Page 34 of My Lovely Tragedy
I focus on it, pulling from that singular spot. It’s not enough to restrict airflow, but the sensation of somethingdifferentreminds me I’m not lost.
I’m right here.
A focal point in the washed-out sea of nothing—and everything.
My head rocks back and forth against his bony chest, my hair sticking in every direction. “I-I’m s-sorry,” I choke and hiccup through the words, feeling shame burn alight again, at the fact I can’t even fuckingtalk.
“Shh, lovely boy. Don’t speak.” Tobias raises one arm to cup the back of my head, pressing me tighter to his chest. My skull digs into his sternum, and it must be so uncomfortable for him, but he doesn’t say a fucking word, and I’m too tired to care if it actually does hurt.
I just want to be held.
To forget.
Tobias cards his fingers through my hair, fingertips searching, digging deeper until he presses against my scalp. He massages my head, slowly and methodically.
My legs turn to jelly, and I slump further against him, not a worry igniting in my brain that I’ll fall—because he’ll catch me.
His right arm tightens around my waist, fingers curving and biting into my skin as his hold on my head becomes increasingly gentler. Like he’s petting a wild animal that could turn on him at any second.
I’ve never been treated with such… reverence and care. My body melts into it, nerve endings shooting misfires all across the board. Too hot. My skin’s singing, hair melting.
Tongue is heavy, nearly numb, and incapable of use.
It’s so wrong to fall so dependent on another person in a moment of weakness. It builds reliance. Need and craving.
Having someone there when everything falls apart breeds addiction—and I’m already addicted to too many things.
My body reacts to the realization before my mind does—instantly stiffening and retreating. Tobias feels the change. His feet shift in place, fingers spread wide in both places they’re connected to my body. But he doesn’t let me go.
If anything, he holds me a little tighter. Like he knows I need it but can’t accept it.
And it’s because of that, his already imperceptible knowledge of me, that I shove myself away from him with vehemence. I expect him to stumble back, but he doesn’t budge, and instead, it’s me who loses my footing. I crash back into a barstool, sending it clattering to the ground.
My shoulders shoot to my earlobes at the piercing sound, heart rate skyrocketing as I plummet. The smack of my ass against the hardwood is jarring, stealing my breath as white-hot vibrations mutate, radiating throughout my extremities.
Tobias steps forward, body curved over, hand outstretched toward me. “Brooklyn?—”
“No!” I shout, shoving myself to my feet, even as more tears prick my eyes, clouding my vision. Tobias’s glasses are halfway down his nose, giving me what would be a clear view of his crimson irises, but for the first time, Ican’tsee them due to my own faults.
Shame, always so thick and suffocating, bathes me in its cloud as I turn away from his touch, from his help, and disappear down the hall and into the bathroom. I slam and lock it behind me before slumping against the door and sliding down it, wincing when my bruised tailbone connects with the hard floor.
My head falls back, neck arching uncomfortably, but I welcome the nearly intolerable stretching sensation. It mimics the feel of my sweatshirt cinched around my neck.
With bleary eyes, I raise my arm into my line of sight, tracing the silvery pattern of scars that I’ve long since touched—let alone acknowledged.
It’s always easier to forget, to shove it down.
But for the first time, I’m noticing howeffortlessit is for them to blend right in. Easily missed. Looked over.
Truly forgotten as they fade away.
Like they once weren’t open wounds, dripping blood down my skin and onto the floor. Like the pain I felt then—when all else wastoo fucking much—doesn’t matter anymore. If it ever did.
I squeeze my eyes shut as I dig my blunt nails into my forearm, hating the sting as much as I love it. As much as I need it—but I don’t want to, and that’s a whole other fucking problem on top of my already very long list of problems.
Tears fall, splashing against the soft material of Tobias’s pajama pants, but this time, the pain is silent. Just heaving inhales and weighty exhales.
Cold and unseeing, feeling every moment of my pitiful existence as I crawl into the shower and drown my sorrows in scalding water.
