Page 85 of Scarred Sins
“Anything else?” He murmurs softly.
“It’s just…’’ I pause, taking a small intake of air. “I’m scared I’ll freeze up again. I’m scared that all of my strength is nothing but a facade that will crumble when I come face to face with them. I’m scared I’ll be the reason we fail.’’
My eyes fall to the floor, and I fiddle with my fingers on my lap. Truth be told, I’m absolutely terrified that I’ll end up causing them not to find Luna. As much as I want Simmons and Adams dead, so do they. And I’m scared Arlo will blame me if Luna isn’t found alive.
“Hey,’’ he says, voice gentle as he tenderly puts his fingers under my chin, lifting it up. “Look at me.’’
My eyes fall on his, and I can’t read what he’s thinking. I hate how good he is at concealing his thoughts and how he can turn his usually expressive eyes into two cold stones. It’s almost unreal how good he is.
“If we fail, which we won’t, it won’t be because of you. Alright?” He steps closer, standing in between my legs. “No matter what, my goal has been and will forever be to keep you safe. There’s nothing you can do that will mess this up because you’re not alone. My parents are right behind you;I’m right behind you.My entire existence revolves around yours, Blair. I vow to you, I won’t allow you to get scared. I’ll give you all of my power and let you use it.’’
My breath hitches in my throat, and I’m unable to speak. The sheer intensity and sincerity of his words go straight to my brain, and I’m unable to focus on anything else.His existence revolves around my own; he’ll give me all of his power.
“Don’t overthink it,’’ he takes my hand in his, pulling it to his lips and pressing a kiss to my knuckles. “You’re much stronger than you give yourself credit for, and I won’t let you doubt your skills. You’ve been training for such a short amount of time, but your dedication and inner strength are showing. In fact, you’re far better than half of the people we bring in to train.’’
I chuckle. “I just have quick reflexes. Prison does that to you.’’
He smiles. “And as terrible as this will sound, it’s good that you have quick reflexes. You’re smart and quick on your feet. It’s good. You’re good. You’ll get even better before D-day.’’
“Do we know when D-day will be, exactly?”
Arlo shakes his head. “No. Dad will finalize the team by the end of next week, and that’s when we’ll gather again and speak about the plan in fine details.’’
I nod.
“Now,’’ Arlo pulls me to my feet. “Aria says you want to bleach my hair?”
I smile. “If you’ll let me.’’
He gives me a boyish grin, eyes cackling. “Always, my butterfly.’’
TWENTY-FIVE
Ispent an hour watching online tutorials on how to bleach hair at home. I’ve never bleached mine, and although it looks simple in theory, I just had to stumble across a couple of failed bleach attempt videos that made me feel anxious.
Arlo sits on the small stool in his bathroom, and I’m behind him, putting gloves on my hands. My fingers tremble as I grab the mixing bowl and start putting in the bleach and developer. I’m supposed to use a measuring scale, but Arlo just said to wing it, so I’m winging it.
Once I think it’s the right consistency, I take his hairbrush and comb through his hair, then slowly start applying the bleach to his roots only. It reeks, the chemicals burning my nose. Somehow, he seems unaffected. Most likely because he’s been bleaching his hair since he was ten years old.
He tilts his head back slightly, giving me better access to his front parts, the soft music of piano filling the otherwise silent bathroom. His eyes are closed, and I can see him visibly relax the more I touch his hair, trying my best to evenly distribute the product without frying off his hair.
He looks peaceful, and the smile forms on my face without me even realizing. His steady breathing causes my heart to flutter, and it’s weird. All of this is weird. I’ve finally decided to give in and trust him completely. It will either be my salvation or my doom, and somehow, I trust him enough to believe it’d be the former.
The soft recording of the piano lingers around us, and I recognize it as one of Arlo’s plays. Of course, the piece isn’t originally his, but somehow, I can immediately tell that it was his fingers gliding over the keys, playing the beautiful melody.
“When did you record this one?” I ask, breaking the silence.
Arlo tilts his head back more, then opens his eyes. I can’t begin to describe how bright his eyes are and how the soft gaze makes me feel. Almost like I’m the only one to ever see it. He gives me a wolfish grin, that stupid gem on his tooth doing things to me that I don’t understand.
“A while ago,’’ he murmurs. “I was going to send you this one, but you ended up leaving Long Grove, so I never got the chance to.’’
“Why did you do that?” I press. “I mean, amongst the clothes and jewelry you sent me and the letters, why the recordings?”
He shrugs, and I gently push his head forward, moving onto bleaching the backside of his head. I steal a few glances of him through the mirror, but his gaze never leaves mine. I don’t think he’s blinked much, either.
“I read somewhere that people with trauma find it soothing. So, I played around with different pieces, some being soft tunes, others being aggressive, until I figured out which ones you liked the most.’’
“And how did you figure it out?” I ask, then remember our history and snort. “Never mind, the entire house was filled with cameras.’’
