Page 53 of Festive Fugitive
Given away to Sullivan, I was a commodity gathering images in ink as if my own skin were a loyalty card, and the goal of filling it up—the freedom Sullivan tried to denyme. And now that card has expired before I could ever collect my prize.
I’m left denying myself the freedom in Sullivan’s stead, as if that mechanism really is inside my heart and might explode the moment I set off for my journey north.
Somewhere beyond the choking in my throat and the darkness under my closed eyelid, I hear the rustling of paper and Eli’s voice which can no longer reach me, because I’m drowning deeper and deeper inside my inner void.
Maybe this is the actual self-destruction mechanism Sullivan installed in me?
I was worried about the wrong thing.
My own body and mind are the biggest threats.
A hand on my back makes gentle circles, and it takes a while, but I finally hear Eli.
“Cesar? What is it? How can I help? Just breathe, okay?” he says softly as I realize I’m bent forward against the wheel and wheezing.
I shake my head, squeezing the steering wheel more tightly as the darkness retreats, leaving me back in a reality where I need to struggle with my greatest enemy, myself.
“I—sorry,” I mumble, focused only on getting enough oxygen to avoid blacking out. Everything smells of pine, just like it had when my parents brought me to Sullivan, but those aren’t the same pine branches. Those are mine and Eli’s, and they have nothing to do with that monster of a man.
“Don’t be. It’s okay. I just need to know what’s going on. How can I help? Do you need some water?” Eli passes me his bottle, still stroking my back as if I’m a child in need of comfort, not a grown-ass man twice his size, who could overpower him with ease.
How dare I be so weak when I promised him safety? It’s embarrassing. He deserves someone better. Someone who won’t fall apart because of a problem even I realize is all in my head. “No, it’s not okay,” I whisper, forcing words out of my aching throat. “I’m a burden.”
“What? Of course you’re not. Where is this coming from? You saved me, protected me, drive me around, buy me food. You’re so thoughtful and a damn good fuck, so I really need you to spit it out. I sensed something was wrong hours ago. Whatever it is, we will deal with it together.”
The stern note in his voice grounds me, and I feel seen when he admits that he sensed that something about my behavior was off. I can’t hide from him, and I love it.
We might have only met three weeks back, but heseesme like no one before him.
His touch is warm, soft, reassuring, and I find myself melting into it as the pine branches drying inside the car surround us with their fresh scent. “It’s… it makes no sense. There’s something wrong with my head—”
He pulls me in until my head rests on his shoulder, and kisses my hair so gently I can no longer resist.
Not that I ever want to deny him anything.
“I’m fucked-up. Sullivan’s dead, so is Lyle, I am free to go wherever I wish, but now that we’re about to do that, it feels like I… can’t,” I finish, meeting Eli’s eyes as shame sinks its claws into me.
He draws breath, about to speak, and I shake my head, because I am aware how crazy that sounds. “I know. It makes no sense whatsoever. You proved there’s nothing inside my chest. I’m free, but I don’t feel like I am. He might be dead and rotting six feet under, but he still has his leash on me.”
Eli’s kisses are so soothing I’m able to breathe again. “So what’s stopping you? You did say you were supposed to retire, right? You were allowed to.”
“Not without the final tattoo,” I snap, shaking my head and scratching my torso through my clothes as a ringing echoes in both of my ears. “I would be free once that space over my heart was filled, but it’s not. It’s empty, and he kept denying me for the past two years. He just wouldn’t pick a tattoo for me. I—just want it to be over,” I whisper and rest my forehead against the steering wheel.
Eli’s silent for a moment, then kisses my shoulder. “Okay, so… If he used to be your boss and command you, and make that decision about the tattoo, and I’m the one who killed him, am I in charge now? How about I choose a tattoo for you? End the cycle.”
I spin my head to face him, and for the first time since I returned to the car, breathing is not a challenge. How did I not think about it myself? “Yes. Yes, please, can you do that for me?”
Eli latches onto my hands just as strongly as I hold his. “Sure. Let’s do that. Any rules to it? Or can I just choose something to perfectly compliment your beautiful body?” He gives me another kiss, and I see it now. I’m worthy. His eyes overflow with love for me. If a broken mirror can still produce a reflection, then maybe the devotion of a broken man can be good enough too? I might never be capable of having feelings as pure as his are. But they’re there, as broken and distorted as my past has made them.
I swallow hard and bring his hands to the buttons of my shirt. “It’s meant to… commemorate the best job of the year.”
Eli smiles and strokes my wrists with his thumbs. “Best blowjob?” he teases, and the change of topic is so unexpected I choke out a laugh.
“Don’t think that’s what Sullivan had in mind, but if you think that was the height of my skills in the past year…”
“Just messing with you, sweetheart. Give me your phone. I know just the thing. You sit back and eat, and I’ll find someone in the area who I can coax into tattooing today.”
My man is the most incredible person I’ve ever known, and if he allows it, I will make sure he never wants for anything. I kiss him, but fatigue has its claws deep in my flesh, so I sit back and start eating, trusting someone to take care ofmefor once.
