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Jesus Christ.
I wanted to hide my face.
His expression twisted in hazy stupor as if he were seeing me for the first time again, peeling back layer upon layer to reveal the raw and unvarnished truths I’d hidden even from myself.
I know, baby. . .I know.
On his face, fear followed, a shadow flitting across that chiseled jawline and tightening the corners of his eyes.
Tension gathered in my shoulders.
Was it fear of the unknown depths within me?
Was it fear for us?
For Emilio and Paolo?
Or was he just scared to love me?
Here I was, laid bare in pigments and brush strokes, a mosaic of identities that defied conventional understanding.
Could love truly bridge the gap?
He said he loved me no matter what, but that was in the car with me half naked.
Now it was all in front of him—strangers staring.
I shivered.
Sadness crept in next, softening his features.
The Lion didn’t get sad much, and when he did, it usually had something to do with me or someone had died that he truly cared about.
But there it was. . .sadness.
Filling up his eyes.
Lining the sides of his cheeks.
My heart ached at the sight.
I looked back at the painting.
Did he see what I tried to hide?
The pain.
The trauma.
The disgusting things that had birthed each alter.
I could see it. Maybe he can. . .
Horrified, I put my view back on him.
A flicker of something indescribable passed on his face.
I blinked, not knowing what emotion it was.
