Page 106 of My Lovely Tragedy
This boy…
“I assure you; it is.”
“Well… yeah, I guess partly. But you’re not entirely selfish with me. What you did was…”
His confidence in me should disgust me. It does. It’s wrong and depraved, and I hate it.
And yet…
“Darling…” I turn and yank him against my chest with a groan, burying my nose in his unruly, golden locks. “You have nofuckingidea how selfish I really am with you. It should terrify you.”
“Little late for that, ‘bias,” he mumbles into my chest, sending puffs of hot air between the woven fabric. “And you said fuck,” he says after a second’s pause. It draws a blistering chuckle from deep within.
“I suppose I did.” I tug his head back to catch his eyes. Vibrant blues. So devout, it’s cruel. “You’re a bad influence.”
He huffs. “’Bout time I influence you, huh?”
“You have influenced everything about me. Down to the way I breathe.”
A scoff. “How romantic.” His arms encircle me.
“Tragic,” I correct bitterly.
“Oh, right.” His voice drops in tone, lancing with disappointment, and I hate myself more for taking that flash of joy from him.
Shoving down the spike in my chest, I pull him back just enough to capture his chin between my fingers. His skin lingers with old sweat as I drag my nose over it. “How do you feel about a picnic?”
He tries to pull away again, but I keep him pinned. He stops fighting immediately, and I can’t ignore the shot of pleasure that drugs me. “A picnic?”
I nod, lips skimming the bridge of his nose. “It’s a lovely day. No snow, blooming flowers. Even the animals are lively.”
“No snow…” he repeats slowly.Don’t say it, darling.“Sure, why not. I could use some fresh air.” He chuckles. It sounds forced, and we both know it but ignore it entirely.
I smile against him, tightening my arms. “Excellent. I’ve brought down fresh clothes for you. You can shower, and while you do, I will pack the basket.” My eyes travel down Brooklyn’s nude form. Brawn and bruised. Bandages a stark contrast against his paler skin, which lost most of its tan over weeks left inside, far away from the sun’s rays.
“Of course, you have a fuckingpicnic basket,” he grumbles.
“Yes. I’m sure that does not come as a surprise to you.”
“No. Not really.” He chuckles and then steps back. I let him go, even as my fingers twitch to keep him nearby.
Don’t let him go. Keep him in your sight…
“Clothes?” he asks, scanning the room.
“Over there.” I gesture to the end table off the sofa.
Brooklyn looks down at his arms, and then holds them out to me. My heartlurches.
The precious boy.
“What about these?” he asks softly.Demure.A contrast to such masculinity.
I smile at him as I step closer and enclose his arms in my hands, thumbs rubbing gently over his bandages. “Would you like me to take care of these?” I ask him.
One last time. That’s all.
One more…
