller-claustrophobic. The storm shrunk the world down to these walls, to the echoes of footsteps, to the unspoken things that hovered between me and Christopher like poison and promise.

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I had barely slept.

Every time I closed my eyes, the water haunted me-the way it pulled me under, how Christopher's face blurred with the waves, and then the desperate, silent scream of Aurelia.

I couldn't escape the sense that something terrible was waiting to surface.

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That night, Ethan's absence was a sharp cut. His voice didn't fill the rooms. His hands didn't brush my skin. Instead, I was left with cold sheets and the heavy weight of silence.

I moved through the dark house like a ghost-restless, searching.

When I reached the library, I found the door cracked open.

Light flickered inside, the fire barely alive. And there he was-Christopher, sitting in his chair, his eyes fixed on the flames as if they held the answers.

"You should be resting," I whispered.

He didn't look at me.

"Can't sleep," he said.

"Neither can I."

I moved closer, sitting on the edge of the couch opposite him.

Outside, the wind roared, making the glass tremble.

"Why won't you let go of her?" I asked.

He swallowed hard. "Because she never really left."

His voice cracked with the weight of years.

"And you think I'm like her?"

He met my eyes-dark, raw, searching.

"You're different," he said softly. "But there's something in you, the same fierce sadness. The same craving for something more than what's safe."

My breath hitched.

"What do you want from me, Christopher?"

His gaze sharpened. "I don't know yet. But I want to find out."

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The storm trapped us in the library, the rest of the house fading into shadows.

He stood suddenly, crossing the room in three long strides. His hand found mine-strong, steady, impossible to resist.

The firelight caught the green in his eyes, turning them fierce and tender all at once.

"We shouldn't," I said, voice barely more than a breath.

"I know."

His fingers curled around my wrist, pulling me closer.

"I want to touch you. Not just with my hands-with everything."

My heart slammed against my ribs.

"Christopher..."

"I'm not asking for forever," he whispered. "Just this moment. Just this one."

Our lips hovered inches apart, the air thick with heat and danger.

Then the lights flickered and went out.

Darkness swallowed us.

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In the black, every touch was amplified.

His hands traced the curve of my neck, down to my collarbone, lingering like he was memorizing every inch of me.

I felt like I was drowning again, but this time willingly.

His breath was warm against my skin, his voice rough with desire.

"I won't hurt you," he promised.

But I knew better.

I wasn't innocent.

I wanted him to hurt me. To break the cold shell I'd built around my heart.

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When the storm finally passed, dawn seeped through the windows like a hesitant confession.

We were still there-close, tangled in the sheets of the old couch, tangled in secrets we couldn't undo.

Christopher's fingers brushed my cheek, thumb soft and sure.

"I don't know what this means," he said. "But I know I want to keep finding out."

I looked into his eyes, all the fear and longing swirling there.

"Me too."

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But the past wasn't done with us.

Later that morning, I found a box hidden beneath the floorboards in the greenhouse.

Inside, letters stained with time, photographs of Aurelia-smiling, radiant, haunting.

And a diary.

The pages whispered of love, betrayal, and a darkness that had been buried far too deep.

As I read, the line between Aurelia and me blurred.

Was I just a shadow of her pain?

Or something more?

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