Page 25 of Beautiful Deception

It must have been painful.

“It was from a long time ago,” Remo remarks, his eyes roving to the drawn curtains.

Dr. Kian watches us fondly as he leans on the chair. My cheeks flush with heat, which I’m sure is accentuated by the faint yellow nightstand lamp. I nuzzle into the pillow, searching for a semblance of balance from their undivided attention because there is a desperate stir between my thighs.

With domination, control, and temptation, they look too hungry and too determined to break their self-control.

I’m imagining things, I think gravely. Two men at once? That’s a challenge.

I blink hastily, dispelling their smoldering gaze. “You didn’t even ask if I was okay.”

Remo arches a questioning brow as if the words had transported him to an entirely different dimension. “But you’re not hurt.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” I argue while hiding my flushed cheeks with the duvet.

Even when he doesn’t mean to, his invasive demeanor reinforces into a scowl. The ingrained habit of an FBI agent to decipher hidden meanings competes with his typical nonchalance about everything.

Still, he asks, “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” And I sound a little guilty for pushing him.

“Then why did you ask?”

Dr. Kian coughs lightly into his fist, laughter twinkling in his eyes as he watches Remo’s lips press into a thin line.

“It feels nice to be cared for,” I mutter bashfully while my toes curl with embarrassment.

A twitch at his lips halts, his eyebrows furrowing as if a whirlwind of thoughts is frying his brain with forked lightning bolts. He looks so confused when I peer up at him, and Dr. Kian is one choked breath away from laughing.

“Oh.”

Chapter Seven

__________

Maya

Remo isn’t as expressive as his friend, but I’ve gotten better at reading him. He rarely interacts with other guests; if someone spoke to him, he’d have this impenetrable barrier around him, and no one would see the tight squeeze of his lips.

He prefers solitude, a stark contrast to Dr. Kian, who surrounds himself with people and their secrets. Their friendship piques my interest, and though it pains me to admit it, I want to understand more about them and how they grew so close.

To be honest, I haven’t told Junnie much about anything. Despite all the unfortunate incidents that happened here, it’s been a while since I’ve seen her this happy and laidback. There are no sympathetic eyes or backhanded inquiries into her kidnapping. A restart, a short but vital breath of fresh air.

I needed this trip, too. It’s a blessing in disguise, I’d say. Unlike Junnie, I leaned heavily on Dr. Kian and Remo. Even though I know this is a bad idea, the accusation of sickly dependency screeching in my head makes me angry, angry with anything that puts doubt on the progress I’m making.

In the distant part of my brain, the one that holds on firmly, promises those two men are not good for me. I listened to it when I was buried alive, retaining as much oxygen as possible while under a heavy tranquilizer, and it saved me.

I believe it when I hope I don’t choose them over my sanity. But how can I give up on Dr. Kian? He’s done so much for me, and the voice goes silent because it knows the hurdles I’ve overcome with his help.

It’s fine, really, I’m doing well. With everything that happened just mere hours ago in the dead of night and counted ticks of the grandfather clock, it feels like walking on silk and broken glass. It’s like a mosaic film over my eyes, painted with sporadic strokes of their presence and chipped corners of my sanity.

“You’re spacing out,” Remo utters coldly.

I ascribe the shift in tone to the drop in temperature; it’s a rapid decline, yet the sky’s azure expanse blows away the entwined alabaster wanderers.

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” I realize.

When comfort becomes a habit, it’s a forgotten double-edged sword. Someday, maybe tomorrow or years later, the sense of safety these two men bring will get pulled from under my feet. Just like how I was living an uneventful but happy life, only to stand back up with ghosts on my back.

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