Page 27 of The Boy Who Loved Wicked
“No, I haven’t. No,” I said again for reinforcement.
“Okay,” he said confused. “Phoenix, this only works if we’re honest with each other. If we have nothing between us. To gain power you must first give it away.” He shuffled to the center of the big bed and beckoned for me to do the same. I removed my shoes and sat cross-legged in front of him. “I’m vulnerable to you in every way, Phoenix. You only need to peer closely to see that. Can you give me the same right now?”
I counted the unpacked boxes, the paintings unhung, inhaling the scent of fresh start. He’d spent years living a comfortably unhappy life. It was empty but familiar. One he was prepared to continue. A farce he had no immediate plans to pull the curtain back on. I hadn’t had to give up much for this. Morally, maybe. But I could change my mind, and he’d let me. There was no going back for him now. This had cost him something. Could cost him more if we weren’t careful.
“I’ll go first,” he said, brushing my curls from my face. “I’m terrified of what could happen if we’re caught. Even more than that, is the fear that I’ll hold you back in some way. That the lies you’ll be forced to tell, even ones of omission, will become a weight on us that’s too heavy for you to bear. I’m afraid that my past will come between us—”
“—How?”
“Because I haven’t dealt with it. I’m still the same man from a year ago. A week ago even. I’m still angry and sad. I’m still hurting.”
I thought about my own sadness. So thick I could touch it, and I nodded.
“I’m also afraid that old habits may not have died with time, and I’ll either swallow you whole or push you away in my attempt to. Or worse than pushing you away, I’ll hurt you in some way and…” He shook his head.
Alex.“I’m not him,” I whispered, pulling his head around. His jaw tensed, and his intensity bled through his fingers as he cupped the sides of my neck and brought our foreheads together.
I scratched gently at his stubble. His bleeding heart enabled me to slice through an artery of my own. “What do you see in me? I mean, you could have someone more experienced.”
“And yet, I’m here with you.”
Yes, he was. He’d uprooted forme.His eyes shone bright in the candlelight, but he was otherwise severe as he gazed at me.
“What we share isn’t supposed to bring you down. That’s not how it works. And when you begin to question things, talk to me.”
“Deal,” I said, and he kissed my lips. My breath quickened, my tongue wet my teeth. “Are you going to do things to me tonight?”
“What things?” he faked ignorance.
“Don’t make me say it,” I groaned, my neck warming.
“Well, you’re going to have to so I can be sure you know what you’re getting into. But not tonight. Tonight we’re going to order in and talk.” He pulled me from the bed and handed me a pair of sweats that, when held out, looked longer than my whole body.
“Exactly how tallareyou, Bash?”
“Six-five...and a half.”
“Are you blushing?” I laughed.
“That half is important,” was all he said, and that small show of his vain humanity did more for me than even his sadness.
I traced the tips of his wings that expanded from his back. “Was this for Alex?”
He nodded, observing me with a keen eye. “Are you still okay?”
I suspected that question was a loaded one. Was I okay with knowing he’d loved someone else as deep as the sea? That he hadn’t found closure after all these years. Was I okay with all we’d done so far and what was to come? But I too knew what it meant to love deeper than the deepest part of the ocean, and I had no clue what closure felt like. I also wouldn’t change a thing since he’d walked into that classroom. “I won’t regret this, Sebastian. I won’t regret us.”
Those words were the truest thing I’d ever spoken at that moment in my life.
“You forgot to pack your journal,” I said. He stopped chewing, and then the wrinkles in his forehead cleared. He didn’t bother asking how I knew. And I didn’t tell him how dejected Emily was. Or how conflicted that made me feel.
He captured my hand from across the kitchen island. “I’d stopped by with some paperwork. I must have taken it out of my bag and forgotten it.”
“Did you write about me?”
“There’s nothing incriminating in there. I promise.”
It wasn’t a no, but it was the next best thing.
