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“Who were you before the Beast?” she asked.
“Anteros.” He smirked. “What a waste of a question.”
“That is not an answer,” she scoffed, pushing at his chest. Anteros slid the hand at her cheek to the back of her neck, keeping her still. “Who were your parents? Where did you live? I already know a little. You said you were an orphan, but not always. I’ve heard rumors, but I want to know the truth. From you.” The hand at her neck stiffened, his eyes hardened. Frankie must have picked up on the walls being erected because a second later she insisted, “Anteros, please.”
He brought his other hand to her neck, gripping her with both, forcing her to meet his eyes while he stared into her searching depths. No one knew the truth of his parents, the shameful secrets of his past. He’d come close to spilling that time with his Wolves, but not even Lucio had known. The man had tried, but he’d only been able to glean bits and pieces. Anteros had purposefully kept it that way.
“Please, Anteros,” Frankie whispered, cutting into his thoughts. “I just want to know you.” Her eyes danced back and forth, beseeching. Honest.
God fucking dammit.
“You first,” he growled, dropping his grip.
“What?”
“Tell me about Frankie.”
She blinked as if surprised, but took a deep breath. “I was a sick girl.” She looked down. “Nothing much interesting happened to me…until you.”
“I don’t believe that.” Another silence settled between them. Anteros was beginning to recognize the silence as unique to them. It meant they were putting up walls. Keeping each other out. He couldn’t be the one to tear them down, not on this. Frankie fiddled with her pinky.
“God,” she exhaled, exasperated. “Fine. I was diagnosed when I was in junior high and Papa couldn’t handle that since I was the one taking care of him. I was already kind of weird for reading books all the time so the illness just made me weirder.” She looked away, lost in thought.
“Go on,” he probed.
“I don’t want to tell you this,” she snapped.
“You don’t have to.” But I really fucking want you to, he added in his head.
“But you won’t tell me anything if I don’t.” He nodded, and she peeled herself off the chair and walked to the other side of the room, placing her hand on the big horizontal window that cut through the kitchen. With the lights on now, it was just black, impossible to see anything outside.
“Look, I don’t know how to tell my story without it sounding like a sob one, okay? It’s just my life, though. I don’t think it’s sad and I’m not telling it for pity. I was sick. Papa hit me. Kids didn’t understand me. That was my life.” Franke turned around but didn’t meet his eyes. Her lip was pulled between her teeth, her hand rubbing furiously up and down her arm. Anteros got up and walked to her, brought her against his chest. She let him, falling into his embrace, gripping his forearms. The hand that had been against the window was ice cold.
“I was so alone,” she whispered, almost to herself. “I always thought I would be alone. I had one friend, Jenny, but she left, and she wasn’t even really a friend. She didn’t know who I was on the inside. I often found myself talking to her and she would just stare at me like I was an alien. It’s not really a surprise the friendship ended when she changed schools. I just clung to her because I didn’t want to be alone. Pathetic, huh?”
Anteros spun her around and tucked her head under his chin. He let her bleed the words into him. Anything he said to her would be moot. Words couldn’t combat the loneliness echoing in her soul.
“I cried so much,” she said against his chest. “I hated myself for it, hated how weak I was. I wished I could shut off my tears or emotions or something, but I felt everything. I hated the kids who had the luxury of caring about things like homework or boyfriends. I resented my conversations with them, resented having to put a mask on and pretend I was like them.” She paused. “I hated everything they loved, hated how meaningless it was, and resented how they couldn’t see it. I put the mask on so much that the real Frankie screaming underneath it became deaf to my ears. Until…” She trailed off, nails digging into the muscles at his waist.
“Until?” he probed when she’d been quiet for some time.
She looked up for the first time since she’d started talking. “Now.”
Eyes locked, Anteros threaded a hand through the silky strands of her hair, holding the base of her skull. He wanted her to know that he didn’t just understand, but he would take her words and guard them with his life. One beat of sizzling charged silence passed then he pulled her to him, crushing their lips together. Anteros took Frankie’s tongue, licking the taste from her. Wine was still on her lips, thick and rich. He growled, tugging at the bottom one with his teeth. Anteros wanted nothing more than to bury himself inside her, but a question burned too bright. Reaching the depths of his willpower, he pulled back. Frankie moaned, nails going from his sides, up his back, and around his shoulders, trying to bring him back.
“And you’re better?” he asked, voice hoarse. She was breathless, swaying toward him, lips swollen and wet. Her nails scythed his shoulder, eyelids fluttering. A sense of satisfaction twisted inside him and the urge to throw her on the counter and fuck her nearly overwhelmed him again, but he focused. Gently pushing her hair from her face, he said her name.
“What?” She blinked as if waking up. He repeated his question, searching her eyes.
“Uh, yeah.” She briefly looked away before meeting his stare. “I, uh, I was going to school again by high school.”
“What made you sick?”
“Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome.”
His brows furrowed. “I’ve never heard of that.”
She laughed. “Most people haven’t.” Then she added, “Quick, say it three times fast.” Relief flooded him and Anteros pressed her against the wall, assaulting her with kisses from her lips, to her chin, to her neck, needing the reassurance of her flesh.
