Page 57 of My Lovely Tragedy
Brooklyn, on the other hand, is panting, pulse throbbing in the side of his neck. Each chug of blood is like a shot to my heart. He leans into my grip, a hair’s breadth away.
Our breaths mingle, every shade of heat imaginable.
Time, usually moving ever so fast, nearly impossible to catch up to, finally slows—this moment the very crux of him and I.
And then, he pulls away. Unwraps his chains. Crawls off my lap. Leaving me cold and aching and…alone.
Brooklyn’s face is a mask I cannot read, and for the first time, real, damning panic lingers, oozing along my spine, twining with every vine-like structure of nerves. He drags his chains the short distance to the sofa and curls up in the corner, pulling all three blankets up to his chin.
He stares off into the distance, at nothing in particular, leaving me to rub the vacant ache in my neck. I straighten up slightly, eyeing him warily, even if he is blurry and slightly misshapen.
“You said you wouldn’t hurt me,” he says after a long stretch. I nod.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“But you choked me. I…” I hear his swallow more than see it. “I felt your hands around my throat.”
This time,Iswallow, remembering that moment nearly as strongly as if it were happening all over again. “I did,” I concede with marginal regret. “But you panicked, and I had no choice. I truly am sorry.”
His lips purse, rotating back and forth as he gnaws at the thin layer of skin on the inside. Then he laughs loudly, and it’s dry. “I believe you.” A snort. He shakes his head. “I fucking believe you.”
I smile, genuinely filled with relief. “Thank you.” His head whips toward me, all signs of disbelieved realization gone in place of annoyance.
“It’s not for you.”
“I know.”
“But, regardless, I fucking do.” His lips are curled so beautifully.
“I appreciate the sentiment all the same.”
“I don’t give a fuck what you appreciate, Tobias. I… Itrustedyou. I thought you were actually different. I fuckingconvinced myselfyou were, despite my initial trepidation. And you proved me right. You helped me the way no one else has.” His jaw bulges as he locks his molars together. Grinding them. Fingers flex against the fabric. “And then youkidnapped me.”
“Technically, I am temporarily detaining you.” He scoffs loudly. Sarcastically.
“Oh, right. Because the more eloquent the words, the better it sounds. That doesn’t change the fucking truth of it.”
“Of course not, but your choice of word was incorrect, and I want you to know this isn’t forever. Only a month.”And even that is not enough.
“Only a month,” he parrots, mocking my usual response form. “Like that’s supposed to make it better.”
“I don’t know about making anything better, but I find the truth to always be favorable.”
“Ohhh.” His eyebrows hike. “Thetruth,” he drawls. “The fucking truth.” He drops his hands back into his lap, causing the blankets to float, then settle back on him. “Please tell me you meant that to be as ironic as it is.”
I wince, apologetic. “Not intentionally.”
The silence stretches again, pregnant with everything left unsaid. All that’s been spilled stains the rest, turning it toxic and black with its poison.
Brooklyn’s agony rolls off him in uneven ripples, and as I watch him, never once moving from my place in the chair, I worry he is slipping back into his own black void. Away from me.
“Brooklyn…” His namehurts.It lances my heart, and I bleed into my thoracic cavity. Blood bubbling and gurgling. Black with death.
“Don’t, Tobias,” he whispers, choking on a silent sob. “Just don’t.”
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
TOBIAS
