Page 296 of Eternal
I groaned, dropping my head against his shoulder and swatting him weakly. “It’s me forgiving you.”
But I was smiling, blushing, probably glowing.
He tucked me against him like I weighed nothing, then stood up, still holding me, and I yelped, clinging instinctively. “Hey!”
He just laughed, the sound low in his chest. “Relax.”
He walked us to the sofa and set me down carefully, then he crossed the room, pulled on a pair of boxers and the first T-shirt he found on the bed, dragging it over his head before coming back.
He dropped beside me, warm and bare-legged, slinging an arm around my shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“We’re not going anywhere today,” he said, grabbing the remote.
I looked at him, still catching my breath. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he said, already flicking through movie options, “you, me, breakfast part two if you behave, and whatever terrible film you want to watch.”
I laughed softly, heart too light, eyes a little too soft. “Insane.”
He turned to look at me, smiled, reached up and dragged his thumb across my cheek slowly. “Yeah? Well... hope you’re not mad anymore.”
And then he kissed me again, sweeter this time.
Like a promise.
Likehome.
84
DAMIR
“How To Save A Life” by The Fray
Present
Being domestic with someone always felt like a joke.
The whole “laugh in a room that smells like love and food” thing. The coziness of affection in the smallest acts.
It's like a twisted beautiful dream built for people who aren't broken like me.
I've seen it before, what that life looks like for other people. The quiet dinners, the soft smiles and laughs, the way a man’s hand brushes over a woman’s waist like she belongs with him, the way her happiness fills the room, and he thinks it's the best sound he’s ever heard.
I never thought that could be mine if I’m being honest.
I thought I’d die taking a bullet deep into my skull way before that could ever happen. I’m not wired for it. I don’t have the patience, the softness, the kindness to fit into that world.
Fuck, I barely know how to exist in my own skin most days, let alone in someone else’s space and life.
It's pathetic, really, how much I've wanted it, craved it so much I made it an unreachable goal in my head, a small part of me that I've tried to kill again and again.
The part that dreamed of sitting at a table, feeding my person pasta or whatever food she wanted, and letting her steal bites from my plate.
The part that imagined her body against mine, her laughter singing through a place we both called home.
I hate that I wanted it. I hate that even now, I can still feel the sting of being unworthy of that kind of simple love. Because men like me? We don’t get that.
We get cold lonely nights, empty bottles, and silence, we get bloodstains on our hands and ghosts that keep us company forever, grief that drains the final drop of hope we’ve ever tasted in a lifetime steeped in pain.
