She kisses me quickly, cutting me off. “No. Call mevaleja,please, because I lied earlier. This drawing to a close... canonlyhurt. It’s ending before it can even begin—how can it not?”
My heart slams into my ribcage, and I swear I taste blood. I don’t know what this is. I don’t know if it makes sense. But if Marlowe’s handing me a chance, it’s a gift, and I’m going to take it.
“Valeja,” I say. “You’re the bravest person I’ve ever known.”
Marlowe laughs once, a hint of disbelief in the sound. “You’re not serious.”
“Deadly.”
“I like you,” she says against my skin. “It makes me feel like a teenager, but I do, I like you. A lot.”
I’m glad we’re in the dark because I’m smiling, and if she feels like a teenager, then I feel like an idiot. But what a lucky idiot.
Her finger taps against the hollow of my throat. “You sneaky son of a bitch, I like you too much for only five days, I think.”
I have to bite back a laugh, finding her fingers in the dark and holding them still. “Then let’s try. You don’t have to decide right now; we won’t reach Red Horizon for at least another four days.”
There’s silence as she thinks over this, and it’s terrifying. At least in combat, you know what you’ve signed up for, and the lines are clearly defined. But I don’t know why Marlowe has suddenly changed her mind again, and the fear she might do so again is overwhelming if I let myself think about it. I know I should, I know she shouldn’t have so much power over me,I know I’ve let this creature get too close. But it’s hard to care when devastation feels this good.
I try not to let the tension bleed into my body, try not to crush her into my chest. It’s difficult. I’m surprised she can’t hear my heartbeat in the stillness of the cabin.
Marlowe sighs. “I’m scared that in those four days, I’ll be a goner. Vee and I will say our goodbyes, and I’ll hate every fucking second of knowing that’sit.”
I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to be here, that she trusts me enough to share this with me. I want to handle her worry with all the grace it deserves, but in the end, all I can do is be honest. Being cocooned in the dark helps; I don’t always have the words, but for her, tonight, I do.
“I’m scared, too. I don’t find it easy to relate to people, but here you are, burrowing deeper and deeper under my skin. I’ve never known anyone like you. And... I’m scared that once you go, I’ll never experience a connection like this again.”
This, Marlowe hears. Her breathing hitches, and her hands clutch at me. “Tee,” she whimpers.
“Yes?” I press the word into her skin, mouth along her collarbones.
“Touch me. Say that again and touch me.”
Like Oxygen
Perhaps it’s the knowledge we’ll reach our destination soon, but Marlowe spends all night, and all of the next morning draped over me. Her body weight pressing down on me puts me at ease. The scent of my own products infused with the oils of her skin is all over the sheets, on the pillows, my clothes. With a makeshift bonnet around her curls, she looks young and serene. She drifts in and out of a hazy sleep whilst the light plays across her fine boned features. With one hand, I trace her full lips. I wish we didn’t have to get up.
“Technically, we don’t have to,” she mumbles when I tell her so.
“Says the guest.”
“Now I’m a guest? I thought I was a stowaway.”
“You’re something all right.”
Laughing, Marlowe pushes me away and transitions the movement into a languid stretch. Laid out with an arched spine, naked and sleek and bed-warm, her hands shake slightly. She catches me watching, leans over and touches the frown on my brow.
“Come on, let’s go get breakfast.”
She goes to bound out of bed, but her leg gives beneath her, and she stumbles before righting herself. It takes everything in me not to ask about her health. I want to know when she’ll be taking her meds and if she needs anything. But she doesn’t want that from me, from anyone, and she won’t appreciate it. I just have to get used to that. Marlowe isn’t a child.
“Technically lunch,” I grumble instead, and follow her.
When she let herself in last night, she apparently stripped as she moved from the door to the shower, trailing clothes across the floor like breadcrumbs. I contemplate leaving them there, remembering a conversation we had once about how empty my cabin is. Marlowe fills up the room wherever she goes, and it certainly doesn’t feel empty now.
After we eat, we go back to my cabin. As much as I like the idea of crawling back into bed with Marlowe, I’m itching to get into the gym. I never get up this late: once a soldier, always a soldier. She flops onto the sofa and watches me change into shorts, a sweat-wicking vest, and flat-soled shoes. Realisation dawns. “You’re going to work out?”
“What gave it away?”
