Page 8 of My Lovely Tragedy
I eye it warily, at his long fingers wrapped around it, the tip of his middle finger brushing his thumb. A huff of breath meets my ear before he retracts his arm and uncaps it. He arches his neck and pours a stream of water into his mouth, holding the bottle a few inches above his face.
I watch as it flows between his stretched lips, sharply defined Adam’s apple bobbing with a swallow before he drops his head again. My eyes find his, expecting eye contact, but he’s looking just to the left of my face.
“So you know it’s safe to drink,” he offers, holding the bottle out once more. I take it with less grace than I’d like to admit, but once the lukewarm water douses my dry and cracked mouth, I chug the rest with relish.
“Thank you,” I gasp, chest heaving from quickened breaths. He nods.
“Of course.” I blink a few times, eyes narrowing as I strain to remember his name. “It’s Tobias.”
I rear back slightly, scared shitless I said something out loud. He chuckles quietly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his thighs, then clasping his hands together in front of himself.
“I assumed most of your recollection of last night is a bit… murky.”
I scoff and run a hand through my tangled hair, pulling it back from my face. “You could say that.”
He smiles mutely, eyes trained on the blanket bunched up to my left, fingers twitching in an uneven rhythm.
I lean back, relishing in the immediate relief against my aching tailbone. A quick glance down tells me I’m still in the clothes I remember being in when I stumbled out of the hotel and into the night, so that’s a good sign. But what’s not is the fact I fuckingstink.Like musky water and sweat. My nose wrinkles as the scent wafts upwards.
“So, where am I, exactly?” I pull the quilt back over my lap and trace the lines of patterns. My mind is reeling, too many thoughts bombarding me with the unfortunate clarity of sobriety.
I’d much rather be sick from a hangover—but it seems like I’ve got the best of both worlds today.
“My house. I asked you last night if you would like to come home with me, and you followed me to my car.”
I’m scowling, lines creased into my face to the point it nearly hurts. “So, you just took home a random stranger.” My words come out with a lot more bite than I intend, but I also don’t give a fuck how it sounds.
Tobias leans back in his chair, the same light shade of gray as the couch, and rests his palms against each thigh, fingers spread the exact same on either side. His lips purse slightly, bruised nose wrinkling before his features smooth out and he lifts his head, causing a curl to dislodge from the masses atop and swing down across his forehead.
He doesn’t even seem to notice as he looks in my general vicinity. “It sounds worse than my true intentions, I will admit.”
Well, that’s not a fucking answer.
I cross my arms over my chest. “And what are your true intentions? Because if you think you can get something out of me, some fan-crazed obsession shit, think again.”
“Fan-crazed?” he parrots, eyes widening as an eyebrow lifts comically high. I glance around the room, not really sure where to look as my own confusion washes over me.
“Yeah. You know who I am, right?”
He nods, lips pressed together. “Yes. Brooklyn.”
I snort. “Yeah. But, like, what I do…” I trail off when it’s apparent he has no idea what the fuck I’m talking about.
“I remember you asking me last night if I recognized you…” he says aloud, but it feels like an internal thought. “I feel as if I should now that you’re mentioning it again.” He sighs and finally brushes that strand of hair back from his face. “I am not as up to date with the world as I should be, it seems.” He spreads his arm out, referencing the room we’re in. “I tend to hole myself up in here, getting far too lost in my stories to keep up with everything else.” He shakes his head as if he’s dispersing his thoughts. “I apologize. I feel I should know you… who you are.”
“I will say it’s a new one,” I muse, my lip curling at the edge in minute humor. He could be lying, of course. Most people are great fucking liars, but I’m so tired of questioning everyone’s intentions all the damn time. It’s the most exhausting, vicious cycle.
“Are you going to tell me, or do I have to figure it out for myself?” I let my head fall back with a laugh, eyes staring up at the black, textured ceiling. My body is still cramping with the enervating hangover, and my muscles ache deeply, but my head feels lighter, like the genuine laughter has eased some of the weight against my chest.
After the humor has subsided, I lower my head again, only to lose my breath when I’m finally met with Tobias’s eyes. He’s leaned forward again, and a peak of sunlight that has slipped from a gap in the curtains ignites his irises in the most vivid brown, perfectly fused with a deep shade of red. Bleeding garnet.
We’re locked in a gaze I can’t escape from.
I lose myself in the piercing depths, and it’s not until his are ripped away from me that I’m jolted back to reality.
I’m frazzled, confusion and capriciousness lingering on my skin as I take a few—what I hope are subtle—deep breaths.
“I apologize; I’ve been rude. Would you like something to eat? I can also find some clothes for you if you would like to shower. Or bathe. I have a bath as well. I’m not sure my clothes would be the best fit, but they’ll do just fine.” Tobias’s eyes drag up and down over my body—three times over—before he fixes them just to my left. Again.
