Page 55 of Broken

Those tears are beautiful, and I want to taste them because they’re mine.

They fell for me.

I twist on the seat, with such a lack of care that it pulls on my wounds. Letting my hand cup her cheek even as my thumb strokes along the silken curve of her skin, I gather some droplets while I stare into her eyes.

Misty green, they penetrate me, making me feel like I could lose myself in them. As if they’re a welcoming fog that would provide shelter rather than lead me into danger.

The sight and the thought stirs me to release her and to bring my thumb to my mouth.

The salty liquid is almost floral on my tongue. Like a wine’s bouquet, it seems to react with my saliva, making her fundamentally collide with me.

I swallow at the same moment she does.

“Why are you here,diavoletta?”

Her nose scrunches. “I’m not a pixie.”

“No? You feel like something from a dream.”

“I’m not. I came here to help you.”

“Why? People don’t help random strangers.”

“You’re not random. I’ve known you since I was seventeen. I sent my first letter to you then, and I must have sent a dozen more.” Irrational anger at not receiving them filters through me, but it’s stymied when she gnaws on her bottom lip.Iwant to bite it. I want to— “I know you think I’m crazy. Maybe I am.” A smile appears on her lips, and it’s sheepish and shaken and self-deprecating. It makes me trust her regardless of her admission. “But I truly mean you no harm.”

“I already figured that out. You shouldn’t threaten a man like me.”

“I’m not a sinner.” Her chin jerks up. “I know I’m safe.”

“Everyone sins,” I tell her, knowing it to be true.

“Not me.”

“You blasphemed.”

“Not my religion anymore.”

“Semantics.”

She grins, and despite myself, I grin at her in turn. “I’m an author. I have the lexicon to outtalk you at the best of times.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Give me a chance and I will.”

“And what was grabbing my crotch if not a sin?”

Her nose crinkles, but before I can call her out, she clucks her tongue. “You’re making your back bleed.”

“As I said, it’ll do that for a while. Every time I move, it’ll tear open the wounds.”

“That sounds excruciating.”

I hum with perverse delight. “It is.”

“Savio,” she whispers, cupping my cheek, mirroring my earlier gesture. “You have to see how fucked up that is.”

“It’s the only way I know how to cope,” I confess, and the words are a weight off—whether it’s my shoulders or my soul, I’m not sure.

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