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Of course they are, and there’s the crux of the problem. I don’t want them to be. I want them to be real, and it’s breaking me apart.
“Hey...” He’s still stroking my cheek, callused fingertips gentle. “What’s on your mind?”
I shrug. “I told you. Didn’t you think I was ugly at school, by your own admission? You said it over and over, until it got imprinted in my mind, in my bones. I felt like I could never face the world again.”
His cheekbones pink. “And you thought I was an idiot.”
“That’s not an answer, Ross. It’s not funny.”
A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth, then fades. “Listen, Lu. I never thought you were ugly. In fact, I thought you were the prettiest girl of all.”
“Then why? Why treat me like that?”
His hand drops from my face. He rolls on his back with a grunt. “Told you I’m fucked up.”
“Not an answer either.”
“Goddammit, don’t you get it?” he finally explodes. In a smooth movement, he rolls off the bed and goes to stand by the window. The moon must be setting, its glow dimming. “Everything I tell you is what I think about myself. If I called you ugly, awkward, a failure. If I say you want me... it’s because I want you.”
I’m struck speechless, stunned.
No way...
Can it be true? He’s not making that up to appease me? I sit up in bed, only now remembering I’m naked, folding my arms over my breasts.
He’s standing there, so still.
“I bet I’m not the guy you have dre
amed of. I’m not good. Not perfect. But I want you. I... I dunno if it’s a good idea, but fuck, I don’t care. I’ve always wanted you.”
It’s a balm over old wounds, I admit. Even if it’s just physical—maybe because of it, because he thought I was pretty, and he thinks I’m pretty now, and old wounds start to knit as I begin to understand. It’s just that... I was so drawn to him even back then that every one of his words was a barb, a bullet tearing through me.
And now...
Bared, I’m bared to him. His words stripped me more than the removal of my clothes ever could. I let my hands drop from my breasts as I get up and go to him.
“You really mean it?” I whisper.
“Girl...” He brushes my hair aside, breathes into my ear, “You’re sexy. You’re beautiful. Always were.”
“Now you just want into my panties.”
“All the fucking time,” he agrees. “But it has nothing to do with this. Do you believe me?”
To my surprise, I find that I do. Maybe I’m still naïve, but I’m not sure it’s that. I think I’m starting to tell apart the nuances of his voice, the evasions, the admissions, the concessions, the defensive mechanisms disguised as aggression.
“I’ll make you believe me,” he whispers, slips those muscular arms around me and holds me in silence until dawn breaks.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ross
Light. Warm, too fucking bright.
It’s on my face, in my eyes, cutting through my lashes, rousing me from a sinkhole of dark dreams, and as I roll over in bed to find a warm body beside me. I don’t even flinch, before I even remember who she is, even caught on the coattails of nightmares and flailing with panic.
Luna.
