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In this closed off moment I can’t help but remember how Leo ran from me, and I wonder if he’d do the same today, given the option.
The longing to lose myself in him tightens my chest. All I want is to go back to last night in his bathroom and make him take everything I want to give him.
I want to be back in his bed with him wrapped around me, my face buried in his chest…I love his chest. I love how hard it is and all the beautiful flowing lines that make up the canvas of his skin.
Truthfully, I think I might just love him. Even when
he is being like this; broody, and closed off.
“It’s Saturday.” Breaking his silence for the first time since we left the hospital, his voice is hoarse. And when I look at him, he’s already looking at me with a soft, yearning sadness. It seems like a betrayal of his feelings for me to be this happy about his thoughtfulness, when he is so very clearly breaking.
“It is.”
The muddied green of his eyes is like bruised jewels on his pallid face. His hair is a gorgeous mess, like he forgot to tidy it up when he got out of bed, but I know he didn’t because I watched him style it as I brushed my teeth beside him.
The smile on his face as he stole glances my way had my insides fluttering and simmering.
Take me back there.
I’m hoping he feels the same way. I’m fucking terrified he doesn’t.
There’s a pang in my veins that resounds throughout my entire being. It mocks my fear with a bravery that is burnished only for him.
It’s silly really, because Leo Fairfax is still a sort of enigma to me, I know this, but there’s something so elemental about the way my mind, my body, and every other part of me feels him. It’s like I’ve known him forever even though I know very little about him.
Not true.
I know that he is sad and angry. He is volatile, and when you push him, he can be callous. I know all those things. Much like that little girl chasing the mean boy that pulls her pigtails in the playground—I know that if he gives me an in, I’ll not only take it, but I’ll keep coming back for more.
Right now, I would let him pull every single one of my hairs from my head if it would make him smile. I think a monster would like that; to take his emotional pain out on me. I think a monster would like to make the ache within him real and physical.
And we are monsters, aren’t we?
Am I a monster?
The thought of making him hurt like I do makes my heart race. I like the image of seeing my pain painted on his skin. Deep blue, purple, and black strokes that muddle and mottle together. Tears, bruises, and dirt.
Jolting from my reverie my thoughts fuzz and dissipate like a dream as my door is opened.
Getting out of the car, I join Leo on the pavement and before I say anything, he asks, “Coffee?”
His mention of it has my nose sucking up the scent that’s wafting out of the coffee shop we’re parked in front of.
“Definitely.” Smiling, I follow him into the bakery style coffee shop with its beaten-up scaffolding board flooring, bare and crumbling brick walls and utilitarian counters made from scaffold poles and stainless steel sheets.
His dark, dangerous, and detached demeanour fits so well into the utilitarian setting. And the way he greets the woman behind the counter has me watching their interactions closely.
Leo’s polite to her, but he doesn’t go out of his way to make conversation. Maybe he’s not himself today, but something tells me it’s who he is.
“The usual?”
“Please,” he replies and then turns to look at me in question.
“Ummm…” I’m too busy psychoanalysing him badly to decipher what he’s asking me.
“What would you like?” Stepping to the side as if to look at me better, he nods to the pastry display. “The croissants are amazing.”
“All butter, freshly baked right here.” The pretty woman sings over her shoulder as she prepares Leo’s coffee. “Today we have; jam, praline chocolate, and nectarine preserve.”
