Page 83 of Ladybirds

“So you don’t want to have sex with me?”

He makes a sound in the back of his throat, head snapping to face her. “You... you’re teasing me.”

The corner of her lips twitch. “Maybe.”

“Why?”

She hums, “Payback. Definitely payback.” Her fingers pull the sheet closer to her chest. “It’s nice that you’re the flustered one for a change.”

“I believe I preferred it when you hated me.”

She smiles. “Liar.”

“Perhaps,” he murmurs. After a few beats of silence, he sends her a dimpled, suggestive smirk and adds, “I suppose the kissing was rather nice.”

Flushing brightly, her eyes flit to his lips. “I suppose it wasn’t too terrible.”

He coughs on a sharp laugh, cringing when it pulls on his wound. “Below the belt there, love.” His hand reaches up, cradling his injury. “Bloody hell, that hurts.”

Sara sits up—tries to ignore the way her pulse thrums at his slip, but it keeps echoing in her ears (love, love, love). She swallows thickly, distracts herself with his pain. “Let me see,” she mutters. The words sound loud in the dark as she nudges his hand aside.

He lets her, his hand draping over his bare stomach instead. She can feel his stare, tender in ways that make her heart skip, as she gently peels the bandage back. It looks worse—bruising darkening the skin around the wound in molted purples and greens—but nothing has reopened and there’s little to no blood staining the gauze. “I still can’t believe someone would do this to you,” she says, carefully resealing the bandage.

Her eyes lift to the bruising along his jaw, her heart giving a painful squeeze. She traces the edge, feels him shudder beneath the gentle touch. “I can’t believe I did.”

Seth takes her hand, bringing her palm to his lips. “It was an accident.”

No... it wasn’t. She had wanted, so desperately, for him to hurt that it manifested into something tangible—something real. It doesn’t matter that she didn’t know her hit would actually land, doesn’t matter that she was hurt and angry. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve mentioned.” His lips linger over the fragile skin of her wrist, a whispered kiss against her pulse. “It’s forgiven. Has been for a long time. Just because you see proof of it now is hardly reason to feel guilty for something that’s long passed.”

“But—”

“Sara, it’s fine.”

“It’s not,” she snaps, eyes screwed shut. “You didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve any of this.”

His hand skims up her arm, her shoulder, her neck, until his palm warms her cheek. In the dim lighting, his eyes gleam. “I’ll live.”

In her chest, her heart gives a painful lurch. He can’t possibly understand what those words mean to her, the pain and resignation embedded in each letter. He can’t. Because the way the syllables curl on his tongue is reverent, the hush in his voice as soft and honest as his smile.

His thumb traces a path over the ridge of her cheek, eyes half-lidded with a fatigue so heavy she’s surprised he’s able to keep them open. His lips curve, giddy at the corners. “And isn’t that a thought?” he breathes, wonder in his voice. “To live.”

Sara doesn’t answer. Even if she knew how to respond, she suspects he doesn’t really expect her to. His eyes drop to her lips, words escaping his own in a murmured prayer. “What a thought...”

Throat dry, Sara swallows down the temptation to lean down and kiss him. She lays her head on the pillow, facing him. “You need to sleep.”

Seth hums, eyes closing. “That does sound like an accurate assessment.” He meets her gaze, brow furrowing thoughtfully. “May I—” He swallows, jaw tense as he scowls up at the ceiling. His hand, the one laying between them, flexes once, twice, before fisting in the sheets. “Never mind. It’s ridiculous.”

It’s not, she thinks, but she knows better than to try to pry an answer from him. There’s no time for his riddles and deflections when his eyes carry the bruises of centuries’ worth of lost sleep. She stares at his hand, eyes lingering over his pale knuckles. She has a pretty good idea of what his request was, anyway.

She coaxes his fingers loose, unwilling to meet his surprised stare. When she clumsily laces their fingers, their palms pressed together, a stuttered sigh leaves his lips. The tension he was holding onto leaves with it. “Thank you,” he breathes.

Sara squeezes his hand, frowning when he doesn’t return it. A quick glance and she understands why. In the same way he used to come and go, disappearing between one blink and the next, he has fallen asleep.

Smiling softly, she whispers, “You’re welcome.”

She doesn’t release his hand.

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