Page 68 of Sticks & Serpents

Because this was too much. It was too fucking much.

I’d spent years pushing people away, building walls higher than I thought anyone could scale. And here she was—her presence like a soft light piercing through the darkness I’d wrapped around myself for so long.

But despite how vulnerable it made me feel, I didn’t want to leave. For the first time in years, the thought of walking away from someone didn’t fill me with relief; it filled me with dread. I wanted to stay here, in this moment, tangled up in sheets and memories that blurred lines between anger and desire.

What had happened last night? The way she surrendered to me felt both intoxicating and terrifying. My mind raced with every kiss we shared, every gasp that escaped her lips as I claimed her again—marked her as mine in a way no one else could ever take from me.

And yet… this wasn’t just some casual fling anymore. She wasn’t just another girl; she was Holly—the one who’d gotten under my skin years ago and never really left. The girl who saw past my chaos and still chose to dive into the fire with me.

But now? Now we had crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed. Each breath she took sent ripples through my chest, tightening my grip on reality as I fought against the instinct to bolt—to protect myself from what this could mean.

Instead of running, I simply stayed there beside her—feeling everything crash over me like waves against jagged rocks—and for once? It felt strangely right.

Holly stirred beside me, blinking sleepily as the morning light filtered through the curtains.

“You’re still here,” she said, her voice a soft murmur that hung in the air like a lingering dream.

I smirked, my voice raspy from sleep. “You say that like you expected me to disappear.”

She stretched, arms reaching above her head, and I couldn’t help but notice how her bare skin brushed against mine. It was lazy. Comfortable. Dangerous. A reminder of everything we had crossed into—every line blurred and every rule broken.

Her fingers trailed absently over my chest, tracing the old scars that mapped my body like stories etched in ink. They weren’t questions; they were observations—an exploration of the history she hadn’t fully known until now.

The sensation sent shivers down my spine, igniting a fire deep within me I struggled to contain. I wanted to push her away, to remind myself of the disarray waiting just outside this bubble we had created. But I didn’t move; instead, I let her touch linger, drawing out moments I had thought were long gone.

I could feel the tension in the air thickening with each gentle stroke of her fingers, and something inside me cracked open just a little more.

She bit her lip and continued tracing those scars as if mapping out every piece of who I was—a chaotic puzzle even I didn’t fully understand. It felt too intimate; too close. Yet it grounded me in ways nothing else ever had before.

Her touch was an anchor and a reminder all at once: this was Holly—my wild card—and I wasn’t ready for what came next.

I felt her gaze linger, the weight of it heavy and warm against my skin. Holly tilted her head, her eyes still heavy with sleep. “I’ve never seen you sleep so soundly.”

Her voice, soft and melodic, sliced through the haze of morning like a whisper from the past. I exhaled slowly, turning my attention back to the ceiling, trying to find comfort in its stillness. Because I hadn’t slept soundly in years—not since the last time I fell asleep with her.

But she didn’t need to know that.

Instead, I focused on the texture of the sheets beneath me, how they cradled my body and tangled around us like a cocoon. It felt different with her here—this unexpected calm that settled deep in my chest and made something inside me unravel. A part of me wanted to cling to this moment, wanted to forget about everything waiting outside this room—the rage that always simmered just beneath the surface.

I caught a glimpse of her expression as she continued to watch me. There was curiosity mixed with concern—maybe even affection—but I couldn’t let that in. Not now. Not when I felt so exposed.

“Don’t get used to it,” I replied, forcing a smirk onto my lips, trying to mask the vulnerability creeping into my veins. “I’m not exactly known for my sleeping habits.”

She frowned slightly, and it made me want to reach out and brush her hair back from her face, trace the contours of her jawline with my fingers. But I didn’t move; instead, I stayed perfectly still as if any sudden movement might shatter this fragile moment.

“Still,” she pressed gently. “You looked peaceful.”

Peaceful? That was a foreign concept for me—an illusion crafted by years of hiding behind walls thick enough to block out any hint of softness. I had spent too long cultivating shit as a shield against everything I couldn’t face—everything that haunted me at night.

“Maybe it’s just the rain,” I deflected, focusing on how droplets pattered softly against the windowpane rather than what lay beneath our words.

But deep down, part of me recognized it wasn’t just the rain. It was Holly—the way she made me feel alive in ways I'd thought impossible again. And damn it if that realization didn’t scare me more than anything else ever could.

Holly shifted beside me, her hand slipping lower, brushing against my hip in a way that sent shivers down my spine. It felt innocent at first, just the gentle exploration of muscle under her fingers, but then it happened—her touch ghosted over my upper thigh.

Everything in me froze.

I inhaled sharply, a rush of heat igniting in places I didn’t want to acknowledge. I wanted to pull away, to create distance between us and shield myself from whatever this was becoming. But she was already too close—too aware. Her fingers paused, lingering on the scars that marred my skin.

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