Page 104 of Pretty When He Bleeds

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I don’t know when the tears started.

All I know is that by the time I finish, my vision is blurred, and my chest aches like someone took a fucking bat to it. I clutch the letter so tight the paper crumples, and when I glance up at Damon, he’s just watching me. Like he’s memorizing every reaction, every little flicker of pain on my face.

I can’t breathe. I can’t fucking breathe.

Damon moves closer, his fingers twitching against the sheets like he wants to reach for me but doesn’t know how. His voice is hoarse when he finally speaks. “He thought I was strong.” His lips press into a thin line, his throat bobbing. “He thought I fucking survived it.”

I shake my head, wiping my face roughly. “You did.”

Damon lets out a hollow laugh. “No. I just stayed and lost my mind.”

And I don’t know what to say to that.

Because fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I drop my head, inhaling deeply, and Damon rubs a hand over his face. He still looks like he’s trying to process everything, still looks like he’s trying to figure out how the fuck he’s supposed to feel.

Then, slowly, carefully, he reaches out and pulls me toward him, pressing his forehead against mine.

We sit there like that, breathing the same air, drowning in the same grief, and this time, we don’t let it tear us apart. I close my eyes, breathing him in. The scent of him, the heat of him. It grounds me and holds me together when I feel like I might fucking shatter.

The letter is still in my hands, crumpled slightly from my grip. It feels like it’s burning through my skin, a brand of something I’m not ready to face. “I can’t,” I whisper, my voice barely there. “I can’t open mine.”

Not when I can still hear Caleb’s voice in my head, his last words echoing over and over like a fucking siren. Not when I can still see him—his handwriting, his regrets, his final plea for Damon to look after me.

Damon exhales, his breath ghosting against my lips. He leans back just enough to look at me, his green eyes dark and knowing. “That’s okay,” he murmurs. “I didn’t open mine so you would open yours, baby.”

I swallow hard, my throat tight. “I just—” I shake my head, struggling to find the words, struggling to breathe past the pressure in my chest.

He lifts a hand, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw, and it’s such a gentle fucking touch that it nearly undoes me. “You don’t have to explain,” he says, his voice rough but steady. “I get it.”

I press my forehead against his again, my fingers digging into his arms like he’s the only thing keeping me here, keeping me from drowning in the past. My mind is fucking spiraling—Caleb’s words, his regret, his love, his pain—all of it is looping over and over in my head.

I don’t want to think anymore. I don’t want to feel this. I don’t want to feel anything right now. So I do the only thing I can do. I move, my hands sliding down his arms, over the ink that covers his skin. My fingers press into his ribs, feeling his solid body, the reality of him.

“Make me forget,” I whisper. Damon stills, his breath catching, but I don’t stop. I don’t give him the chance to think because I need him to understand what I’m asking. “Makeusforget.”

I need him to take this fucking pain and burn it away. His jaw tightens, his green eyes darkening like a storm is brewing just behind them. “Roman—”

“Please,”I beg, my fingers digging into him. “Just—just take it away. For a little while.”

Damon exhales through his nose, his whole body wound tight like he’s holding himself back from something he shouldn’t want. But then, slowly, so fucking slowly, his hands slide down to my waist, gripping me like he needs this just as much as I do.

And maybe he does.

Maybe we both do.

He doesn’t kiss me right away, he just looks at me like he’s committing this moment to memory before it disappears into whatever hell we’re drowning in.

His mouth crashes into mine, and there’s nothing gentle about it. It’s all fire and fucking destruction like he’s trying to consume me—to devour every piece of me that still belongs to someone else.

I let him. I want him to.

His hands grip my hips, pulling me into his lap, and I go willingly, my thighs straddling his, my fingers tangling in his hair. His tongue slides against mine, demanding, taking, and I give him everything.

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