Page 45 of Possession

“Declan is more than special, he’s brilliant, and beautiful, and…” I paused as Liam’s mouth twitched with a budding smile. “I suppose you think I’m just some dumb kid?I care about your brother. He’s the only one who gets me.” I dropped my eyes to my lap. My fists were now a tangle of nerves as I threaded my fingers in and out.

“I’m sorry.” Liam’s brusque voice had taken on a soft edge. It was deep and the timbre of it soothed my steel spine, and I exhaled a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry you had to see that tonight, it’s… it’s fucked. This whole life… it’s not right.”

He drifted away. His eyes now out the window, thinking about things I’d never ever be able to imagine. The hardships he’d endured at such a young age… it wasn’t right.

“Are you hurt?” I asked.

He shook his head, cleared his throat, and said, “Declan told me you’re a real Picasso.”

My lips pressed together and my smile hid at the corners, shy and new. “He did?”

Liam’s smile was warm and surprisingly... soulful. “Yeah. You make him happy. Keep it that way.” His smile danced as he put the car in gear.

“I will. I promise.” It was too quiet for him to hear as he concentrated on pulling back onto the roadway. But he exhaled, and the set of his shoulders relaxed, and I thought, for just a moment, that maybe he had heard me after all.

I grabbed my phone from the night stand, shaking off the memory. I’d failed Declan… and I’d lied to Liam. I hadn’t kept my promise, and the lump in my throat turned to ash, making me nauseous. I looked at the door to the bedroom. I was too scared to just walk out of his room. Liam and I had a huge bridge to build, and I wasn’t ready, or equipped to do it on my own. At least not today, not after this morning. My thumb had just opened the lock screen so I could text Declan, when he walked in.

He was wearing only a pair of faded, touchable blue jeans that hung low on his hips. That very perceptible V dipped below the denim waist line and, as I continued my free perusal of his bare chest, I noticed a glint of metal. My eyes widened, I hadn’t noticed it in the studio the other night. Both of his nipples were pierced, and I had to drag my eyes upward before I blushed. He was watching me as the door closed behind him. Declan’s dark blond hair was still wet, and his cheeks were pink from the shower. The smell of soap and deodorant filled the room, and the hummingbird in my chest took flight. I’d seen his tattoos, briefly before, but seeing him now, muscles and ink on display, I nearly swallowed my tongue. I’d been kept in a glass box for the past nine years. Need and desire had been prayed out of me, leaving duty and servitude in its place.

“Good morning.” His voice was coarse and worn and honey at the same time. It was the hammer, the breaking point, and my glass cage shattered to pieces all around me.

“Hi.” My breath hitched as he moved toward the dresser.

I watched him through the mirror as he opened his top drawer and dug through it. His back was free of ink, but the wide expanse of it, the strength, it heated my cheeks. He caught me staring through the mirror and as our gazes collided his blue eyes lit with a hungry flame. Declan’s arms and chest were teasing me within the reflection. I stood from the bed, running my nervous hands through my hair. My feet moved forward without my bidding, driven by pure curiosity and the need to touch and trace every line on his body. He’d made his flesh a canvas, and just like his art, I was sure each piece had a meaning.

I raised my fingertips and, as I dusted his shoulder, he went rigid. A flash of fear darkened his irises.

“May I…” I placed the palm of my hand flush to the skin of his bicep and he melted.

The humidity of his shower still lingered around him like an aura, and his citrus scent was intense as he turned to face me. His posture was calm, and his arms hung with ease on each side, granting me silent permission. I was eye level with the thick black cross that was tattooed in the center of his sternum just right of his heart. My hand began to shake as I lowered it to his chest and traced the symbol. He shivered under my touch, as the tips of my fingers followed along the inside of the tattoo, making the sign of the cross.

“It’s for protection,” he said, so low it was almost a reverent whisper.

“Protection?”

He took a deep breath. “From the evil in the world… and… in my head.”

“Nothing about what goes on in your head is evil, Declan.” I brought my eyes to his and watched in awe as the color cleared back to light blue. Maybe it was the shadows of the room, but as he stared at me, I felt his mood shift.

He leaned down, pressed his lips to my forehead, and I laid my hand flat against the ink, pausing momentarily to feel his heart rate increase below my palm. He pulled back and allowed me to continue my perusal. I gently trailed along his skin to the next tattoo. Everything on his left arm was geometric and, if you looked closely, you could glean shapes within the tangled knots of black.Faces, clocks, everything was intricately sewn together along the flesh. I brought my fingers to his right arm, the one with my eye, with my words, and traced along the inner hollow of his elbow. He exhaled a shuddered breath as I drew lines up and up until I was back at his shoulder again. I wanted to ask him why he’d chosen the things he had. What did the quote on his rib cage mean to him? He was a walking tome of secrets and I wanted to decipher each one. My fingers feasted upon each swirl as my hand moved down his left pectoral muscle. But, when my thumb accidentally brushed his piercing he groaned and grabbed my hand. He held it against his chest for a few seconds until the flame flickered and ebbed away.

“I should get dressed.” He gave me a small smile that was at odds with the strain apparent in his tone.

He released the hold he had on my hand and I let my palm fall away. He turned and grabbed a black t-shirt from his dresser. His muscles pulled tight as he lifted it over his head. It was overwhelming to watch him like this. It felt blatant and rude, but this was the boy I’d shared everything with, and the man he’d become was too tempting, and it shook the very foundation of whatI’dbecome. We’d always been two different spheres, always drawn to the other, but this time, he was more than I could handle, and it wasn’t a question of if. It was when… when would we crash, when would this man unleash, and when would I succumb to the power of his release... to the power of the fall?

“May I use your bathroom before I go?” I ran my hand through my hair again. My reflection confirmed my suspicion. My cheeks were splotched with red, my hair was untamed. I was wrinkled, and ruffled, and most likely smelled as such.

He nodded. “I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready.”

“Is Liam—”

He frowned. “He left already. I told him I’d be down in a little bit. Paige… he’s just overprotective.”

“I know. Doesn’t make what I did any less horrible.”

“What we did.” He scrubbed his hand down his face. “I’ll talk to him, it won’t be—”

---