Page 68 of Beneath Cherry Blossom Memories

“Well,” he sighs and sniffles, “you picked me out of a crowded party I’d tried everything to hide from.”

I remember that. It’s one of the few memories I have from those first days. I’d been out in LA for a collab and went to this fancy party thrown by a local band. It wasn’t his, but Devon knows the guitarist from the one hosting. So naturally, Jorge dragged Phoenix to it. He’d told me all about it eventually. But I can picture it now; it is so vivid and full of color.

Phoenix was indeed hiding.

He was in a chair behind a potted palm tree, nose buried in his phone most of the night, until he saw me from across the room. God, he looked shell-shocked. I knew immediately he’d seen some of my stuff, why else would he look both embarrassed and ravenous at the same time. But it was more than that. It was something in his starstruck gaze that lassoed around me and reeled me closer and closer.

This tall, thin metalhead who seemed so shy just ripped something free from my chest. I guess it was something akin to lust at first sight. I approached him, and he blushed, hiding behind his hair like I did. It was a potent, heedy feeling of want. Of possession. I gave him my number an hour after our first conversation. He’d texted me as soon as he got home, and we talked for the rest of the night.

“It was so easy for me to just…be with you. And I loved being seen without having to utter a word.”

I nod in agreement. “Should’ve made me work harder for it.”

He shakes his head. “It’s the opposite. I should’ve worked harder foryou, Eli. I treated you like something I owned. I took you for granted. Instead of seeing all those little signs you tried to show me, I ignored them to keep you. We…fuck.” He rubs his face, and his hair falls to cover it from me. “We should’ve never gotten together.”

“Why not?” my voice cracks as I ask.

“Because even now, I want to own you. I want you to do what I say because I say it. I want you to be whatIneed. That’s not how love is supposed to work, sweetheart.” He glances at me, eyelashes catching stray tears. “I was supposed to be what you needed, and instead, I punished you for my failures. I made you stop working and spend every spare second you could with me. Forced you to be with me when you only wanted someone to noticeyou.”

Fuck. Fucking fuck. Where is this shit coming from?

“I was a bad boyfriend. Iama bad boyfriend. Nothing I can say can make up for it either.”

I suck my lip between my teeth, shaking all over. He leans over me and kisses my forehead. “I don’t like talking, but I’m doing it now. I should’ve done it from the beginning. I should have asked, just like you said.”

Oh, hell. Now we’re both sobbing like babies. What even is this night? Why do I love it so much? God, is this what hope feels like? Does hefinallyfucking see? Three years too late, sure. But I guess it's better late than never. “Phoenix,” I rasp, holding the back of his neck so our foreheads stay connected.

“I hate that I pushed you away just like Oliver.”

“Guys?” We both pop up, looking to the source of the interruption. Jorge is standing in the hallway, eyes wet. “The walls are super thin,” he chokes and swipes at his eyes. “Can I hug you both?”

Phoenix bursts a wet laugh as I nod once, still reeling over everything he said. His admissions are like a balm to my scarred heart. Jorge tackles us to the pull-out and squeezes us into his arms. I meet Phoenix’s eyes over his shoulder. One brown. One green. Maybe we shouldn’t have gotten together, but we did, and no matter how painful it is with him, I’m not sure living without him is better. I thought I could do it, but maybe I can’t. Not when it feels like half of me is woven into him.

I need help.

Phoenix refused to take me to my hotel, so we’re back at his apartment.

Kelly is passed out on the sofa with a saucepan on her stomach. Despite how gentle he was with me, his voice still had a hard edge when he firmly told me no. I guess it’s for the best. His long fingers are threaded through mine as we tiptoe past Kelly and enter his bedroom. Once the door is shut, he unzips Jorge’s hoodie and peels it off my body.

I let him take off the rest. He’s not saying anything, but I know he’s annoyed I’m wearing his best friend’s clothes. Once I’m down to my briefs, his eyes snap to the bandage around my thigh. Sucking in a harsh breath, he brushes his knuckles over it. It’s not like he’s never seen the other scars, but I guess something about a fresh self-inflicted injury has him reassessing how mentally ill I am.

“Does it hurt?”

It does, but we both know he won’t give me anything for it, so I shake my head.

He grunts and goes to his dresser. “I’ll go get your stuff from the hotel tomorrow,” he tells me, returning with some sweats and a long sleeve. Bending at the knee, he beckons me to lift my legs.

My eyes burn while he dresses me in his clothes, a silent claiming. I need a shower, but Sonia told me not to get soap on the stitches. The layer of sweat and overall filth coating me will stink up his bed. Grimacing over the thought, I gingerly push my arms into the sleeves so he doesn’t smell me. Fuck, I’m disgusting.

“Do you want anything? Food? Water?”

“No,” I whisper, holding myself tight.

He studies me for a moment, the cogs in his head working overtime while he comes up with what to say. “We leave for Europe on the 2nd.”

“I know.”

Nodding, he rubs the back of his neck, his long hair fluffing from the movement. “You could—” he stops himself and sighs. “Sorry. You’re probably tired.” I watch him peel back the blankets and fluff a pillow for me, and then he holds out his hand.

---