Page 9 of Sick Like Me

But even as I will it, my brain sending urgent signals to my feet to get them to move. I’m frozen in place, every muscle, bone and inch of sinew locked in position. And the only thing I can get out when I look at him, like really, really look at him, with damp brown hair sticking to his forehead, his lips slightly parted as he stares at me, is his name.

“Caelus.” It’s shaky and low and uncertain and it’s met with hushed murmurs and whispers at hearing me finally speak, break my own personal vow of silence whilst at this academy, but there’s not enough time to process that either, because Cal’s only concern right now, in the middle of his afternoon class, seems to be me.

“Class is over, everyone out,” he booms the order, the sound of his thunderous voice bouncing around the huge hall.

Immediately, sweeping his way across the floor, students rushing past me to exit. It’s an almost theatrical display, the way he moves, gliding over the wood, but there’s concern in his eyes, warm honey-hazel freckled with dark, forest green, beautiful really, especially when his attention is solely fixed on me. I’m sick, coming here, to him, seeking… I don’t even really know.

But I know we have something, even if I’m not fully certain what.

The doors shut with an echoing slam at my back making me flinch as Cal’s hands find both sides of my face, “Ozzie,” hebreathes, his eyes searching mine, his hold on my face tilting my chin up. “What’s wrong?”

His fingers flex against my cheekbones, my lips parting to speak, but nothing escapes me bar a heavy sigh, an exhale of relief. Caelus sweeps his warm thumbs up the length of my cheekbones, pushing the tips of his long fingers into my hair, holding onto my skull, like my head being cradled in his hands is where it belongs.

“You,” is what I breathe out, a tiny sound, but one that feels heavy, like it holds all of the world’s chaos and violence and death. “You- he- I’m supposed to-”

“You’re crying,” Caelus whispers, almost in awe, staring at my lower lashes as they clump with drops of despair. His palms are hot and clammy on my cheeks, thumbs smoothing over my skin, smearing the salty tears beneath my eyes. “Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t want to kill you,” is my answer, all of my father’s threats tumbling around inside my brain and making me physically ache.

He blinks, heavy black lashes shuttering over his warm eyes as he surveys me, and then his dark brown brows lift high on his head, “I’m your next kill,” he says quietly, coming to the right conclusion with no help at all from me.

“I’m not doing it,” I tell him, even as sickness washes around inside my belly, and bile climbs its way up my oesophagus like it’s a creature made of sludge using hooked talons to ascend. “I don’t care what happens to me.” It’s a breathless confession, one I don’t have to think about, it’s just true.

I think of the room, of the box, of the leather straps and the neck needles. The darkness and the light, the blasts of heat, of ice.

I’m stiff, my eyes wide as Caelus drags me into his chest, folding his arms over my back, hands cupping my head andshoulder like I mean something. My arms hang by my sides because I don’t know how to do this, tofeel, to hug, to cuddle. I’ve never been held before.

“Ozzie,” he whispers into my ear, ruffling my hair with his breath, his sweat-slicked skin sticks to my clothed body, and his mouth is hot and wet when it presses to the side of my neck. “Put your arms around me, Little Ghost. Hold onto me while I hold onto you.” Summoned, my arms slowly raise, my fingers curling into the loose fabric of his top, fisting in the damp cotton. “That’s it,” he hushes, soothing me enough to let my eyes fall closed. “Just hold onto me and I’ll keep you safe.”

Chapter 5

Caelus

I’m getting increasingly irritated by having to hunt this -my-girl down. She is quite literally never where she says she is, that is, when she actually bothers using the phone I bought her. One her father doesn’t know about and can’t use to monitor and track her.

I can hardly concentrate as I storm through the halls, students and faculty alike flitting out of my way as my boots carve the way for me.

It’s musty and dry in here with a nose wrinkling undertone of something damp, everything is worn and wrinkled and well used, everything, except for her.

Ozzie has her back lightly resting against the full stacks, shelves stretching up all the way to the ceiling, filled with leather bound books, tomes and novels. Feet crossed at the ankles in the farthest corner of the library, my girl flips the page in the large book open in her hands, her blonde hair curtaining her face where her head dips forward, neck curved allowing her to read.

Her long fingers are barely visible beneath the pulled down cuffs of her oversized white sweatshirt, just the tips pinching the fragile paper as she turns another page.

Without warning, I creep up the aisle, and step right up into her. Crushing the book between our chests, her arms still folded over it, elbows digging into my abs. She peers up at me as I fist the shelf directly above her head, her eyes flicking to the tops of their sockets, head tilting back to glance up at my hand as my other cups the side of her neck.

She flinches, like she always does, any touch, any touch with affection seems to be almost confusing to her. Ostara Stone has been conditioned to believe that touch is only intended to cause pain or subdue a target, I’m going to keep proving to her that it’s not.

In only weeks we’ve gone from a desperate hate fuck in the woods our families are at war over, to being tethered in ways I can’t even attempt to put words to.

Breath rushes out of her as she melts into the hard juts of shelving at her back, my body overwhelming hers and pinning it in place, our fronts flush, the thick, hard length in my joggers digging into her belly.

“Ozzie,” I tilt my head so my mouth is slanted over hers, not quite touching, but close enough that I could. “You’re twenty minutes late,” I hush, allowing my lips to gently pluck at hers with every word.

Her breath is warm against my skin, my hazel eyes on her bright blues, she looks at me now, with something like admiration, and it’s like a baseball bat hits me in my sternum, “I didn’t check the time.”

“You didn’t miss me enough today, Little Ghost?” I tease, the corner of my mouth curling up in a smirk before the sudden spark of alarm in her gaze compels me to explain. “I was only joking,” I frown, stroking the rough pad of my thumb along the underside of her jaw. “I was worried, that’s why I came looking for you.”

Her eyes soften, lids shuttering over the sapphire blue, and she tilts her head, quickly pressing her lips to mine before she pulls back, the crown of her head gently connecting with the edge of the wooden shelf.

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