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“Tell me the story,” I encourage her. Maybe it'll buy me a few extra minutes.
She wavers for a moment before settling back against the couch.
“I used to judge Pandora. She was considered innocent and pure. The story goes that there was a box that held all of the evil of the world. Pandora was told not to open it, but naturally, her curiosity got the best of her. Once she realized what she had done, she slammed the lid shut, but it was too late. The evil had been released, and the only thing remaining inside was Hope. Pandora was no longer pure or innocent, so she couldn’t open it again.” There’s regret in her voice.
“People make mistakes,” she deflates. “I shouldn’t have been so harsh, but that’s the gist. Pandora was told not to open it, she did, and she left the world hopeless. The Hoyas damned her for it. You know them as the Leviathan.”
“So that’s where the legend comes from?” She has a strange look on her face, like she knows something I don’t. As if she feels true regret for this Pandora character. As if the Hoyas are something to be spoken about in hushed voices. “They’re real?” I’m stunned.
“I used to not think so. They aren’t really referenced as the Leviathan in this story. Then I saw the box. The one in the museum. Pandora’s box.”
“Pandora’s box,” I repeat as a whisper.
“You didn’t ask me about my scars.”
I try to process this information. “Pardon?”
The scars. I’d seen them before, just not on her. I didn't say anything because it didn’t seem like the right time. I was a little distracted.
“The symbols on my skin.” She stands up and holds her arm out. “They’re the same as the ones on the box. You didn’t say a word about it. Why?”
That’s a complicated question. I’m trying to figure out how to answer when she starts gathering her things. “This is a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here.”
Fuck. It’s now or never. Persephone spoke of loneliness, and I need to make sure she realizes she’s not alone. “Wait.”
I go to her. Her scars are exposed, crawling out of her tank top and down her arm. Since we had sex, she has shed the long sleeves I always saw her in. There is one thing I’ve kept to myself. I need to do it before I lose the nerve, before she leaves. Maybe for good since she’s said too much. I have to tell her. My fingers trace across her chest and over her shoulder.
She wants to run, I can feel it, but she’s forcing herself to stay. I part my black suit jacket and unbutton the crisp white shirt, exposing my painted skin. I don’t usually like to be touched, so I’ve never had anyone see. The only one who ever seemed to notice was Josie in the club that night when she ran her hands along my stomach. It felt so good, but I had stopped it because I was so set on sleeping with her and taking off. I take her fingers and trail them across my chest, outlining my own scars that have been covered by tattoos.
At first, she’s annoyed, but I see the shift when she realizes. “They’re just like mine,” she whispers. Those gray eyes look up at me with incredulous wonder.
Her angelic face hovers just above my skin. Her hands examine me, outlining every single detail. This is the truth of why she can trust me. She isn’t alone. We’re the same. Every touch of her cold fingers sends a deep thrill through me. My dick is hard, but it has been since I saw her sitting there.
She caresses my neck, feeling the last few symbols. Her hand retracts, but instead of scuttling away, she slaps me right across the fucking face. Pain erupts from my cheekbone. I don’t acknowledge it. I deserve it for asking so much of her and giving nothing real in return. She searches my face waiting for me to rebuke her, but I say nothing. Then she rises on the tips of her toes and kisses me.
“Stay?” I ask.
“Maybe for a little while,” she murmurs.
Tonight is the most she has ever given to me. It feels good finally exposing myself. I can tell she’s vulnerable again, and she chose to come here. While it excites me, it’s also worrying. She could have gone to her sister, to anyone else, but she came here.
“Did something happen?” I ask her, tucking her hair behind her ear. She tries to kiss me again, and I dodge her.
She huffs. “What? You don’t want to fuck me?”
“Oh, I do. So very much, but I can’t help wondering why you came here.”
“There was nowhere else to go,” she argues.
“Your sister’s?” I offer.
“I didn’t want to go there. I wanted to come here,” she says with precision. Her face falters when she realizes what she’s admitted to me. “Don’t let it get to your head. I just wanted a distraction.”
I know what it really is. Just like the other night, I don’t make her feel so alone. She tears herself away from my grasp and starts pacing around the room under the guise of inspecting things. Josie is restless. Maybe she couldn’t sleep.
“You’re pacing.”
“I’m not.”
