Page 112 of Lourdes & the Mafia
It warms me that… that he’s taking care of me. It immediately eases the tears that feel like they’re going to fall, appeasing something raw inside me.
Even if he can’t physically touch me, he’s making sure I’m cared for. Even if it’s with something like food.
The shadows of his magic form the image of arms, and Kane himself shoves his hands deep in the recesses of his pockets, hunching slightly, but his eyes burn with intensity as they watch my every move. Those hands reach out, grasping a morsel from the platter and bringing it to my lips.
A strawberry.
“Eat,” he whispers.
I obey, taking a bite of the juicy fruit and humming contentedly as flavor bursts on my tongue. He watches me, and my eyes can’t pull away from his as he feeds me fruit after fruit. When I finish, a steaming cup floats in my direction. The phantom hands pull me up with care and gentleness so I’m sitting up. The rim of the cup presses to my lips and I take a sip of the tea.
Lavender and chamomile.
“Drink.”
He’s methodic in his care, and far gentler than he’s ever been before. He takes his time, using shadows to massage along my body, working out the kinks in my shoulders from being tied up. We stare at each other all the while, enraptured in each other’s gazes. Every touch relaxes me further. Until my eyes grow heavy with sleep.
And when they finally do close, his image is all I see.
Lourdes
Iwishwecouldspend the rest of our days in bed. But reality closes in and soon, we’re forced to leave the blissful moments of what happened between us behind. We get up after a restful night, we get dressed, and we sit down to talk about what happened.
About why Ramiel was stabbed by a fallen angel.
Losing ourselves in each other had served as a mere distraction for a little while. There are bigger things here at hand. Even when I wish there wasn’t.
Even when I wish I could have one more day. One more day free of stress. One more day to explore what this is between them, and how far it can go.
They’ve hinted at wanting more. At least, Lorenzo has. Kane and Ramiel are both mysteries to me. While Kane has been more straightforward, it’s still obvious there’s something he’s hiding behind the doors of his eyes. He’s built walls up so high, it’d be impossible to scale them within this lifetime. He has a right to his secrets, I suppose. And Ramiel? He’s an enigma. Dangerous and protective, and I think he would tell me what he wants from me if he could. He doesn’t because we actually haven’t had a chance to sit down and talk.
If we did, what would I say? Would I be brave enough to tell them the truth that resounds in the beating of my heart? A fool, I’ve vowed to be independent, to stay away from dick and men forever. But my heart and body and soul didn’t stand a chance when they came into the picture.
And just like all the times before, I’m falling. I’m falling for Lorenzo and Ramiel’s charm. I’m falling for Kane’s murderous deposition. I’m falling for the Underworld and all the strange creatures who dance along to 80s music, even the fucking scenery.
Joder.
I’m so fucked.
“Are you okay, Amore?” Lorenzo’s hand on my own draws me out of my reverie. I try to give him a smile, but they all know it’s forced.
I’m feeling a whole mix of emotions right now. The high from being with them still branded into my bones, the worry about what Ramiel went through and what comes next, and the thought that I am enamorada con los demonios del inframundo.
In love with the goddamn demons of the goddamn Underworld.
Dios, were their dicks that good that I’m already stupid and wanting to profess my love for them? Yes, they were good. The best I’ve ever had, and I’m sure they’ve ruined me for anyone else. Honestly, I don’t know what the fuck I’m feeling. Love is such a strong sentiment, and Naomi may think that I toss it around way too often, but I never say something I don’t mean.
Some people think it’s bad that I use the word so often. That I feel so deeply, so fast. Some people call me stupid for it. But why is it stigmatized? Why is it considered stupid to feel? To dream? To want something epic and long-lasting?
Isn’t it cowardly to hide your emotions? To never say what you mean or feel and lock it up inside until it becomes a festering wound? I don’t want to be that type of person. I lost my mother when I was young, and for the life of me, I can’t remember what the last thing I said to her was.
I don’t want that to be my future.
If I’m to die, I want my friends to know that the last thing I spoke to them were words of comfort. Words of love.
Because when we disappear, that’s all we have left to hold onto.
Yet the words that have always come so easily to me fail me now. All the reasons I shouldn’t even speak about it are warring in my mind.
