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But I wasn’t. I’m a real piece of shit. I deserve every bit of bad karma that’s come my way—creepy stuff included.
Right on cue, that low pulsing headache starts up again, tugging at my synapses. I twist my fingers into the buttery material of Bellamy’s shorts, clinging to this second chance I’ve been given.
“We should probably get some sleep. Some of us have to deal with the general public tomorrow.” Bellamy wiggles his legs, a command for me to back off.
I do as I’m asked, knowing I’ve maybe crossed a line. He asked for space, and I’m pathetically murmuring apologies into his thighs.
He stands, tugging on the hem of his lilac shorts, and I try not to think about the fact his crotch is level with my face.
I get up to help Bellamy put the couch back together, cursing my aging knees as they crack. I spare a mournful thought for my back, knowing I’ll be crashing on the two-seater. I thought I’d at least make it to thirty before my bones started creaking, but that’s clearly too much to hope for.
RIP Sunday Mourning, here lies his sacral vertebrae…
The looming pull of sleep has a question rising in me so quickly I have no hope of stopping it from leaving my mouth. “Do you still get nightmares?”
He pauses his tidying, hands stilling on the patchwork blanket he’s arranging for me.
Even before we were officially together, I knew about them. It came as a shock when he slept over for the first time and started screaming in the twilight hours. After that, I learned that holding him helped keep the nightmares at bay.
“Yeah.” The word falls from his lips, the implication settling between us.
I take a step closer to him, my heart squeezing at the warmth radiating from him. I cast my eyes down to find his head tipped back, looking up at me with an expression I’ve missed beyond comprehension.
This is the face he makes when he needs.
I’m not talking about sex, although I’d give him that if that’s what he wanted. Fuck, I’d beg for him on my goddamned knees until they bled. But no, that doe-eyed expression tells me he’s overwhelmed, and tired, and he doesn’t know what to do right now. Today has been…it’s been a lot, for both of us. Never mind the rest of the shit he’s been through lately.
I grasp his arms, much more gently than I did earlier, in my panicked state. His lips part at the contact, and shit, I want to do something with that.
“Just…call me if you need me. I’ll be there.” I know he could just throw it back in my face, but that’s fine. Take it or leave it, the offer is there.
“I…” he starts, tone strained.
My heart sinks. I know what he’s going to say—that he’s managed this long without me, so why would he bother now?
“Okay.” He says it quietly, but the word still feels like a step forward.
I give him a close-lipped smile, then pat his arms because I’m an awkward loser like that sometimes. Bellamy ducks his head and moves away.
Instead of heading to his bedroom, he goes to the table covered in trinkets, pulling one of the clunky drawers open and rooting around in it, his rummaging causing a light tapping sound. Stones clinking together, I think.
He curls his slender fingers around something black and shiny, nudging the drawer shut with his hip before walking back to me. He unfurls his palm to reveal a bracelet, black rope and beads with intricate silver parts in between.
I tilt my head in silent question, and willingly offer my wrist when he gestures for it. He slips the bracelet on, tightening the rope until it’s snug.
My mouth goes completely dry, my heart thundering in my chest so hard I think it might burst right out of me.
“Black obsidian. For protection,” he murmurs, stifling a yawn in the crook of his elbow.
I swallow around the lump forming in my throat. I don’t realize I’m leaning forward until he steps back away from me, redrawing that line in the sand.
“Goodnight, Sunday.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Bellamy
Isnake a hand out from within my comforter cave to slap my phone until the alarm dies. I feel grossly tired, but if I don’t get out of bed immediately I will doze off and be late for work.
