Page 119 of Reckless
A numb sort of anger suddenly smothers the panic coursing through me. I take a deep breath, lifting my gaze to his.
“Cut it off.”
His brows crinkle at my words, “What?”
“I want you to cut it off,” I say quietly. My face is blank despite the tears still clouding my vision. I run bloody hands over the length of my braid, staining it with each swipe.
Kai’s eyes follow my fingers, widening slightly in understanding. “Gray, maybe you should—”
“I want you to cut it off,” I whisper. “Please.”
“Hey, look at me,” he says softly, his hand straying to my face. “I will wash your hair, okay? The blood won’t be there forever—”
“Yes, it will,” I cut in loudly, my voice shaky. I blink back tears, forcing myself to hold his gaze as I do. “Yes, it will,” I repeat, whispering this time. “The blood will always be there. The blood of my father. The blood of my best friend. The blood of every person I havekilled. It’s always there.” My voice cracks. “And I’m drowning in it.”
He shakes his head, running a thumb over my cheek. “Adena’s and your father’s deaths were not your doing.”
“Just because it wasn’t my doing doesn’t mean it wasn’t my fault,” I whisper.
“No, that’s not—”
“Please. I know you keep my dagger in your boot.”
He stills at my soft words. “I don’t want you to regret this.”
I shake my head at my bloody hands. “You don’t get it. This hair holds memories. And it’sheavy.” I turn slowly until my back is facinghim, the loose braid hanging down the length of my spine. “Please, Kai.”
Silence.
Until there isn’t. Until I feel him reach for his boot. Until my braid is held gently in one hand while the other holds my father’s blade against it.
I feel his breath on my neck, hesitant and unsure.
A tear rolls down my cheek when I nod.
Lifting the braid from my neck, he begins dragging the blade through it.
Every bit of composure I had left crumbles at the sound of my hair being sliced off.
Tears tumble down my cheeks. I cry for my past, for the little girl who held her father’s hand until it grew cold. For the little girl who struggled to survive in a kingdom that hated her.
I cry for Adena—my sun in the darkness I was drifting toward. I can still feel her bloody body in my arms, see her broken fingers bound behind her back. I cry because death is undeserving of her. But she deserves my mourning, my every tear held back.
I cry for every time I felt as though I shouldn’t. For every time I felt as though it made me weak.
I feel the whisper of loose hair falling down my back, weight lifting off my shoulders.
When he pulls away, I hear the dagger clatter against the cave floor. I move my head, feeling light without the heavy curtain of hair cascading down my back. The freshly cut ends barely brush my shoulders, tickling my skin.
His hand is on my arm now, gently turning me around to face him. I put up a pathetic fight, not wanting him to see me like this. Eventually, he pulls my hands into his, grabbing our last full canteen fromthe pack. I watch as he uses his teeth to tear more fabric from the skirt before pouring a precious amount of water onto my stained hands.
He sits in silence, washing the blood from my hands. His touch is soft, as though I’m delicate, not fragile. As though he’s treating me with care because I deserve it, not because I need it.
He swipes the fabric across my palms, between my fingers, spending extra time around my fingernails. It’s only when my hands are spotless that he puts the fabric down and looks up at me.
Everything he does is intentional, a type of intimacy I’ve never felt before. Simply being so cared for has another tear rolling down my cheek before I can stop it. That’s all it takes for the flood of emotions to crash into me again.
I’m practically choking on my tears, breathing uneven. “Shh,” he murmurs. “You’re all right.”
