Page 321 of Nemesync
I kissed the tip of her nose, finding eternity in her gaze, and a home in her touch. “You didn’t have to do anything, Zanae.”
She took my hand, shaking her head. “Nonsense,” and led me to the couch, pushing me to sit and settling on my lap.
Zanae placed her hand on my cheek and spoke in a soft, loving voice, “You’ve taught me to breathe, to smile, cry, laugh, and have fun. You’ve shown me how to hate and to love.You embody everything good, and everything flawed within me. Elijah Volkov, you healed my scars with your kisses. My heart beats to the rhythm of yours, and I wanted it to remain etched on me as it is within me.”
I gazed at her, a mix of curiosity and love reflected in my eyes.
She lifted her wrist, and on her scars was a tattoo, a heartbeat, with a name on the peaks: ‘ELIJAH.’
My name, on her pain. Etched on her skin.
Our scars merged and became our own salvation.
A place where our brokenness completed each other, harmonizing our hearts in the melody of our love—dark and tragic, beautiful and twisted.
My eyes widened; I didn’t know what to say. So I just caressed the tattoo and placed a tender kiss on it. I was so in love with her it scared me.
I gently placed my hand on Zanae’s throat, drawing her closer. “I love you so much,Milaya. I would have loved you even if love didn’t exist,” I whispered.
And I would. The word love isn’t adequate for my feelings. It’s a drop in the ocean of devotion I truly feel when it comes to my Zanae. ‘Love’ was too light. It was faith in her that consumed me, as if she held a purpose greater than life itself. Greater than my own life. Profound with no limits.
But she had something else to show me. “Close your eyes for me,” she asked.
I closed them and immediately felt her delicate fingers opening my palm.
She traced the lines of my hand slowly and I just let her do it. Hypnotized by the feeling of her fingers on my skin.
“Open them again,” her soft voice expressed.
A constellation.
“Her name meant ‘light.’ She would have been so proud to see that her son is still spreading that light.”
Noor. My mother. She never forgot about that.
And I felt like the child I once was, looking at my palm, stars etched on the scarred skin I hated so much.
But I didn’t see the blood, or the bruises on my mother’s face.
I saw light and love, affection and life.
Gentle lips pressed against those scars like a balm. Love and devotion marked every kiss. “Happy birthday,Hayati,” she murmured.
How do you thank the pulse of your own heart?
I didn’t know.
But she was that pulse, and withouther, there wouldn’t beme.
I kissed her, gently and softly, savoring the taste of my own paradise, relishing the feeling that filled my heart, the sensation of drowning in this love.
Painful, devastating, but sublime.
That seraphic feeling only she could evoke in me.
My beautiful Nemesync, as I had taken to calling her these past few weeks.
Pulling away, I smiled, my hands slipping under Zanae’s sweater. Cold fingers grazed her skin as I whispered, “Can I now show you how grateful I am for what you’ve done,Nemesync?”
