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Lilah tastes like lotion.
A harsh chemical lotion.
I pull away, swallowing and working my unhappy tongue like I just licked a box full of envelopes. “What is that?”
“What is what?” She squirms out from under me, and I let her go when I hear the high note of panic in her voice.
“Babydoll. I’m going to buy you some new perfume.” Something fruity and lickable.
“Perfume?” Lilah yelps.
“Just until your real perfume comes in.” Then she won’t need a thing on her delicious skin.
“You have to go.” She says, withdrawing until her back’s against the wall.
She twinkles, but the farther away she moves, the more she looks like a star out of reach, the more the darkness crushes.
I can’t be without her. Not tonight. “I can behave.”
Fuck. I can try to behave.
No. I can. I can if that’s what I have to do to be with her.
Lilah grips her T-shirt so hard the fabric stretches. There’s something desolate about her that shoots pain through the spot in my chest where my heart used to live.
Is that fucker still beating?
“I…” She shivers, but forces herself to meet my gaze. “I like you.”
My heart-space thumps. “Then we—”
“That’s the problem.” She digs her nails into the fabric, stretching the cloth tight across her belly. “I’ll be gone and you’ll forget me.”
“I won’t.” I can’t.
She shakes her head. “Tell that to Atlas. Tell it to Jett. I know when I’m not wanted.”
She cradles herself and there’s an unspoken always that I ache to soothe.
An ache?
Me.
Fucking what?
How?
She’s supposed to be a toy.
A plaything.
My babydoll.
So why are pink and grey the only colors I can see? Why does my chest ache? My canines burn, begging me not to play but to mark her forever.
Mark her as mine so she can never escape.
Mark her as mine so that I can always find my way out of the dark by the light of my north star.
