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Christ, I wish I knew what’s the matter with me these days. She’s sat back down but I’m keeping a death grip on her arm, my fingers cramping and feeling like she’s my lifeline. That if I let go, I’ll drown.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“What story?” she whispers, and I don’t know why she keeps her voice low, but I like it. It sooths my frayed nerves. She smells sweet like always, her curls tickling my cheek, something flowery mingling with her scent. She’s warm and soft and says she worries about me and she’s everything.
Everything I want and can’t have, and it’s my own fucking fault.
“Ross?” Still with that soft, gentle voice. She leans slightly into me, and I wanna pull her on top of me, curl around her, keep her.
“There was a boy,” I say, deciding I’ll make up a story on the spot, just fucking anything to prolong this moment. “A boy in a house by the river, who had a secret and half a family. He liked sitting by the water, throwing pebbles into the stream, and climbing the trees. A loner, always, a wolf cub by necessity.”
“Why?” I almost didn’t hear her question, her voice just a breath. “Why was he so alone?” she clarifies for me, and I frown.
“He had a dog,” I explain, “a stray he took in. Bandit. Kept it a secret for as long as he could, but Bandit broke his leg one day, and his dad took it away. Shot it. I... the boy heard the sound, it echoed through the trees.”
I’m shivering and dunno why. My teeth are chattering.
“Ross...” She rubs the palm of her hand on my thigh, over my knee, and it shoots pleasurable sparks up my leg. I focus on her hand, on how small and pale it is. Unmarked. Perfect. “What happened then?”
“He said... said pets are for pussies. Taking care of pets and animals, feeling affection, that’s for sissies. Said if I turned out to be a faggot, he’d shoot me in the dick, so I’d better stop testing him. Said if I fucking cried, he’d beat me senseless and dump my body in the woods.” I shake my head, run a hand through my hair, tug on the stiff strands. “But I didn’t.” I frown harder and have to clarify. “I didn't cry.”
When I glance up, she’s giving me a funny, sideways look, her eyes a bit too bright. See, I knew I wasn’t a good storyteller. “What happened to the boy?”
“What? Oh, yeah.” Fuck, my heart hurts. “He couldn’t have friends. His dad promised he’d punch their teeth in. Nobody could get close, nobody could see...” I have to stop and breathe, dark spots dancing in my eyes. “Nobody.”
“He didn’t want them to see the bruises?” she whispers, her voice sounding odd, hushed.
“That, too,” I agree and wince.
The bruises, the emptiness, the howling void inside, and the scars on my back and shoulders that he put there, itching and pulling every so often, when the weather changes or when I strain my back lifting heavy crates at work.
Also when a beautiful girl is beside me, apparently.
What am I doing? The tattoo inked over my ribs burns like a brand—or is it those damn knife slashes? They’ve been hurting like a bitch.
I’m so fucking tired, my mind fuzzy and full of cobwebs. There’s only one clear thought, so bright it’s blinding, filling my head, my chest, my body, and it’s that I need her. My head’s heavy, but when she shifts against me, my body still reacts. I’d have to be dead not to react to this girl.
I wonder what she’s doing here, beside me, when she could be with any other, decent guy. A girl like her sh
ouldn’t have trouble getting any guy she wants. It used to make me hot with anger and so damn confused thinking about that, realizing I never stood a chance with her.
But then the trickle of blood down the side of my head reminds me why she’s here. Her stupid brother threw rocks at me. He knows I’m not good enough for her.
Maybe not so stupid after all, that kid.
The trees are closing over me, caging me, and yet it’s peaceful as I fall back, staring up at the canopy. It’s eating up the sky as the branches tangle up and twist, forming a roof, a dome of darkness. I can finally let go, and it’s such a fucking relief I wanna cry.
But the canopy breaks, and the ground starts sucking me down, a giant maw opening to swallow me.
Luna is tugging her arm free of my hold, shaking me. “Ross. Hey, Ross...”
Startling me awake. “Hm. What?”
Fuck. I hadn’t realized I’d dozed off. I rub at my eyes. They feel dry and hot, spikes of pain spearing through my skull.
“Those cuts under your ribs,” she says, “they’re infected. I think you’re running a fever.”
Fuck, for real? That might explain a few things. Like for instance why I’m sitting here with her talking her ear off and then nodding off instead of kissing her and getting down and dirty with her.
