Page 111 of My Lovely Tragedy
I sigh.Exasperating boy.“Yeah.”
He snorts his laughter. “‘Yeah.’I think that’s the most human you’ve ever sounded.”
I stand in front of him, holding my hand out. He takes it. “I assume that is intended to be a compliment.”
“Do you find it insulting?”
“No.”
“Then no, it wasn’t a compliment.” My smile twitches strongly. A fissure.
“I’m glad that’s settled then.” At the burst of cool air through the opened door, Brooklyn shivers and shuffles past me toward the sofa.
“I need my blankets. It’s so fuckin’ cold still.”
And as I watch the roll of muscles in his back, chains dragging behind him and scuffing the wood, I settle into a despondent sense of resolve.
The sand has settled.
CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE
TOBIAS
The thoughtof a picnic is so far out of my mind, but I asked Brooklyn, and he accepted. It will be good for us—to have this memory. One of stillness and silence. Of quiet contentment.
“You really do have a picnic basket,” Brooklyn comments as he plops down on a stool. My gaze flickers to his rusty chains. The smell of them wafts up into the air with every smallest movement, and I have come to associate the smell with him. Cinnamon and rust—but more specifically,blood.
I clear my throat and force my eyes down, back to the ingredients in front of me. Crackers and cheeses. Meat and dried fruit and an array of nuts. Nothing heavy. And of course, packing it all into a basket with napkins and bottled waters and a bottle of wine is purely for semantic purposes. We are going to climb through the window like barbarians and sit just outside the house as it is the only place Brooklyn can reach outside without letting me release him of his binds, but I still want to make this as special as it can be.
He deserves nice memories to pair with the more… destructive ones. A nice balance.
Yin and yang.
“Of course, I have a basket. I said I did,” I finally respond to his comment, hoping he hasn’t noticed my lack of punctuality. Despair blurs messily and angrily with my migraine, making even the act of blinking painful and disorienting.
“I know, but it’s like… straight out of some cheesy Hallmark movie or some shit,” he mutters, shaking his head. His damp, golden locks swarm him in a warm halo that lances my heart.
My fingers twitch with the urge to reach out and tuck it behind his ears, to clear his face for my viewing pleasure. Because his face should never be hidden in the shadows.
He should always be in the light, shining bright and forever—my beautiful angel.
“Tobias?” Brooklyn prompts. I blink.
“Yes?”
“Are you really okay?” he asks. Softer. More hesitant. My eyes narrow. I don’t like his tone.
“Yes, I am fine. Why do you ask?” He squints, curling his lips inward. I follow the path of his eyes as they drop to my hands, which are trembling against the edge of the counter. My breath catches, and I pull them back, out of sight, to press them against my thighs. And then, I look back up at Brooklyn like nothing happened.
“Low blood sugar, darling.” I shake my head to deter him. “Nothing new.”
“Are you sure you don’t have diabetes? You seem to have a lot of problems with your blood sugar.” His eyes are still so pointed and observant.
Think, Tobias.
I walk to the fridge and pull out a container of apple juice. After twisting the cap off, I bring the rim to my lips and swallow down the overly sweet fruit juice. Once my throat starts to ache with the cold temperature, I replace the cap and return it to its rightful place on the shelf.
Turning around, I eye Brooklyn and hold out my hands, locking every muscle I can in my arms to steady the tremble for four seconds.Just four is all I need.“Satisfied?”
