She still remembers the place where he cut her, even if the wounds have long since healed. Three lines in the space between her right breast and shoulder, three more mirrored on her back.

She wishes sometimes that she could have marked him somehow. He must have so many invisible scars. She'd like one to be hers.

But he always leaves too soon, and life goes on even if it feels smaller when he's not there. Her body remembers him though, months after he's gone. Expectation sits heavy inside her, gnawing each time she turns a corner in the mansion. His scent lingers in rooms he didn't set foot in.

He never says goodbye.

Sometimes, she's convinced she loves him. But the certainty always ebbs, and all her doubts are exposed. And she starts to think that maybe it's because she met him when she did, or because he keeps saving her. Or maybe it's because he's older, and so very beyond her reach. Which, if she's really honest, is likely the most appealing thing of all.

All these reasons are very logical, and probably fit into the equation much better than she would like to admit. But even together they are not the complete truth, if such a thing even exists. A piece is always missing.

The parts of him that remain tell her something happened the night he stabbed her. That when she reached for him, it wasn't just her he saw. He relived something from the past, hidden deep in his mind. A grief so profound he could not bury it entirely, and the force of the attempt split him in two. Wounding him in ways even his mutation couldn't fix.

She doesn't know if she loves him. She's not even sure what it will cost her, in the end, to want to put him back together. All she knows is that he's beginning to consume her; that her life is now marked by the times he came and went. It's not even difficult for her accept, because she has always been more aware of her flaws than her strengths. And that's probably more of a reason why she is drawn to him than anything else.

But the truth is, she will never want to explain it. She doesn't want to separate herself from what he has helped to create. Because she's afraid it will be enough to convince herself to let go; afraid that the next time he comes back, and holds her so close she can't breathe, she won't feel a thing. She won't hear the constant hum of him everywhere, in her head, along her skin. Even days after he's left.

She's afraid she will bury all traces of him, so deep inside, that there will be nothing left to remind her of what it was to feel this inexplicable thing, so intense it's like swallowing fire.

And then she touches the place where he cut her, to remind herself that he was there.