Page 29 of Burn for Me

Like it or not, she’d come back to me. Okay, perhaps it was because she’d had nowhere else to go, but she’d still limped back into my arms all on her own.

It was enough for now.

The water dripped from my chin, washing away the heat coursing through me.

What’s your endgame?

The thought prickled at me. I’d never been one to live rashly. Taking Laura was the most unmeasured thing I’d done since my early teens. That and the hatchet in my Uncle’s skull. That was a moment of madness built on a lifetime of pain.

Closing my eyes, I let my mind wander. Laura’s cheeks pink as she laughed by the sea, holding my hand and pulling me close to her. The laughter of children behind us as gentle waves tickled at their feet. Sweet words whispered in my ear and eyes that filled with joy rather than pain when they met mine.

Days spent in laughter and nights spent in a chorus of desperate moans as she pleads with the gods while I toil between her thighs.

The visceral images in my mind made my stomach knot.I’d belong. I’d have a family again. Her heart would be my home.

I groaned, abandoning the idea. It would take everything just to get her to tolerate me. The utopia in my mind was nothing but a piece of fiction. Pulling my mask back into place, I left the kitchen.

The fire crackled in the grate, but Laura was no longer where I left her. Her glass sat half-empty on the mantelpiece, but the woollen blanket was gone.

Had she taken the blanket and left? Did she seek shelter on the boat? I tapped my pocket, the engine keys still safely jingling back at me.

A litany of creaks sounded beneath my feet on the ancient staircase. Soft light filtered under the bedroom door, casting its glow over the worn wooden floorboards in the tiny hallway.

Pushing the door open, I saw Laura sat on the edge of the bed cradling a book in her hands. Not just a book, but one of my diaries. Instantly a fiery rage filled my chest. The therapist I’d briefly seen after the accident had suggested I write my feelings down as an outlet since I’d lost my voice. I’d never stopped. Not until the night of my Uncle’s death. That was the one thing I hadn’t been able to commit to paper.

Laura startled when I walked into the room, slamming the diary closed and shoving it away from her.

‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ha?—’

I held up a hand and took a slow breath. She shifted back as I approached the bed, her eyes nothing like the joy filled ones from my imaginings. Maybe her understanding wouldn’t be a terrible thing. One person in the world who knew my story would mean I wasn’t the apparition I oftenfelt like. When she eventually left me, as everyone did, she’d always know who I was. Who I had been.

Picking up the diary, I slid it back onto the shelf while she stuttered apologies. The oldest, tattiest diary was on the far left, and I slid it out, running my fingers over the dogged cover. Its pages were filled with desperate emotion, stained with tears and blood. Vivid flashbacks of that desperate boy attacked me like wild animals, scratching open wounds I’d long since buried.

Beads of nervous sweat gathered at the back of my neck as I faced Laura.

Her brow crinkled when she spied the tattered book in my hands. I pressed it into her hands before reaching down and tipping her face upwards.

THE BEGINNING, I spelled out on her cheek, her soft skin soothing the anxiety of seeing the book between her fingers.

‘You want me to read them?’ The way she licked her lips and looked up at me through her thick lashes had me captivated. I nodded.

‘And you’re not mad at me?’

I shook my head before walking around to the other side of the bed and removing my boots. Her fingers whitened against the diary as she watched me. Laying back against the pillow, I reached for her, pulling her back against my chest.

Laura’s body stiffened at the touch, but she remained there.

ONLY READ THEM IN MY ARMS

Her fingers grazed over a bent corner of the cover, the paper rasping beneath her touch. After a few seconds, she nodded, her head bobbing against my chest.

‘Okay,’ she whispered. ‘But only if we have a truce in here. You don’t force yourself on me, and I won’t push you away while I read. Somewhere where we can just be?’

Already, the warmth of her soft, curved body against mine was divine torture, could I promise that knowing how badly I wanted her?

Then she wriggled against me, making herself more comfortable, her cheek resting sweetly on my chest and the diary balanced against my stomach. The idea of being able to appreciate her, to smell her, watch her, to just indulge in her softness, it was heavenly. For a little while each day I could pretend we were living my day dream. Someone touching me without disgust or fear? And that someone being the angelic faced Laura? Yes. I could do that.

Sliding her hair over one shoulder, I ran my finger over the delicate skin below her ear.

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