Page 66 of Until You Break
Emilio squinted, almost flinched. “Can we dim it? Or… just a candle?”
“Only if you want it softer,” I answered gently. I watched him shift under the light, fingers worrying the seam of his sleeve. “But I’d rather see you.”
His throat worked, silence betraying him more than words.
I turned the tap; water rushed in, the sharp scent of eucalyptus curling into the air. Steam began to climb the glass. I rolled my cuffs back, veins and knuckles still streaked from the fight, and looked back at him. He lingered at the threshold, arms crossed like the frame itself might save him.
“You’re holding something,” I said, quiet but certain.
“I’m not—” His voice cracked, denial fraying even as it left his mouth.
I dried my hands slow, then closed the distance. He tried to slip sideways through the frame. I braced a hand on the marble beside his head, the other at his neck, cornering him in the spill of steam and light.
“Let me see you.” My thumb stroked once against his pulse, a promise more than a command.
His jaw tightened. “No.”
“Then we do it together.” My voice dropped, reverent, coaxing. “You’ve always tried to hide from me, but not tonight. You think I never noticed?”
His eyes widened, wet and defiant all at once. I took the hem of his shirt, slow enough for him to stop me. He didn’t. I peeled it up, knuckles grazing his ribs, and he lifted his arms stiffly until the fabric dragged free. His chest rose and fell too quick, heat rushing across his face.
“Bravo,cucciolo,” I murmured, letting the shirt drop. “Again.”
Trousers next. He fumbled, I steadied. His hand closed over mine, our motions clumsy and deliberate until the fabric slid to the floor. He stood bare in the gold spill of light, breath fast, but he hadn’t hidden. I brushed my thumb along his jaw and felt him steady under it. “Brave,” I told him, low. “You undress for me now.”
By the time Emilio stepped into the bath, steam was already rising thick and fragrant, eucalyptus filling the air. The water lapped high, hot enough to blur the mirror. He sank in slow, as though the tub itself might offer shelter, and for a moment I let him believe it would.
I stepped in after him, still dressed, cuffs rolled high, trousers soaking dark the second they touched water. I didn’t care. The heat swallowed us both. I drew him back until his spine touchedmy chest, until his shoulders fit under my chin like they’d been carved for it.
“Lean,” I murmured. He did, stiff at first, then softer when my palms spread across his sternum. The bone there rose and fell too fast. I stroked down slow, cloth dragging heat over ribs, belly, the fine ladder of muscle that clenched and tried to hold still.
“Breathe.”
He shuddered. Steam curled off his skin. Every inch of him was a map written in scars and softness, lines I intended to memorize until nothing about him could hide again. I pressed the cloth into the hollow of his throat, down to the sternum, traced the curve of each rib. When he flinched, I replaced linen with lips, slow and claiming, a kiss to sternum, another to collarbone.
“Brave,” I whispered against damp skin. “You let me see.”
Then the water betrayed him. Steam parted and the truth showed itself—angry, red, carved into the tender skin of his thighs. Lines too fresh to ignore, layered over paler ghosts that spoke of older nights. His whole body jolted, shame hitting sharper than heat. He tried to fold, arms dragging down, knees clamping to hide what he thought I shouldn’t see. I didn’t let him. My hands steadied, my shins anchoring as I spread his knees wider and held him open to the light.
His hands clenched the porcelain edge. I covered one with mine, pried his fingers loose and threaded them with my own until his knuckles loosened. “You don’t have to hold on to that anymore,” I said softly as I threaded our fingers. “You hold me. But if you try to hide from me again, I’ll drag it into the light myself.”
Steam thickened, blurring the mirror until we looked like one shape. I ran the cloth over the inside of his arm, where skinthinned and pulse fluttered quick. His breath hitched. “Good,” I told him, voice low. “That’s mine too.”
I dragged the cloth over his wrists, his hands, washing each finger slow, rubbing circles into the base of his thumbs until his grip softened fully. He let me handle him, body heavy against my chest. I kissed the crown of his damp hair, murmuring praise he couldn’t quite answer.
His whisper came raw,“Don’t...don’t look.”
I caught his wrists, brought his eyes back to mine. “You think I’d rather be blind? No,cucciolo. I want every truth, even the ones that hurt.” My thumb pressed into his pulse until it steadied under me.
He broke then, words spilling out like he couldn’t stop them. “Sometimes the nights are too long. Too quiet. After Mamma… she faded faster than memory should allow. I hated that I couldn’t remember her laugh. And the silence in that house, it swallowed me. I needed noise, any noise, so I carved it into my skin instead of screaming. Just for a second, it worked. And then I hated myself for it.”
I held him through it. Pressed my forehead to his temple, let my mouth shape vows into his hair. “You carved silence. I’ll carve presence. Every sound you need, you take from me now. No more blades. No more hiding.”
He trembled, wet lashes sticking. “It worked, just for a second,” he whispered, ashamed.
“Then I’ll give you longer than a second.” My palm flattened to his chest, over the frantic beat beneath it. “I’ll give you as long as you want.”
He swallowed hard and whispered more. “The first time…I was thirteen. The house was so quiet, I thought I would die in it. I cut once just to hear something louder than my head. And it worked. For a second.” His voice broke again. “Then I couldn’t stop.”
