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"I'm yours, Luna. My mind, my heart, my fucking soul. Every inch. Every breath. It's yours. Yesterday. Now. Tomorrow. Don't ever forget it." My shirt grows wet, and I know she's started crying again. "Come on, let me show you upstairs."
She nods, stepping out of my hold and wiping her face. We walk silently up to my room, using the elevator and walking down the hall. She stands behind me as I unlock the door, and I can feel her nerves heating my back.
She's nervous.
Why the hell is she nervous?
The door opens, and I cringe at the mess. In a hurry to get to the airport, I didn't have time to clean up. It's not like anyone comes over here, anyway. If the guys from the station have something going on, we usually go to one of their houses. Most of them are married, anyway, or are dating someone.
The few of the guys who aren't with anyone spend their weekends at bars. That shit isn't me anymore. That was me about four years ago. Not anymore. Work has been my life this last year. I've been biding my time. Waiting. Hoping. Dreaming.
And here she is.
"I'm sorry it's not much," I say, dropping her bag by the door and walking to the kitchen, grabbing trash from the counters and shoving it into the trash bin.
She stands by the door, her sandals next to her. She looks around, taking it all in, her gray eyes flitting from one piece of furniture to the next. She looks out the window, looking at the tall skyscrapers around her.
"Do you need anything right now? Are you hungry? Thirsty?" I look in my fridge, cringing when all I see is an old pizza box and a case of beer. I close the fridge, pulling out a stack of takeout menus. "I'll have to run to the store to get some food, but I can grab us some takeout if you're hungry?" I look over, my eyes widening when I see an empty space. Her bag and shoes are still there, but Luna isn't.
I step out into the front room, looking into the living room. "Luna?"
The menus drop to the floor, scattering all around me as I rush to the bathroom, hoping she's in there.
She's not.
The bathroom light is turned off, the door opened. Just how I left it.
"Luna?" My voice rises, hysteria making it crack. I burst into my room, stopping in the doorway. My hands clutch the wooden frame, feeling my heart stop.
She's wrapped in my blankets, her face buried in my pillow. Her black hair splays over the pillowcase, nearly falling over the side of the bed with how long it is. Her eyes are closed, like she's already asleep. But the crease between her eyes is present, creating a frown on her pale face.
I step into the room, wanting to confront her, wake her up and ask if she's okay. Demand answers from her. But I stop, not knowing what she's been through. Not knowing what made her contact me in the first place.
What happened to you, Luna?
I want to wrap her in my arms, feel her body mold against mine. Feel her heartbeat against my chest, see if our beats are still synchronized. I want her. I just want all of her. Every bit.
But I don't do those things. I walk over to my windows, shutting my blinds to darken my room. I walk out quietly, leaving the door opened.
I don't know what to do when I get to the living room. I think about heading to the grocery store, but I don't want her to wake up while I'm not here. I could order food, but I don't want to get something if she's not going to like it.
I walk to my couch, sitting down and grabbing the remote from the coffee table, switching on the TV.
And I wait.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
LUNA
Ismell Roman.
All I smell is Roman.
I burrow deeper into the marshmallow pillows, never wanting to wake up. I'm so comfortable, so peaceful. I haven't felt this rested in so long.
Roman.
My eyes fly open, and I whip up in bed. Looking around, all I can see is his darkened room. Dark cherrywood furniture, very minimal. Not at all Roman. When we were children, the walls of his room were filled with posters of musicians and albums. There wasn't an inch of his wall showing. There isn't a picture, or a poster, or anything. Except…
