Page 104 of Fragile Facade
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I’m used to a little—ora lot—of unrest in my life. There’s always someone to deal with, a threat to abolish, a bargain to make, or a fight to be had. With Moros all on the same page, so ‘together’ that they’re all training alongside one another, partying in the streets, and hosting a fucking sick parade for Lock and The Misfits to get their status back, I’m off-kilter. It’s all good things, but I didn’t get my name for nothing: I need a little chaos in my life.
And now I have the perfect man to unleash it on.
Holding up the same razor blade he used to cut my bicep the first time, I close the distance between us and hold his eyes. He doesn’t look at the blade I pulled from my pocket, but he sees it, and for whatever reason, his heart rate accelerates. Excitement? Fear? Both? Doesn’t matter because I feel it thumping in my chest again, and it’s at this moment that I understand how to read music sheets. It’s his heart acting as the drum, beating out music, but it’s my actions orchestrating the notes and rhythms it pounds out. Fuck, that’s powerful, and I’m ready to see how far I can push the beat.
“What’re you gonna do, bleed me like Krypt tried to bleed the curse from Remi?” he backtalks, all attitude because he’s still unsure where this is going.
No one has moved into Hallows House yet because we haven’t had the additional Initiation Night, so tonight, we’re alone here. The table in the foyer is still busted, and the drywall is still cracked, but we’re upstairs this time. In the bedroom that used to be Krypt’s, the piano is sitting in the corner without any intention of letting me play it. Not yet. First, I have to trust myself to play, and I’ll gain that trust by reminding Soren of who I am. By reminding Soren that he’s still a sorry man with a curse haunting him.
“You think it’s fair that you got to mark me, but my mark isn’t on you?” I ask, wetting my lips and pinching the razor blade.
Soren tilts his chin, showing me the purple bruise I left on his neck. “You marked me. Against my will.”
“What will, sweetheart?”
He retreats, back hitting the wall. He doesn’t like that he backed away from me, so he pushes off it to butt his chest against mine. “You wanna mark me, baby?” he goads, lifting my hand and holding the blade to his jawline. “Start cutting.”
“So compliant.” I grin at him. “No fight left in you?”
Soren is a beautiful man because he’s so savage about it. Every expression he wears is finite, like he can’t do anything half-assed. If he’s mad, his face tells you. If he’s sad, his eyes can’t hide it. And if he’s needy, desperate with the yearning to be full of despair because he’s masochistic and loves to hurt, his actions declare his desires. He gives himself away when his eyes dip down to the hollow of my throat where the second tattoo I got today peeks out the top of my shirt. He doesn’t fucking like it. He loathes that I got it, jealous because, on the day I marked myself for him, I marked myself for her, too.
Leigh. The girl from the plane who saved my mind while I lost hold of it. The ‘cool hair’ and head of the cobra stares at Soren from my chest, and he’s a possessive fool who doesn’t want another person’s mark on me. His pronounced cheek muscles feather when he clenches his jaw, and his deep blue eyes flicker with distaste, goading me into cutting him so he feels like he belongs to me more than she does. His hypocrisy is sexy because he’s so obviously hateful about it.
I don’t love that girl. I appreciate her. I don’t understand why she came into my hallucination, but I’m grateful that she did because she tethered me to myself. But I don’t hold affection for her beyond that. But Soren…
I don’t know the definition of love or what it’s supposed to feel like. I can’t comprehend its depth when I’ve always been shallow. I can’t even wrap my head around the concept of willingly tying myself to one person, cutting off everyone else, limiting my desires and establishing a set of boundaries that prevent me from acting on my instincts. Can’t fuck anyone else? Wow. Can’t flirt with anyone else? How will I charm? Can’t look and wonder and act on sexual attraction without crossing some line I’ve never had drawn before.
But it drew itself, didn’t it? Because I’m firmly planted on this side of it, unwilling to step across because if he ever did… fuck, I’d bury myself under so many layers of masks there’d be no chance left for me to ever find my identity. Soren makes me want to be bare. Raw. Real. I’ve never wanted to be real with anyone else. Maybe that’s love, maybe it isn’t. Maybe love is selfless, and I’m simply mimicking what I think selflessness to be.
I could mimic forever for him… Because it’s effortless.
I know how I feel despite being incapable of labelling it. He’d be stupid not to feel the same, but just in case he doesn’t…
I grab his jaw, tilt it upward, and press him back until he’s steady against the bedroom wall. I take my time carving three words along the chiselled line of his jaw, not wanting to rush them because they took a long time to mean something. I want them clear, precise, and able to be read so that everyone who sees them can ask what they mean. And whenever someone does, Soren will blush, trying to explain ‘just in case’ without giving anything away until he tells them to fuck off and mind their business.
He doesn’t move or hiss or breathe any harder. The pain is the stinging kind because the blade is so sharp, but Soren takes it with pride. Because these words are prideful to him. I don’t have to tell him what words I etched into his skin forever because he knows.He knows.
Weknow. The words and what they mean. A meaning without a proper definition.
When I’m done, I slide my thumb through the blood to get a better look at my art. I’m a clear, neat writer, and adrenaline fills me when I see the words, clear as day. They’ll scar perfectly. Sucking my bloody thumb into my mouth, I let the tang of him rest against my tastebuds, looking him straight in the eyes.
Just in case, sweetheart. Here’s my declaration, written on your skin because we’re now forever.
Soren’s eyes are full and anticipatory. His dark blond hair is pushed off his forehead, giving me an unimpeded view of his expression. It’s another finite one, something that portrays exactly how I feel without either of us having to speak a word. This moment connects us, ties us, sets our lives on a path neither of us ever saw coming. But fate is weird like that.
Maybe he’s always been mine. Maybe he’s simply mine from this moment on. Either way, he’s mine, and I’m his, and if he wants this as much as I do, he’ll take the blade I offer him. I hold it up in front of me, watching his eyes dip down to it. Soren doesn’t hesitate. He takes it, leans in to press his lips to mine for one quick and savage kiss, and then pushes me back.
“Take your shirt off. Now.”
His voice, so authoritative and dominant, turns me on, but the energy coming off him sets me on fire. Because he’s the Ghost of Moros, but right now, he can’t settle himself down enough to be silent. He doesn’t want to be silent. His vibrations are dramatic, his energy is loud, and as I take my shirt off, he gets a full look at the King Cobra. His jaw clenches again, a bit of blood leaking from his new wounds, but he doesn’t dwell. He turns me around and runs his fingers down my healing back.
I’ve looked. My Vile House tattoo is mangled. The skull is visible, and most of Vile House at the top is clear, but my name is almost completely gone, and that’s the part that hurts the most. Instead of carving me over my fresh burns, Soren bends, and his lips hit the healing skin instead.
I fucking tremble. It’s such a declaration, but so soft that I can barely hold myself back from exploding. He’s kissing me better, and no one has ever done that for me. Not too long ago, I wouldn’t have even trusted him at my back. Now I want him there because he respects my trust, and I don’t know exactly when or why that happened, but he’s the only person I can put my back to. Especially my warped back and the burns that ruined me.
Soren’s lips caress every burn. He starts at my lower back and moves upward, causing emotional pain because I appreciate it so much, but soothing pain because he cares so much. When his lips hit my nape and his hands touch my ribs, he pauses to breathe me in. His nose tickles my hair, his breath soothes my skin, and his hands trace my sides. I close my eyes to feel the whole moment.
