Page 55 of Burn for Me

“Sam.” I hiss, and he chuckles, a sound that leaves me momentarily breathless for an entirely different reason.

“Close your eyes.”

I raise an eyebrow, and he huffs in response, losing the humor I once brought him. Stepping around me, he covers my eyes.

That familiar fear resurfaces—the fear of the unknown and what’s coming next. It coils tightly in my abdomen, causing me to shift on my feet. A harsh gust slams against my damp skin, shuddering through my bones. Instinctively, I step back into the solid barrier of his body.

“Just breathe,” he murmurs in my ear. I obey, stumbling over my feet as he guides us onto something cold, lined with stray pebbles that occasionally stick to my heel. I stop to brush the pad of my foot against my leg to shake off the sensation, but he nudges me again, and the surface shifts to something soft.

“Why do you like being on the wall so much?”

“I can see the world from there,” I reply, my voice monotone.

“Your shifts are at night. Are you really going to stand here and tell me it’s because you can see in the dark?” he murmurs, tilting my head slightly as his scruff tickles my neck. “Or will you tell me the truth?”

I feel this insane urge to bite his hand because itwasn’ta lie. Technically, itdoesfeel like I can see the whole world right before the sun sets. Quickly regaining my composure, I huff and shift on my feet.

“I like it when everything goes dark. Some nights, the sky is clear enough to see the stars, and the wall is so high it feels like I can reach out and touch them.” My voice drops to a whisper as I fiddle with the hem of my shirt, hoping he can't hear the vulnerability in my tone. “No matter where I go, I feel trapped,but I’ve always heard that in heaven, you’re free. It’s probably the closest I’ll ever get.”

I didn't mean for everything to spill out like that, but not being able to see his glare makes it easier to confide in him.

“The stars get their chance to shine,” he murmurs, his lips grazing the shell of my ear. Slowly, his hand glides down, curling around my jaw, and tilting my head back to see every speckle that paints the dark blanket above as I open my eyes. He steps away, taking his warmth with him, and I force myself to look away from the heavens to watch as he plops down onto a fluffy blanket with a gruff huff.

He studies the sky, which isn’t shadowed by clouds or terrible weather like it often is back home, a slight furrow in his brow. The smile lines I always find so intriguing seem deeper than usual, creating perfect shadows along his cheekbones. The twitch of his lip draws my attention to a scar I’ve never noticed before, prompting me to tilt my head in curiosity.

It’s a beautiful view—one I could sit and admire forever.

I tear my gaze away from him and lie on the makeshift bed.

“Did you set this up?” I whisper, raising my hand in the air to test my previous theory, but of course, I can’t touch the glowing orbs. I keep it hovering anyway.

“There's no camera up here, which means there's no invasion of privacy,” he murmurs, avoiding my question. I wiggle my fingers, watching the stars disappear behind one digit and reappear around the other.

It feels like I can finally breathe.

“If I ask you questions, will you do the same?” I ask quietly, staying lost in a trance in the pitch black.

“If you want answers, you have to give them.”

“I…” pausing, I draw in a calming breath. “What if you don’t like the answers?”

“I could say the same thing. I’ve never lied to you, though, so I’d appreciate it if you don’t lie to me.”

I scrunch my nose and, after a moment of contemplation, nod. I turn my head and see that he is already focused on me. My nerves start to send shocks from my toes up to my nose.

“What was your childhood like?” I ask, unsure if he has any triggers but deciding it’s best to start with the basics.

“Not even going to start easy on me?” He chuckles a humorless laugh while ruffling his hair, and I take a moment to look at the artwork on his arm. “I didn’t have a terrific childhood. My parents died when I was young–It's a pity what drugs can do–my uncle was forced to take me in. He already had a kid, so I assumed…”

I sit on my elbow and try to read his expression–to understand how deep this goes–but it’s impossible. He mimics my movements and leans back, focusing solely on me.

“My cousin was older, so he left before I did. He ended up moving across the country while I sat and suffered. When I turned eighteen, my uncle sold me to Chaos, and I promised myself that I would never be weak again.”

“I think you're pretty strong,” I mutter, but he doesn’t smile. His eyes look hollow, as if there's no life behind them, and I worry I may have crossed a line.

“I’m the weakest thing there is. I became what I feared. I took from those like me—small and unable to defend themselves.” He begins to speak, so I clear my throat and try to intervene.

“But you were trained to do that, right? That’s—”

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