Six wasn’t the hero I needed. But he was the man I wanted. And it was my selfish craving, the desire to own him, that would be our undoing. No one tells you that love is a disease. An infection that tears your heart apart, leaving you half the person you were before. A malady that leaves open wounds. An invisible disorder tracing scars in the places you couldn’t see if you weren’t looking for them. I was sick, but love didn’t heal me. Instead, it festered in my marrow, and drove me to unforgivable mistakes. Six was my first mistake, but he wouldn't be the last.

Six was always there, even when I didn’t want him. But he couldn’t hold me together, and I couldn’t be his penance. Loss is a phantom limb. No one can see it, but the ache torments you in the night, distracts you during the day, and leaves you fragmented. I’m half a heart, half a soul, and nothing could cure the pieces he’d left behind. Losing him was safer than loving him. Because the love that kept us coming back again and again was nothing short of madness. But then, isn't mad love the most honest?