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“Only you.” I nod.

“You never had a boyfriend before me?”

I scrunch my face, shaking my head. “Whatever makes you think I’d want another person breathing down my neck?” I try to snort but his brows draw together.

“Except you, of course.” I quickly correct myself.

He nods once. His lips part as he musters up the courage to say something. He waits for a beat.

Then another.

And he finally speaks, “c-can you show me your…” he doesn’t finish, he doesn’t have to.

I slide off his body, missing his warmth the second my bare feet touch the cold tiles.

My gaze drifts around the brightly lit room, sunlight spilling across his living room, setting everything aglow.

My movements are slow as I reach for my tube top, pulling it off in one swift motion, all the while his eyes stay fixed on my face, studying and searching, almost waiting for me to falter. But I’ve come too far to back out now.

My thumbs hook into the waistband of my shorts as I slide them down my legs, a nervous breath escaping me before my gaze flits back to meet his.

His eyes never leaving my face.

He gestures me closer, then pulls me in by the waist. His face rests near my stomach, his touch deliberate, as his fingers brush lightly against the fabric at my hips, dropping the panties on the ground before I step out of them.

He moves slowly, his eyes tracing every curve of mine as if committing me to memory, like he’s sketching me somewhere in his mind. They eyes linger on my chest, not with hunger, but more reverent, almost tender.

“You’re perfect, Elara.”

“You haven’t seen the scars yet.” I whisper but he’s already shaking his head.

“Nothing could change my mind about how I feel for you.” His gaze travels down, pausing at the apex of my thighs, the miniscule white lines evident in the sunlight as his gaze darkens.

His hand lifts, sliding against the red angry cut I made last night, and a sigh escapes from my chest when his hot tongue meets the raw flesh.

My hand shoots forward, holding onto the crown of his head, tugging at the brown strands as he peppers my thighs with kiss.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t there.” He whispers and a hopeless tear falls from my eye, remembering my sister’s words about me seeking attention.

I d-didn’t do it for attention, Amara.

“I’m sorry, you had to go through this alone.” He speaks again, trailing his kisses upwards, his lips finding their way to kiss my stomach, my hands, the crook of my elbow before he pulls my body on top of his.

“Don’t cry, baby.” And another tear rolls down. “If you feel the need, just tell me and I’ll let you draw on my back with a knife.”

“No.”

“If I find a single wound on your body, I will have ten folds of them on mine.” His threat is laced with a hint of panic in it, but the look in his eyes tell me that he’ll do it.

I’m shaking my head, when my grip on his hair loosens and I cup his cheek only to find the spot wet.

“S-Sergei?” My eyes widen when I find tears rolling down his face.

For me.

He pulls me into a tight embrace, the air leaving my lungs as our tears blur together, our lips finding each other again and again, until the salt of them fades and all that’s left is us.

We don’t speak. We grieve in silence, mourning our past, letting the horrid memories go with every lingering kiss, every touch.