Page 60 of Goldsin

“Fine,” she mutters, still blushing as she climbs into my bed, pulling the covers up around her.

God, she looks absolutely perfect lying there in my shirt, her curls spilling over my pillow.

I have to remind myself that tonight has nothing todo with satisfying our desires, and everything to do with her.

“Are you coming to bed?” she asks, her voice soft and unsure as she glances back at me.

Fuck.

“Not until you fall asleep.” I try to sound casual even though my dick is rock-solid, straining against the confinement of my shorts.

The need to stretch out beside her and feel her body against mine is distressing; the urge to trace her curves with my fingers destructive.

I know if I lie down beside her, the temptation to touch her, taste her, will be too strong to resist. And while I may be many things—a liar, a criminal, a killer—I am not the kind of man who takes advantage of a woman when she’s vulnerable.

At least not tonight.

“Okay,” she says, still watching me with those big green eyes that seem to see right through me. “Just ... don’t stay up all night because of me, all right?”

I give her a reassuring smile, stepping away from the bed and settling into a nearby chair, where I can keep watch over her as she sleeps.

My eyes never leave her figure as she snuggles down into my bed. She looks at me with mock confusion, knowing full well why I chose to sit here instead of joining her.

“Good night, Julian.” She smiles with her eyes closed.

“Good night, golden one,” I whisper back.

Seconds pass, and she’s fast asleep.

I stay in the corner of the room, my body tense fromthe earlier fight and the dreadfulness that came over me the moment I saw the fucker’s hands on her.

I keep my eyes on her. Steady. Like I’m scared something or someone could hurt her again.

She looks so peaceful as her chest softly rises and falls. Peaceful, but not at peace. Just like me, she has this entity raging inside of her, eating at her with each passing day.

I stare at her, and I can’t help but think of how this silence surrounding us only serves as a false sense of serenity. We aren’t normal people, and there’s no simple life waiting for us once the sun rises.

We aren’t the kids we used to be.

And yet as she sleeps, caressed by the moonlight, she looks just like she did the first time I saw her. Just like that little girl blinded by her surroundings as she giggled to herself, running through the green field, trying to catch up to the blue butterfly that was on her nose seconds ago.

They call her the golden one, the lucky girl who survived the life she was born into. The chosen one. They call her thisin mockery. Because she’s an orphan, gilded by our lifestyle.

But I decided to call her the golden one because in that moment, when I turned toward the erupting giggles, I finally saw a person living. Truly living; truly happy.

A girl with red hair, kissed by the sun’s rays.

A girl with red hair, kissed by life.

And when you grow up to be a reaper, you can’t help but become obsessed.

Obsessed to the point of killing her.

But within that lies the irony, because if she dies, I lose my purpose to live.

And God, all I ever wished for before her was just that.

To die.

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