Page 86 of Pretty When He Bleeds

I watch him, barely blinking, my chest tight with something I’m too scared to fucking name. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve him. And yet, here he is, curled up in my bed, wrapped in my sheets, sleeping like he belongs here. Like he’s always belonged here.

Like I belong to him.

I swallow hard, dragging a hand through my hair. My body still feels wrung out, and my mind is still sluggish from everything that just happened. From everything he just said.

He loves me.

I should be happy. I should feel relieved. But all I feel is terrified.

I lean back against the headboard, my fingers twitching against my knee, my gaze locked on the slow rise and fall of Roman’s back. He sleeps so easily. Like he doesn’t have a single doubt in his head about this—about us.

Like he actually believes that I can love him the way he deserves.

And fuck, I want to. But I don’t knowhow.

I exhale through my nose, shifting slightly so I can get a better look at him. Even now, bruised from the game and exhausted from the past few days, he still looks fucking beautiful.

It’s not fair. None of this is fucking fair. I wasn’t supposed to feel this way. I wasn’t supposed to let him in. I wasn’t supposed to let this happen. I was supposed to break him. Ruin him. Destroy him. Not fall in love with him.

But Roman is the kind of person you can’t help but get addicted to. He’s reckless and stubborn as hell, but he’s also the first person who’s ever looked at me like I was worth something.

And that’s fucking dangerous.

I sigh, rubbing a hand over my face before looking back at him.

You don’t have to fight alone.

I hate that those words hit me as hard as they did. Because Idohave to fight alone. I always have. That’s the way it works.

You don’t drag people into your shit. You don’t let them see the ugly parts of you. You keep your fucking head down, take your meds, and pray to whatever the fuck is out there that you can keep your own mind from turning against you.

But Roman doesn’t give a fuck about rules. He saw the worst of me, he saw me unravel and fall apart.

And he stayed. I don’t understand it. I don’t trust it. But fuck, I want to.

I want to believe that he’s not going to wake up tomorrow and realize I’m not worth the trouble. That he’s not going to look at me and see a fucking burden. That he’s not going to leave. I close my eyes, letting my head fall back against the headboard, exhaling slowly.

No one’s ever fought for me before. Not like this. Not the way he does.

And maybe—just maybe—I could let him.

I don’t even realize I’m moving until I’m reaching for him.

Roman’s always been warm, but pressed against me like this, he’s practically radiating heat. I wrap an arm around his waist, pulling him closer, and he makes a noise in his sleep—this quiet little huff—his body shifting instinctively into mine.

It’s cute. Too fucking cute.

I stare at his face, his stupidly pretty face, all soft in sleep, his lips slightly parted, eyelashes resting against his cheekbones. And I feel this insane urge—this sudden, overwhelming need to bite him.

It’s not fair how adorable he is. I glance at his arm sprawled across the sheets. A perfect target.

Fuck it.

I lean down and bite. Not hard—just enough to sink my teeth into his skin and feel him. Roman jerks awake with a loud groan, yanking his arm away as he twists onto his side to glare at me.

“Thefuck was that for?” he mutters, his voice thick with sleep, eyes barely open.

I smirk, propping myself up on one elbow. “Couldn’t help it.”

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