Page 155 of My Lovely Tragedy
“I’m fine,” I manage to spit out as I sit up to drop my head in my hands. My elbows sink into the tender flesh of my thighs, and I draw in a breath of focus.
It’s so fuckinghot.My skin is melting off my hypodermis. Just a puddle of slop at my feet.
Hands, damp and cold with sweat, grasp my head and yank up. I gasp at the friction of their palms against my overgrown beard, lashes fluttering. A sharp slap reverberates inside my skull, snapping my eyelids open wide. I blink through the red disorientation. Benji’s kneeled in front of me, his face inches from mine, keeping me close.
His dark, almond eyes are unwavering as he stares into the pits of mine. I watch as they bounce back and forth, nearly going cross-eyed from how close he has me pinned. And I could fight against him—my muscles contract at the prospect, ready to flee.
“Talk to me,” he says, his mouth a breath away from my own. And right now, in this moment, there’s only us. The crowd perched around us, even Cobain and Dexter—they don’t exist. Just me, Benji, and Tobias. “C’mon,” he prods. “You’ve gotta tell me something.Anything.”
I hold his gaze without a fight because I know what he sees in my eyes is nothing but a vacant reflection. There is nothing there.
Not anymore.
A small wrinkle forms between his brows, and as his frown deepens, so do the slight creases around his eyes and the corners of his mouth. His thumbs drag slowly over the highest points of my cheekbones. What is probably supposed to be soothing, but it just burns with friction and makes the exposed muscle beneath my melted flesh twitch with discomfort.
Without taking his eyes off me, I watch Ben’s lips form the words as he calls out, “Everybody take a fucking step back.” The looming weight eases slightly, even as two bodies draw closer. A hand on my shoulder, fingers around my bicep.
I swallow. Close my eyes. Feel the roll in my throat. How thick the lump is, how suffocating it feels, choking it down.
I focus on the sting in my eyes, how pointed it becomes when I allow my lids to fall closed. The shapes and colors that used to dance are long gone. Now, there are only dark shadows and varying shades of red. The color of blood. Mine and his and ours.
“I need to leave,” I rasp. How I’m even capable of forming words right now, I haven’t the slightest clue. Everything is muddled and fragrant with disorder in my mind.
“I can’t let you leave like this,” Benji responds slowly. His eyes close marginally, almost like he’s wincing. His words—hisdenial—crashes into me. My blood surges with panic, and my hands tremble where they lie limply in my lap. It’s not until I look down that I notice my legs are shaking faster than I have ever seen them move. My heeled boots slam loudly down on the floor with every pass, jostling Benji from the very point where he’s holding onto me.
Fingers dig into my over-extended trapezius muscle, into my deltoid. Sweat trickles down my back, blooming along my hairline and soaking into my roots.
“Please.” I can’t give more than that. It’s all I have, and it’s what I need. I can’tbe here.I was never supposed to be here.
His nearly-black eyes search for something I don’t have to give, but whatever he sees… I think it scares him. He blanches, and I watch his throat roll with a swallow. And then, his hands fall away with one last drag of his thumb over my cheek. He doesn’t move back though as he pleads, “Promise you’ll come back this time.” His eyes ping between mine, searching deep and desperately.
With my most well-equipped lie, I promise him.
* * *
The gravelbeneath my boots echoes as I stumble across the lot. It’s the color of ink outside without a star in sight, but the moon is heavy and luminescent where it hangs above, nearly occluded entirely by the thick wall of clouds churning across the sky.
The shadows it casts are looming and choking, swarming along the walls and in between cars. They chase me, cackling with glee for their next victim as I rush to where I haphazardly parked Tobias’s car.
I throw the door open, uncaring as it ricochets with a loud crack. My palm slams against the side, holding it back as I slip inside, dropping down onto the leather with the same breath still encased in my lungs.
The release is like one from a pressure cooker. Unstable and frightening and forceful. But my reflexive inhale is catastrophic.
Every nuance of vanilla and honey swarms into me, filling my lungs, dosing my blood. Wrapping around my brain and into the stem. I claw at my throat, choking on it, nails scoring flesh, leaving white-hot shredded lines in their wake. My hair wraps around my fingers, fisted tight. I yank, ripping follicles from my scalp as a scream tears from my gut, bubbling over and into the vacant air within the confines of the car.
More flashes, tarnished and grayscale, swarm my vision.
Tobias on his knees while I’m in the bath.
Tobias holding that gold knife like he’s afraid of what it means.
Tobias searching my eyes for a promise he ripped out of me.
Holding me while I cried. While I was lost. Keeping me alive—with him. Vowing and stealing andlying.But honest and real and raw.
Begging and pleading. Cold and detached.
The warmth of a home he gave me.
