Page 65 of Hold On

I’m sitting on Alina’s bed, my legs thrown over her lap as she paints my toenails black for me. She loves showering me with affection and I can’t say that I mind it, even if it feels weird to accept her generosity. She rubs my foot a little bit as she admires her work, biting down on her bottom lip as she looks at her paint job. I’m doing my best not to pop a boner so she can finish. I’ve never been one to paint my nails, but I love the way it looks and having these moments with her have been really healing.

I love her touches. The way she loves me. She’s so soft and nurturing, it calms me in a way I didn’t know I was in need of. It’s the safest I’ve ever felt. So, when she asked me the other night to paint my fingernails and then again tonight to paint my toenails, I agreed in an instant.

“You have cute toes,” she says with a smirk. I snort at her compliment, not agreeing at all.

“Thank you, Lina Girl,” I quietly reply though. It’s still so new to me to hear praise instead of threats. It’s been a week since my dad beat the fuck out of me with a bat and I’ve been sleeping with Alina in her bed every night since. Her beautiful eyes find mine as she grins.

“Thank you for letting me paint your nails!” she says so happily. It’s honestly worth it just to see that gorgeous face so fucking filled with joy.

“I like the way it looks,” I tell her truthfully, making her smile even wider.

“I know! You wear black nail polish like a fucking champ,” she teases. “It definitely fits the whole rockstar vibe you have going on.”

“Rockstar vibe? I just play the guitar. I’m not a fucking rockstar,” I declare. She rolls her eyes.

“You are to me, Bash. I love hearing you play,” she says seriously. I bite my lower lip now, feeling vulnerable beneath all of her love. Luckily, my guitar had stayed in Alina’s car the day my father had attempted to attack her. I look to it now, feeling grateful for both of them.

“You put me on a pedestal, Lina Girl. What happens when I fall off and you realize I’m just like the rest of us? Fucked in the head and human,” I say with a sigh.

“I don’t give a fuck about other people. You’re perfect for me. That’s all that matters,” she says as she starts on my other foot. Her fingers tickle my toes, but I do my best to keep still. She notices and smirks at me. “Don’t move, Bash Cox!”

“I’m trying not to, but you’re fucking torturing me,” I feebly protest.

“The other foot wasn’t like this!” she says with a giggle.

“That was the other foot! I don’t know! What do you want from me?” I ask as I laugh. She cleans the edges with her nail and admires her work before starting on my next toe. She hums to herself as she does.

And ever since that day, I’ve painted my fingernails and toenails black.

In honor of my fuck doll.

Chapter Thirty-Five: Now

Sebastian:

“Will you paint my toenails?” I ask Alina as she grins widely, nodding her head.

“Oh, my god!Please!I haven’t been able to do that in so long!!” she squeals. I smirk and grab the black nail polish off of my dresser.

“It’s all chipped. Will you start over? Take this old shit off first?” I ask her as I remove my socks, and she looks at the sad state my toes are in.

“At least they’re trimmed and filed,” she says approvingly. I roll my eyes.

“You taught me well, Lina Girl,” I say with a small smile. It was funny. Everyone on tour knew not to bother me when I was doing my nails. It was pretty much the only time I demanded to be alone. It just gave me an outlet to think about her. And get out of the chaos the tour always proved to be. Plus, she had started the look, and I wasn’t going to change what was working.

“Grab me the nail polish remover!” she demands like the queen she is. I shake my head in amusement as I slink into the bathroom to grab some cotton balls and the bottle of remover. “Eeek!” she squeals as I sit on the bed and throw my feet into her lap. She takes everything else and sets it off to the side. “Lay down, Bash Cox.” I do. Her fingers begin to massage my feet and soon, my eyes are closing while I float on a cloud of actual relaxation.

“Why are you massaging my feet onyourbirthday?” I ask her as she snorts.

“By that logic, I shouldn’t be painting your toenails at all, then,” she retorts.

“Touché, baby.” Her thumb works the arch of my foot. I’m practically purring in her perfect hands. I repress the urge to drool at how good it all feels.

“Thank you for my new hair,” she whispers shyly. I open my eyes to look at her. Her cheeks are pink as she looks back at me, her new red hair fluffed up around her face. She cut several inches off and looks like a more mature version of herself back in high school. I wanted her to feel like she was starting over. Because we are. So, when we woke up this morning and she conveniently forgot to mention her birthday, I knew I had to pull out all the stops to remind her how special she is.

I secretly made an appointment at a highly rated salon and waited until after she showered and dressed herself to ask her what she wanted to do for the day. She just shrugged, saying that as long as we were together, she didn’t care.

I drove her to the salon and dropped her off, getting us coffee before returning with a card and a bouquet of flowers.

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