Page 82 of Buried in Blood
I turn on the faucet to drown out the sound of my thoughts.
That’s when I feel it.
The pressure.
Like gravity doubled behind me.
I know it’s him before he speaks.
“Harmony.”
I close my eyes.
The glass slips in my hand but doesn’t fall. I steady it. Steady myself.
“I didn’t hear you come in.”
“You’ve been quiet lately,” he says, his voice slow and unhurried. “Thinking dangerous thoughts?”
My throat tightens. “No.”
He steps closer. I feel the heat of him before I see how close he is to me. His hand comes down gently on the counter beside mine—close enough that I smell the smoke on his skin. His voice is low, coaxing.
“You used to tell me everything.”
I swallow. “Things are different now.”
“Are they?” He tilts his head. “Or are you just forgetting who you belong to?”
He brushes my hair away from my face. The contact is as light as a feather. Too soft. It makes my skin crawl more than if he’d hit me.
“Don’t,” I whisper.
He freezes.
Then he smiles.
The slow, cruel smile that always comes before the storm.
“Don’t?” he echoes, as if tasting the word. “You used to beg me to touch you.”
“That was before I knew what you really were.”
His hand moves to my jaw. He holds it—not hard enough to bruise, but just enough to remind me I’m breakable.
“What I am hasn’t changed,” he says. “You have.”
I try to pull back. He doesn’t let me.
“You forgot your place, Harmony.”
“I didn’t,” I say. “I just… I remembered who I was before you.”
His grip tightens.
“There is no before me. Just like there is no after me.”
My back hits the wall with a soft thud. The glass drops to the floor and shatters at our feet, but neither of us looks.
