Before I can say anything, I hear raspy breathing, then Derek's voice, sounding anguished. "Skye? Skye, baby, are you there?"
*Baby?* My insides turn to mush, any defense I might have had already crumbling as wild hope blooms in my chest.
"Yeah..."
I can hear him drawing shaky breaths. "Skye, I need to see you."
I sit up in bed, gripping the phone tighter, my heart is doing double-time. "You want to talk in person?"
"I—" His breath hitches, and there's something frantic in the way he speaks, like he's going under, on his last breath. "I don't know. I don't know what's happening. I just... I need to see you. Please."
"Wait, slow down," I say, the shock beginning to wear off, replaced by a gnawing dread. "Why do you want to see me? You're the one who walked away, remember?"
I want an explanation and I deserve one, but this is just as sudden as his complete withdrawal was and it makes just as much sense to me. Meaning almost none at all. I'm lost here, drifting on an ocean of doubt and confusion with no land in sight.
"I know." His voice cracks, and my stomach twists. "I know I did. I'm sorry, Skye. I'm so sorry. But I—I can't explain it over the phone. Please, you have to meet me. I just... I need to talk to you in person. Right now."
There's something off about his voice. It's not just desperation—it's like he's fighting with something inside himself, his words coming out in rushed, panicked bursts.
This isn't the calm, calculated Derek I know. The man I was going to marry was rarely emotional. He was always collected, in control. During the worst times, during the best times, Derek always held something back.
It was maddening, sometimes, as though there was a place inside him no one could reach.
This... feels like someone else.
I glance at the notebook on the table, the pages still open to *Your Wish is My Command*, and my stomach drops. No. There's no way. This can't be because of the spell, right? That's impossible.
No... no... I'm not a child, I don't believe in magic. That spell was just a game I played to distract myself from my overwhelming misery. I wanted something fun, something empowering. I wanted to play pretend and that's all it was.
Maybe Derek is going through something. He must be. He broke up with me out of the blue on some weird impulse and now he regrets it. Who wouldn't after all? We invested five years of our lives into this relationship. And they were good years. We made each other happy, that wasn't all in my head, right? That love should be worth fighting for.
But the way he sounds... it's kind of wrong.
"Where are you?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
"I'm close," he says, his breath ragged, as if he's been running. "Please, Skye. Just come outside. I'll explain everything. I—I need to see you."
The air in my room feels charged and heavy, like something is pressing down on me, the same sensation I felt after the spell. My pulse races, both with exhilaration and nervousness. This is what I wanted, right?
"Derek, okay, I mean..." I wrestle with myself. He hurt me really fucking badly and I know Kaylee would want me to at least make things a little hard for him because of that, but I want to see him. I miss him way too much.
"... You still have your key, so... just come up into the apartment." God, I'm such a pushover.
"Thank you, Skye. Really, thank you." The relief in his voice is palpable. "I need you. I'm not okay. I just need to see you, I—" He cuts off, and I hear a strange noise on the other end of the line. A growl? Or maybe a groan, like he's in pain. "I don't know what's happening to me. You're the only one who can help."
I don't know what to say. I have a million questions I want to ask him. Not to mention all the emotions raging inside me, desperate for an outlet. I feel like I have whiplash from all the events life and, let's be honest, *Derek* have thrown at me in the space of less than forty-eight hours.
Also, there's a part of me, a viciously nagging little part of me, that can't shake the feeling that this is connected to the spell, to the words I said into the candlelight.
I wished for him to come back to me.
And now he's here. But this... this feels off.
"Skye," Derek whispers again, his voice softer this time, pleading, bordering on broken. "I'll be there in a couple of minutes. Don't go anywhere."
The line goes dead.
*
I sit there, staring at the phone screen, the call already ended, and my heart races so fast it feels like I can hardly breathe. Derek's voice—strained, desperate, nothing like the man I thought I knew.
*I need you. You're the only one who can help.*
I turn my head toward the door, the creeping unease settling in my gut. What the hell does he mean, he needs me? Only I can help him? He's the one who left. I don't even have time to fully process what just happened before I hear the unmistakable sound of keys turning in the lock.
Okay, I wanted this. I asked for this.
I get out of bed, my bare feet hitting the softness of the carpet soundlessly. I'm in my flannel pajamas, my hair a mess. I thought I'd have time to change, but apparently that's not an option. It shouldn't matter.
Over the last five years, Derek has seen me in all kinds of un-sexy states, through bad hair days, stomach bugs and a broken ankle that required wearing a plastic boot for weeks. I suck in a breath, stand up straight, steel myself and open my bedroom door pretty much at the same time as the front door opens.
Derek steps into the apartment. My breath catches in my throat.
He looks... different. His hair is as messy as mine, his face is pale, gaunt, like he hasn't slept in days. His eyes, though—they're wild, wide, and they latch onto me the second he crosses the threshold and finds me standing by my bedroom, arms crossed protectively in front of my chest.
"Derek," I say softly, unsure whether to feel relief or anxiety. "You look like you've run the whole way here."
Like a crazy person, I don't add, though he kinda does. His shirt isn't even buttoned right. One sleeve is rolled up to his elbow, the other isn't, but the cuff is hanging open. There are dark stains under his arms and he's wearing a pair of grey sweatpants that doesn't go with the shirt at all. As if he was in such a hurry to get here, he just blindly grabbed the first things from his suitcase and threw them on.
One of his boots is untied as well.
He shuts the door behind him, his movements sharp and jerky.
"I couldn't wait. I had to see you."
His voice is low, hoarse, like it's being dragged out of him by some invisible force.
He takes a few steps forward, his gaze fixed on me, and I suddenly feel a chill run down my spine.
But I push the feeling down. This is what I wanted, right? This is what I asked for.
He's here.
Derek is *here*, asking for me, telling me he needs me. That's what I wanted—him to realize he still loves me, to come back and make everything right. I'm ridiculously ready to forgive him, to have him tell me fun, peachy Emily means nothing compared to me.
I force a smile, stepping toward him.
"It's okay," I say, my voice soft but trembling. "I'm glad you're here. We can talk, we can—"
But before I can finish, Derek crosses the distance between us, grabbing my hands in his. His grip is tight, too tight, and his eyes—there's something so off about them, like they're too focused, too intense. His whole body trembles, his breath coming out in ragged, uneven gasps. I've never seen him like this before.
"Skye." His voice is raw, like he's fighting through every word. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry for everything. I didn't mean to hurt you. I—I don't know why I left, I don't know what I was thinking, I just... I need you."
His hands are cold, trembling against mine, and the desperation in his voice sends a wave of confusion through me. This isn't the calm, controlled Derek who broke my heart. This is someone unhinged, someone on the verge of something. But even though he's different, there's this flicker of hope rising inside me, as if maybe, just maybe, this is the real him, the one who's finally stopped holding back.
Maybe this anguish is born from true pain and regret.
"I know," I whisper, swallowing hard. "I forgive you. We can fix this, Derek. We can—"
He cuts me off again, pulling me closer, his grip so tight on my hands it almost hurts.
His breath is hot on my face, his eyes burning with intensity and despair.
They're normally so warm and rich, but now, shadowed by his long lashes, his irises are so dark they're indistinguishable from his pupils. Like black holes.
"You don't understand, Skye," he rasps, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I *can't* live without you. I need you—*forever.*"