Page 27 of Crown of Thorns
Little Devil: I need to see you
Little Devil: Baby…
Little Devil: I’ve got you something
Little Devil: …
I neglect his messages, but my body can’t ignore the way sharp flutters burst beneath my ribs, hot and traitorous, like wings trying to break free. Damn him for not leaving me alone. For obsessing over him, though I fight it so hard.
I shake the thoughts off; instead, I try to let myself get swept up in the Christmas craze. It’s nice to go for walks. They bringpeace. I used to walk for hours a day. Justwalking. When you’re sixteen and homeless, there isn’t much else to do.
I buy Melo a woolen, knitted angel and a few shiny bracelets that match the colour of her paperclips. Since she decided that we’ll spend Christmas in our pajamas, watching movies, I also got us a giant box of chocolates. I’ve had a salary for years now, but this is the first time I’ve felt like I’m spending it on something that matters, on someone who feels like home.
People are dotted around, drinking mulled wine in large mugs. Songs play through the speakers. Children are sliding over an ice rink. When I was a kid, Saint-Laurent’s Christmas market didn’t have one.
I’m not surprised to see that a group of students from Monterrey Castle draws attention. They were always a different breed, even back in the day. Floundering about in their expensive school uniforms, they demand attention. They’re everything the locals aren’t. Rich, privileged. Life comes easily to them.
Just as I’m about to leave, something catches my attention. Stars. Shiny, glass stars. They’re hanging by a silver thread, dancing in the air as if beckoning me to come closer.
“These are stunning,” I tell the lady who’s making them. I can’t take my eyes off them.
“Thank you.”
“Stars have always fascinated me. How much are they?”
“Two hundred euros each.”
“Oh.” That’s too expensive. Now I don’t know what to say.
“I’ll have all of them,” someone says next to me. I turn in surprise, then stare right into Louis’ golden-black eyes. He grins back at me. His hair is slicked back, except for a loose strand that waves over his forehead, making his perfectly arched eyebrows look even more striking. His cheeks are flushed from the cold, and most of his chin and neck are covered in a woolen scarfthat matches the colour of his coat. Moss green and elegance. A dangerous contrast to the ink that whispers of the chaos beneath his polished surface, the duality that keeps me watching, wanting, wary.
Louis blinks his thick, dark lashes. “Hello, Professor. What a coincidence. Also shopping for Christmas?” He gazes at the bags I’m carrying, making them look small and insignificant as the lady rushes around to get everything wrapped up beautifully for him. She has just sold out, wrapping the last one in crisp white paper and a satin bow.
I grind my teeth. “Finished. As a matter of fact, I was about to head home. Have a good Christmas break, Louis.”
“Wait.” I pause, hating myself for the way my body instantly reacts to his command. “Have a drink with me.”
Slowly, I turn around, flinching at his blinding smile. “Absolutely not.”
“I’ve got you something.”
I sigh, watching the lady tie careful loops of ribbon around each package, hands practiced and precise. One of them could have been mine if I had the money, if I didn’t still carry the weight of every cent I’ve scraped together. The ache of wanting something beautiful and knowing it’s just out of reach never really goes away. “What do you want, Louis?”
“Can’t give it to you in public. Drink?”
“I’ve got plans.”
His nostrils flare at my words, glare intensifying. “Meet me in the church.”
“The church?” Something pangs in my chest. The last time I was there was during the funeral. He doesn’t have to know that. I tip my chin up and walk toward the church, pretending I didn’t see the thick pack of bills he hands the lady.
I’m not even sure why I agree.
Inside, it’s cool and nearly empty. Someone plays the organ, the sound reverberating through the entire building. Louis walks in before I’ve had time to find a seat. I ignore the large paperback he’s carrying. Tension coils through my stomach.
“What is it you want?” I ask.
“This.” He leans in before I have time to react. His earthy scent envelopes me, the soft material of his scarf tickling my sensitive flesh. His palm is firm as it cups the back of my head, splayed fingers digging into my hair as he presses me close. “And this.” Nipping at my lips, he hums when they part in surprise, unwilling yet desperate to welcome him in to feast on my growing hunger.
