Page 43 of Pretty When He Bleeds

“Lie down,” he says, nodding toward the bed.

“What, you’re putting me to bed now?”

“Yes,” he says simply. “Because you need it, and I’m not letting you leave like this.”

I hesitate, but the exhaustion finally wins out. I crawl under the covers, the mattress sinking slightly as Damon sits on the edge. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?” I murmur, but my eyes are already closing.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice softer now. “But so are you.”

The last thing I hear before sleep takes me is the sound of his voice, low and steady, grounding me in a way I didn’t know I needed.

Damon

Thecoffeeinmymug has gone lukewarm, but I don’t care. I’m standing by the window, staring out over the hazy morning skyline, but my focus keeps drifting back to bed.

Roman’s still asleep, his body tangled in my black sheets like he was always meant to be there. He looks so peaceful; it’s hard to reconcile him with the guy who lets himself get beaten to shit for fun. Thank fuck I gave someone a ride last night, or I wouldn’t have had the extra helmet so I could bring him here.

I take a slow sip of my coffee and let the bitter taste ground me as my mind replays everything that happened last night. Right up until I coincidentally walked into that bar, not knowing Roman would be there.

He finally gave in after that sharp-tongued defiance he’s always throwing around when it comes to me. It was like he’s been waiting for me to claim him.

And, fuck, did I.

The thought sends a strange heat through my chest, one I don’t know what to do with yet. Roman Bishop—the guy I thought was responsible for Caleb’s death, the guy I was supposed to hate—was mine last night. Completely and utterly mine.

I’m not quite sure how to feel about this yet.

My new apartment is quiet and a massive upgrade from the shitty place I had before, thanks to my mom. She refused to let me keep living there after she came down a few weeks ago, claiming it was “unfit for anyone, let alone my son.”

Honesty, I agree. My headspace really went to shit when I wasn’t on my meds and I won’t be making that mistake again.

So now, here I am, in a place that could actually feel like home. It’s still got my touch, though—art supplies scattered everywhere, canvases propped up against the walls, along with the smell of turpentine, coffee, and cigarettes in the air.

I glance at the bed again, my eyes raking over Roman’s sleeping form. He’s sprawled out on his stomach with his head turned to the side. The sheet is low on his hips, just barely covering him while the marks I left on his body are visible. His hair is a mess, and those gorgeous full lips are parted.

God, he’s beautiful.

Watching him sleep makes it hard to hold onto the anger I had. I suppose I just needed someone to blame for Caleb’s death, and Roman was the closest to my little brother. Hell, what I feel for Roman isn’t anywhere close to anger anymore.

I don’t even know when my feelings started to change. Maybe it was when I realized how much he hates himself and the guilt I can see in his eyes. Or maybe it was when I saw how much pain he’s willing to take because he thinks he deserves it.

The coffee sloshes against the sides of the mug as I set it down on the windowsill. I lean with my head against the frame and breathe out a long sigh, fogging up the glass. The memory of how he gave in last night is on a loop in my head and it makes my chest ache in a confusing way.

I hear a faint rustle behind me, and when I glance over my shoulder, I see Roman’s starting to stir. His arm stretches out and he groans softly as he buries his face deeper into my pillow before opening his eyes and squinting against the light.

Our eyes meet and my heart wants to leap out of my fucking chest.

“The fuck are you doing all the way over there?” he mutters, his voice thick with sleep.

I smirk and grab my coffee again as I walk back toward the bed. “Watching you drool all over my pillows.”

“Fuck off, I don’t drool,” he grumbles, then lazily lifts up his hand to flip me off before pulling the sheet over his head.

I sit on the edge of the bed and take another sip of coffee. “It’s Saturday and I’ve got nowhere to be. You planning on lying in my bed the whole day?”

“Maybe,” he mumbles from under the sheet. “Especially when the bed smells like you.”

I reach out and tug the sheet down just enough to see his face and I can’t help but smile when I notice him blushing. His eyes trail over my shirtless body and I watch as his eyes heat.

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