Page 61 of Milo

"Kiara, are you awake?"

I crane my neck toward the door, a sense of calm washing over me. "Yes," I whisper as Milo strides toward me, a black T-shirt wrapping his torso. White bandages peek out from the collar, the sleeve.

The mattress dips as he sits down on the edge. He sweeps my dampened hair behind my ear, his rough thumb trailing across my cheekbone. His gaze flutters down the length of my curled-up half-naked body.

"Kiara…” His voice is like a soothing lullaby. "Thank you."

I bite the inside of my lip, my tear ducts trembling, my cheeks burning from his gentle touch. He's thanking me for killing someone. I'm getting praise for being a murderer.

I can't form words. A sentence. I don't know what to say. You're welcome? How can I say something like that? How can I tell him that I'm also thankful?

"I—" Milo expels a labored sigh, his jaw tightening as I stay silent. "I will let you sleep.” He pushes himself off the bed.

Panic fills my heart.

"No—" I fist the fabric of his shirt, my tone pleading, desperate. "Don't leave." I pause, meeting his pensive gaze. "Please don't leave me."

I don't want to be alone. Not now. I need him. I need someone beside me. I need someone to keep the shadows at bay.

To keep the demons away.

"Stay... just for a bit."

Only a bit.

Hesitantly, Milo dwarfs my hand with his as he lowers himself back down on the silk sheets, his body full of tightened restraint, the veins in his forearms like stripes on a zebra, mesmerizing, beautiful. I inch backward as my heart races, making room for him, the cool fabric of the covers like ice underneath my legs.

"I will stay with you for as long as you want.”

He winds his left arm around my neck, raking his fingers through the wet strands of my hair. He brings my head to rest on his rising chest, the cotton robe slipping off my shoulders as I melt into his warm embrace, my palm resting on his stomach.

Oh, God.

My insides stir from the proximity, from the heat emanating from his body, from the rough texture of his jeans against the inside of my thigh. My breathing is shallow as his increasing heartbeat echoes into my ear, so loud, so deafening; it cuts through the charged silence that encapsulates us.

He idly draws tiny circles on my bare shoulder, slowly pushing the robe further down my arm. His faint but scorching touch sends shivers through my whole body. He conjures goosebumps, desire, need.

"Are you cold?" The husky timbre of his voice reverberates through my body like a fucking earthquake, crumbling walls into dust, shaking my very fragile foundation.

I let out a shaky breath, tilting my head to meet his darkened eyes, my mouth dry, parched. "Are you?"

He shifts his position, angling his body toward me. The pad of his thumb floats over my parted lips, his strained gaze locked with mine.

"No.” He draws closer to me, his heady breath fanning my skin. “I’m not."

"Good.” I squirm restlessly against him. Conflict stirs in my heart, the repressed emotions of today bubbling to the surface, filling my eyes with tears as images of Andre's dead body flash across my mind.

What is wrong with me?

"Kiara…” He wipes the rolling tears from my cheek. "Do not cry. Please."

My teeth clench together as my eyelids flutter shut. I can't hold it in anymore. I can't push it down. I can't.

"I killed someone," I whimper, unable to contain the sorrow. "I?—"

"Shh," Milo hums, holding me tight against his chest. "It's okay. You are okay."

The warmth of his body heat absorbs into my shattering skin. "I want to forget.”

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