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five
“I want to fight with you,” I say once he’s done hauling guns.
His head whips around. “What?”
“What?” I repeat, defensively.
“You want to fight with me?” he sits back on his haunches and the blood drains from his face abruptly. He looks pale and hollow and so tired he’s about to faint.
“Yes, that’s what I said.”
“I will fight for you, my queen,” he says, and he is not laughing. He is doing the opposite of laughing.
“Stop that, seriously,” I say and get up to walk to him. I kneel next to him and put my hand on the weapon he’s holding. It’s long and heavy and its surface feels smooth and cool against my fingers. “I need you to teach me how to shoot that thing. Can you do that?”
He raises himself to his knees, cupping my wrist on the machine gun, and leans over my shoulder, positioning my hands over the metal. I forget how to breathe.
“I want you,” he gasps into my ear. Or I think he does: his voice is drowned out by a deep sigh. A groan. It sounds as if he is fighting for breath.
“What did you say?” I turn around and my nose meets his cheek, we’re that close.
“I’m sorry,” he backs up slightly. “It’s… it’s not appropriate to want you right now. Or ever, actually. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, it’s not…”
“I want you too,” I whisper, “but you’re right, I can’t want you. It’s like you’re the worst thing in the world that I could possibly wan—”
His lips are on mine before I can blink. His mouth swallows mine; it tastes of rain and tears. We moan into each other, holding on to each other’s’ arms to keep ourselves upright as we melt into the kiss, gasping against each other’s lips. He lifts his head from mine, then presses his mouth to mine again and again, gasping for breath and never getting any.
“Hey,” I grab his face with both hands, make him look at me. His eyes are gleaming in the firelight. He’s panting. “No more lies. Talk to me. Do I know everything there is to know, Marco?”
“No,” he says. “No, you don’t.”
“Well, before we continue, I need the truth. Please. Just this once, before we die, I need the truth from you. Nothing held back.”
He bites down on his lip so hard it bleeds. The lip I was kissing a second ago.
“You won’t die tonight, Olivia,” he says firmly. “I will. Let me die kissing you, please.” His voice breaks.
“You can die all you want,” I try to joke, but meanwhile I’m thinking, over my dead body will you die for me. I might actually have to make sure it happens, to be honest. “But if you die, you die with the truth on your lips, do you understand?”
He’s nodding. Nodding.
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. I’m sick of lies.”
I scoff. I am beyond sick of them.
“Well, here ismytruth,” I say, leaning back. “I’m scared. So scared I can barely move.”
“Everyone is afraid to die, my queen. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I’m ashamed of dying without having lived yet. Ever. That’s what bothers me.”
“You lived today,” he says gently, entwining his hands with mine, “and yesterday. With me.”
“No need to sound so pleased,” I raise my eyebrow.
“Oh, there’s every need.” He smiles and I forget everything for a second. It’s like the sun has risen inside this empty barn that smells of burning wood and death. “It is the one good thing I’ve done with my life.”
I lean back, my head pressed into his thigh, to look up into his face. His eyes are on me.
