Page 33 of Pretty When He Bleeds

I fall down on the bed and stare up at the ceiling like I have been doing for the past few days. I wish I had an answer as to why the fuck I can’t stop thinking about Damon. About his hands on me, his lips on mine, how fucking possessive he sounded when he told me only he’s allowed to make me bleed.

There’s a knock on the door and I know it’s Killian before he walks in and sits down next to me. I don’t look at him because I know the questions will be clear as day on his face. I don’t know why, but him being here and not pushing it makes me feel like purging everything.

“I’m not doing good, Kill,” I blurt out, feeling a tear slip down the side of my face. “I’m not doing good at all.”

He doesn’t say anything, he just waits for me to speak. He leans back against the headboard with his hands on his thighs and just… waits.

“I thought I was dealing with the guilt, but I realize now that I never even had a fucking handle on it. It’s been two years and the wound Caleb left hasn’t healed, it’s festering and starting to kill me.”

Killian doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe too loudly. I just feel his eyes on me.

“And then there’s Damon,” I say with a scoff, my throat tightening. “He’s… he’s fucking everywhere, Kill. In my head, under my skin, and I can’t cut him out no matter how hard I try.”

I sit up abruptly, raking a shaking hand through my hair and pulling my knees up to my chest. My whole body is too hot, too tight, and it feels like I’m coming apart at the seams.

“The way he looks at me, the way he fucking pushes me, like he’s waiting for me to break. And I hate it. I hate how much I like it. How the pain he gives me is the only thing thatgroundsme.” I choke on the confession, my hands balling into fists. “I haven’t even wanted to get into a fight since he hit me. Haven’t felt the need to sink into pain just to feel something.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and ugly, but I can’t stop.

I suck in a shaky breath, my fingers digging into my scalp. “And you wanna know the worst part? The absolute worst part?” My voice cracks, and I barely manage to get the words out. “Every time I look at Damon, I don’t even see his brother anymore. Not even when he’s wearing Caleb’s leather jacket. I don’t fucking see the guy I loved. I just see Damon.”

Killian shifts slightly next to me, but I still don’t look at him when I talk again.

“I loved Caleb,” I continue, my voice breaking on his name. “He was my first everything, Kill. My first friend, my first love, my first kiss… and he left me without even giving me a reason why. Do you have any fucking idea how angry I still am with him and how guilty I feel for being angry? What the fuck is wrong with me?”

Sighing, I swing my legs off the bed and rest my elbows on my knees. “He’s gone and here I am, making out with his brother, and it made me feel alive for the first time in two years. Yet another thing for me to feel guilty about on top of everything.”

The silence stretches for longer than a few seconds and I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. I swallow deeply and finally turn to look at Killian. “I don’t know what Caleb would think of me now, but it can’t be good.”

Killian stands up, then walks around the bed and sits down next to me, mimicking my position. “You’re wrong, Rome.”

I blink at him, thrown off by the certainty in his voice. “What?”

“You’re wrong. He wouldn’t think any of that shit. You know why?” he asks, and I shake my head. “Because Caleb loved you. He fucking loved you and would never want you to drown in all this guilt. He’d want you to be happy, Roman. To move on.”

My throat feels tight and I shake my head again, but I’m unable to speak.

“And yeah,” he continues, “maybe he wouldn’t have expected you to move on with Damon. But if he were here and he saw how this was eating you up inside, I think he’d give you his fucking blessing. Because he knows you’d look after his fuckhead brother and his fuckhead brother would look after you.”

Tears well up in my eyes. “Kill—”

“You don’t have to believe me. But remember, I knew Caleb, too and I know he wouldn’t want this for you. He wouldn’t want you to be miserable, Rome. He’d want you to live.”

The tears spill without warning down my cheeks, and I bury my face in my hands, my shoulders shaking as the sobs take over.

Killian doesn’t say anything else, he doesn’t need to.

Damon

Thescentofturpentineand linseed oil hangs heavy in the studio, blending with the faint hum of voices as students chatter between strokes of their brushes.

The canvas in front of me is half-finished, an abstract mess of dark blues and blacks that I’ve been working on for the last hour. It’s aggressive and chaotic—the kind of piece I don’t even have to think too hard about because my hands know exactly what they’re doing before my mind catches up.

I’m just about to dip my brush into the black paint when my phone buzzes on the desk beside me. At first, I consider ignoring the call, but then I see the name:Mom.

The name makes my stomach twist in a way I can’t describe. I glance at the clock—still twenty minutes of class left.Fuck it.I step away from my easel, keeping my head down as I slip into the hallway and swipe to answer.

“Hey, Mom,” I say and lean against the wall, keeping my voice low as I answer the call.

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