I have no idea what the future holds, but for the first time in years, I feel like I'm doing something right. I'm choosing love, choosing her. And fuck, if that isn't the best decision I've ever made.
"Oh, and for the record. I speak 47 different languages." I say it casually, knowing it'll get under her skin.
Without missing a beat, she grabs a cushion off the couch and chucks it at me. "For the record, I don't give a fuck."
Regardless of what either of us has done, I sense it would have always ended like this. He's my destiny, and I'm his obsession.
He's mine, and I'm his.