Page 88 of Crimson Tears

That’s no way to live life though. I can’t allow myself to become dependent on others in order to function. It isn’t fair to them or to me. I have to find a way to work through this on my own.

Tears fall, but I swipe at them angrily, beyond pissed this is happening again. The scabs from where Green cut off pieces of my flesh rub against my face. The contrast of marred and dried-up patches scratching against my smooth cheek triggers the memories of his torture. I feel my lip wobble as I try to breathe but my brain isn’t listening.

“Hey, look at me.” Cillian grabs my face and locks his gaze with mine, forcing me to focus only on him. “Deep breath in. Do it with me, Sweetheart. Deep breath.”

I follow him, watching the rise and fall of his chest then sync it with my own.

Once the intrusive thoughts begin to subside and I feel like I can speak, I ask the question that caused this little spiral.

“Did he leave again?”

Cillian smiles at me before placing a kiss on my nose. “No, Love. He’s in his office. He set up a video feed to the cameras.”

He leans over the bed and grabs the remote, flicking on the large TV at the foot of the bed to reveal Boris glaring at a stack of papers. And if looks could cause a lightning strike, those papers would be incinerated.

A laugh escapes me as Boris looks into the camera, his features softening before he blows me a kiss.

A gagging sound from Cillian startles me, but when I see he’s just being an ass, I shove at him. The movement causes some soreness, but it’s not as bad as I thought it would be. Doc gaveme a lot of pain meds and sleep aids so my body could heal during this time, and I am beyond thankful for it.

Boris disappears from the screen, and I realize my anxiety about him leaving has already vanished. When I turn carefully to look at Cillian, he is smiling.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “I guess it’s just nice to see you happy. Healthy even.”

Sadness flashes across his features for a moment. He has apologized so many times for what happened, but I can see the guilt is still eating at him.

“Hey, Killer. Don’t give me that face.”

“I’m not giving you any face,” he says before making himself go cross eyed and twisting his lips. I chuckle gently so as not to jostle my ribs too much before softly patting his cheek.

“I would do it all over again if I had to. These things happen for a reason, and because of all of this, we got much needed information that we didn’t have before.”

Guilt hits me in the chest for lying here and taking my time to recover while those kids are still out there, likely suffering.

“If I can’t feel bad,” Cillian says, bringing my attention back to him. “Then neither can you.”

The way he can read my mind as if we were never apart fascinates me. A faint memory of him saying he was always there claws at the forefront of my mind, but I shove it to the side when Boris comes striding into the room in his panty-melting gray sweatpants and white tee combo.

“Good morning,Lisichka.”

I melt into him as he crawls onto the bed and plants a kiss to my lips. Everything feels right when they are both here, which is probably something we should discuss a little more.

When Boris pulls back, Cillian leans in, claiming my lips for himself, and I let him. It surprises me that he isn’t worried aboutBoris’ saliva being on my mouth, but it’s a welcome surprise. That is, until I tense with fear that Boris won’t like seeing this.

Breaking the kiss, my eyes meet his with a guilty expression. Instead of being possessive or appearing angry, he reaches out and brushes some hair behind my ear, trailing his fingers along my jaw like he normally does.

“Are the two of you really okay with this?” I ask, my voice strained with emotions that make my heart feel raw and exposed.

Boris and Cillian glance at each other before looking back to me.

“We have agreed on an arrangement of sorts,” Boris states matter-of-factly.

“Is that right?” I’m sure my voice comes across as dumbfounded. I’ve seen them getting along, but an ‘arrangement’ is an interesting choice of words.

“Did you come up with a schedule, mark how we will share time together on the calendar so that neither of you feel the need to bolt?”

The happiness that was on Boris’ face turns to guilt in the blink of an eye, which was not my intention. It was supposed to be a joke. Cillian saves me though.

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