Page 251 of Eternal
I reach for my cigarette, but my hands are a little shaky. Before I can light it, he takes it straight from my fingers, flicks it to the ground, and crushes it beneath his boot.
“What are you fucking doing, Damir?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just pulls out his own lighter, and lights a fresh one. Then he places it between my lips himself.
“I don’t like seeing other people try to take care of you,” he says, like it’s not the first time he’s said it in his head.
I stare at him, a small, sharp laugh slipping out. The cigarette is not even finished, when I crush it under my heel, shaking my head. “That’s dramatic.”
He exhales, eyes locked to mine. “I don’t like when they see you. When they talk to you. When they imagine you naked.”
“How would you know that?”
He tilts his head slightly. Jaw tight. “Because I’m a man. And men are stupid.”
“So... you imagine me naked too?”
He doesn’t answer. He just steps in closer, hand coming to rest on the stone railing beside my head.
“You don’t want to know what I imagine you in.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Something lacy and red?”
His fingers graze my inner thigh, unapologetic under my dress. “Something ruined. Torn. Wrinkled from the floor of my bedroom.”
My mouth parts, heartbeat ticking like it’s counting down.
He looks down at me, cold, unreadable, but everything burning behind his eyes. “You cut me open and I still came back and I still imagine you naked. That counts for something.”
“Stupidity,” I mutter.
“Devotion,” he says. Soft. Certain. “Why are you drinking so much tonight? You’re okay?”
I glance away. “I’m fine.”
“You’ve had at least five drinks. Your heels are unsteady. Your skin’s goose-bumping like you’re about to fall over.”
“I’m still capable of walking away from you.”
His mouth lifts, but not in amusement. Just danger. He slides a hand to my waist. “Try.”
I don’t.
He lights another cigarette, smokes without looking at me like the whole night’s beneath him, then silently offers it. Like I didn’t just have one a few moments ago.
I squint. “Peace offering?”
He nods once.
I take it, drag deep, let the smoke cut through the fuzz in my head.
Then I catch him watching me again.
“What?”
“Indirect kiss,” he says, deadpan.
I cough. “Are you twelve?”
