Page 46 of Challenge Me

I took a strand of his hair between my fingers and traced it all the way to the end. He caught my hand before I could pull it back, and my heart picked up speed as he held on to me.

“I think I want to understand you, Remi.”

My teeth ground together for only a moment before I forced them to relax. “You shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“I have issues.”

“Yeah, I might have gathered that from the start.” He turned to set his feet on the floor, then leaned closer. “It’s probably stupid, but we’re here doing this anyway. Pretending. I know I wasn’t drunk that night, so maybe I was imagining what drew me to you. But on the off chance I wasn’t, I feel . . . I don’t know. Afraid to let it pass by without taking a second glance.”

My hand twitched with the urge to yank it back. He must’ve seen it because he released me, but he continued to stare while he waited for a response.

This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. It wasn’t what I’d mapped out for Amir’s behavior. Not too long ago, he was annoyed by me. Unless I had read him wrong this whole time. Maybe I understood him as little as he understood me. I’d made assumptions, put him into a little box where he didn’t fit.

Fuck, if only Odin would grant me wisdom more often.

Now I had to reevaluate the next few weeks. I felt unprepared for everything ahead of me, and more importantly, everything right in front of me. Namely, Amir.

I jumped to my feet and made a beeline for my room, then grabbed the notebook off the nightstand. After flipping to the page with darker ink and more crinkles than any of the others, I returned to the balcony. Amir didn’t look surprised. He was curious. When I handed him the pad, he glanced at the page, then back at me. I motioned toward it as I sat and brought his wine to my lips.

“‘I was born of ash and hunger’s dark ache,’” he read. “‘Fed on the echo of lullabies once sung. I learned the world by what it dared forsake, When it delivered me to a sinner’s twisted tongue.’” His brow furrowed. “Remi, what—”

“Keep going.”

When he hesitated, I recited it, not needing to read from the notebook.

“Beneath the glass, a splintered ghost remains;

Its hollow eyes reflect what hands have torn.

The silence hums like blood within my veins,

A requiem for innocence unborn.

The body learns to fold, to bend, to hide,

To mask the trembling marrow in its shell.

Yet every breath betrays the rot inside,

Each heartbeat tolls a slow, unholy bell.

No prayer can cleanse what shadows carved in bone,

No fire purge the ruin from my skin;

A soul misplaced, forever left alone,

A stranger wearing flesh it cannot win.

And still he smiles, though broken past repair,

A shattered hymn that lingers in the air.”

“I don’t know what this means,” he admitted.

“It means you don’t want to dig through what makes me bleed onto a page.”