Page 19 of Fire Kissed
“Aric, would you just—fucking look at me!? At least offer me a hand across this... shit!”
I take a long sip of my whiskey as I consider that possibly I should check in with my demon therapist down the road...
If I turn and acknowledge the words, then it’ll only give them life. No need to encourage something that isn’t there.
“You’re not real,” I tell the phantom voice that sounds all too much like the memory of the woman who’s constantly in my head.
“Fuck you! You have no idea what I did to get here! The very least you could do is pull me out of this fucking horde of stuffed animals!”
My lashes lift high as my eyes grow wide and fearful.
“Not the Beanies,” I murmur to myself before spinning quickly to finally give the voice my attention.
And there she is.
...I think. Gods, I hope I’m not finally losing my mind after all these centuries.
But if I were to let go of reality, I’d do it for her.
I’d bask in the madness of my mind just to see her beautiful face one more time. I suppose this is what basking feels like: like the floors fallen away, and the world no longer makes sense.
Because Rhys Love is flailing with just her midsection, arms, and head peeking out of a mountain of highly collectable mint-condition Ty Beanie Babies (Still in the original packaging, of course).
“Rhys, Love.” I lift my hands slowly as I carefully cross the room to go to her. “Those are very important artifacts. Please stop—stop throwing them, darling.”
“Torben is waiting outside! Get me out of this. Why do you have these? There are thousands here. Why?”
“It’s an investment, Love. You—you wouldn’t understand.” I rush to rescue her, taking each piece one at a time and setting them carefully into a newly sorted pile on the glossy, black floor.
“Aric!” Her arm lifts, and she flings several into a wall as she takes a giantess step forward, probably crushing the Beanie life out of so many little ones that I can’t even see.
“Oh gods,” I whisper, my heart seizing as if their pain is my own.
She staggers closer to me in the sea of Ty tags, and as she falls forward from the waves of beautiful plush beanies, she clutches one in her meaty little fist, squeezing the life out of it without care.
“Rhys, Love, please put Princess Diana down. Please, I beg you.” My knees nearly give out as I look up at the crumbled face of the deep purple bear.
She looks up at me then. Her confused gaze slipping from me to the beaten Beanie in her hand. Slowly, she lowers her war cry of a fist, offering me Princess Diana like the symbol of peace that she is. With shaking hands, I take it from her, carefully placing it atop the pile of my collection to my left.
Then it’s just us.
The face I’ve dreamed about for nights on end is looking up at me with the sweetest pale blue eyes. Staring into her gaze is like looking into the skies. And finally understanding heaven.
“You’re okay,” she whispers on a breathless tone.
My palm lingers between us, daring to inch closer and closer until she, too, feels the pull and settles her face against my hand. Soft porcelain skin meets my fingertips. Thick lashes flutter closed at the brush of my touch against her jawline. I’m drawn to draw her. I find myself tracing the sweet angle of her face, her cheek, her jaw. I don’t know when it happens, but I’m holding her with both hands suddenly. Only heavy breaths separate us as I cling to her and she clings to me.
A horde of unspoken words suffocates us but in the best possible way. It’s like if we don’t speak, nothing is wrong. Every single thing is right in this moment. And I just want to hold on to it for a little longer.
Until I can’t any more.
“Are those my panties?”
My eyes open slowly to that strange question. She’s peering around my shoulder to the brilliant lighting I just installed above the sleek ivory pedestal. To shine down on... yeah... her panties. The red lace ones that I knew I should have kept for only myself.
“Uh... you know... I don’t know. Are they your panties? I found them on a mountain. Can’t remember when, exactly...” My voice trails off, but the pure cutting look of disbelief in her pretty eyes tells me I should have shut the hell up several moments ago. “Okay! They’re your panties. I—I held on to them for safekeeping and then... as a memento. Something that held me closer to a solitary moment in my life when I felt entirely wanted.”
Her features soften, but there’s still so much confusion in her gaze when she peers around the wide-open room filled to the literal ceiling with piles of unsorted treasures.
