Page 97 of Skeletons in the Closet

“Sure. Sounds about right.”

“Thought so. I’ve nicked myself before, and it can take all day to behave itself. Pain in the ass.”

Why was he doing this? Why was he giving me an out when he knew that wasn’t what had happened?

He lifted the napkin and examined the mark. “Looks like it stopped again. Try not to touch it.”

“I’m not.”

“You do it subconsciously. I’ve been watching all day.”

I grunted, unsure how else to respond.

The fingers that had so delicately taken care of me brushed along an age-old scar. One of the worst ones on my face. It traveled from my jaw to my mangled ear. The scar had been there since I was eighteen. The mangled ear happened when I was six.

Shame filled me, and I could hear Tallus sayingShe’s disgusting. I can’t even look at her without getting goose bumps.

He’d been referring to Baby, but I felt the sting as though he’d been saying the words to me. I’d heard it all my life.

From the kids at school.

From Dad.

From Mom when Dad insisted she agree.

Before I knew what was happening, Tallus cupped my jaw, and his thumb moved along my lower lip. I held my breath, my skin tingling. Then he drew me toward him. His tempting mouth advanced.

He was going to kiss me.

I turned away at the last minute, and Tallus’s forehead came to rest on my temple, his lips brushing my jaw instead.

He sighed, not with exasperation but with submission. “D?”

“You don’t want to do this with me.” My voice came out cracked and raw, barely audible.

“What if I do?”

“Trust me. You don’t.”

“Guns, I’m not asking for a wedding band. I’m not even asking for monogamy. I just want to…” He trailed his lips to my ear, and shivers coursed over my skin. I wanted to pull away.

“I just want…” His hand landed on my thigh, caressing ever so gently. “Fuck, I don’t know. I want to kiss you. Touch you. I want your hands all over me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I… I don’t know how to do this.” I lightly pushed him away and stood, gathering the leftovers and busying myself in the shitty excuse for a kitchen. When the agitation in my core got to be too much to handle, I escaped to the other room, found the new pack of cigarettes in my desk, and went outside.

22

Tallus

Iwaited five minutes before following Diem. He hadn’t gone far. I found him sitting on a cement roadblock divider the construction crew had placed near the curb, staring along the street as he spun something in his hand.

It was close to eight, and the sun had dipped behind the buildings long ago, leaving this section of the city deeply shadowed. Traffic was steady, and the scent of exhaust and pollution filled the air.

I approached the troubled man and sat beside him. The item he toyed with was a cellophane-wrapped pack of cigarettes.

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