Page 162 of Eternal
“I’ll give you my gloves. Your hands are too cold.”
He slips his gloves onto my fingers, careful, like I’m something frail, as if I’m not standing in front of him soaked in someone else’s blood.
Then his fingers skim my face, skin on skin, his thumb tracing over my cheek, lingering where the blood has dried.
Blood. Blood. Blood.
Doesn’t he see it? Doesn’t he see what I am?
“Come on,” he murmurs. “We’re goinghome.”
I don’t argue, my head is too full, my body too heavy, and strangely enough, I’m happy that he’s here tonight.
He hands me the second helmet, but before I take it, I hesitate. My fingers hover over it, my voice quieter now. “Does it bother you?” His brows pull together. “The blood,” I say. “I’ll stain your clothes.”
Something flickers in his eyes. Then, he lifts his boot and nudges my leg, pushing me closer.
“I don’t give a fuck about that,” he says, voice low and steady. “Keep your hands tight around me, don’t let go.”
I take the helmet, pull it on, climb onto the bike.
The moment my arms wrap around him, he exhales like he’s been waiting for it. His hand tightens over mine for a second too long, and then they leave.Don’t let go…
We’re going home, and my head is empty.
I’m slumped against his back, my arms hang loosely around his waist, barely holding on, barely holding myself together. He’s fast, cutting through the streets like he knows exactly where every car will be before it gets there. The wind is cold, some of my hair strands sticking to my face from sweat and… probably blood.
I should’ve tied it up.
I shift, adjusting my grip, my fingers brushing against the hem of his jacket. It’s warm.He’swarm.
I exhale, pressing my forehead lightly against his shoulder for a second before pulling back. I tell myself it’s the exhaustion, that’s all.
Then, he moves a little, his hand brushes over mine, barely if I’m being honest, but the way my heart ached for more made it something bigger than it was.
His gloves keep my hand warm, but I feel his cold fingertips trace the small patch of bare skin around my wrist.
It’s nothing, it’s a simple touch, a normal thing, but somehow, it feels different. He’s barely touching my skin, and for a second, a short stupid moment, I almost forgot how much it used to hurt, how every touch was always a reminder of how I’ve always been used when I should’ve been loved.
This one, though... It feels too different, it’s so soft. I don’t know why, but something about it makes me relax,like it’s...like it’s okay to let someone care.
I shouldn’t be thinking this way, but the little girl inside me feels safe, even if she’s not sure why.
He speeds up, and I squeeze my arms a little tighter like I was unconsciously hugging him.
But then we pull up to my place, and I realize how badly I’m still shaking.
The door closes behind us, and he grabs my wrist. “Take a shower, I’ll wait here. And change too.”
I nod and take off my shoes and his gloves. My body moves on autopilot straight to the bathroom.
Tired. This was tiring. It was never tiring.
Maybe it’s because I finally understand what’s been going on for so long.
Maybe it’s because I’m so angry that I’m sad.
Is that even a thing? Being angry that you’re sad?
