Page 19 of My Lovely Tragedy
“Huh?” he asks with a mouthful of food, the mannerless thing.
“Icarus, the son of the inventor Daedalus. You mentioned him earlier in context to your own wings melting. I caught the metaphor.”
Brooklyn huffs, a dry sound. “I’m not even surprised, to be honest. I didn’t…” He clicks his tongue. “I don’t know. I was going to say maybe I didn’t mean it as a direct correlation to Icarus, but maybe I did.”
“Maybe you relate to him more than you thought?” I try, and he shrugs.
“Maybe. But then again, can’t we all relate to shit we never thought we could if we try hard enough? Most of our pieces are malleable.”
“Are they?”I’m intrigued.
“Aren’t they?” he counters, brow lifting as he brings his fork to his mouth. Lips part, giving me the barest glimpse of a pale pink tongue before they wrap around the utensil. His lips pucker as the prongs drag between them, the thin, chapped skin glistening with the slightest traces of saliva.
“Perhaps,” I concur. “Most anything can influence and change us.Ifwe allow it.”
“Sometimes change happens without permission. Without you ever even knowing you’ve changed until it’s too late and you can’t go back. And you no longer remember who you were.”
I sit with his words, running them over my tongue. They’re bitter with resentment and pain.His pain.He’s talking of himself, of his experiences as if they’ve happened to someone else, but I can taste every ounce of it.
He’s still living with it.
“You speak as if you know from experience,” I nudge, pushing the invisible boundary line.
Air whistles in his nostrils. In, then out just as quickly. “Don’t we all?”
CHAPTERSIX
TOBIAS
I lean my head forward,letting the hot water from the showerhead cascade over my face, my hair, my body. Rinsing it all clean.
Brooklyn’s words play in my head. An endless loop, though my memory can never quite capture his true tone, even with him right in the next room.
Thinking of him sitting on my sofa sends chills along my flesh, the warmth of the water nothing in comparison to the mere thought of him.
A soft knock sounds at the door. I pull my face from the stream and swipe my fingers across my eyes to rid them of the droplets before leaning outside the shower curtain, straining my ears. The noise sounds again a few, long moments later.
“Tobias?”
Elation fills my thoracic cavity.
“Just a moment,” I call out softly, only enough for the volume to carry over the rush of the water. After turning it off, I step onto the mat, dripping, and wrap a towel around my waist before pulling the unlocked door open.
My eyes meet Brooklyn’s, wide and startled. “Yes?” I ask, charmed.
Brooklyn’s lips pucker and twist to the left as his teeth dig into the soft, inner flesh of his cheek. His eyes veer upward after a long perusal of my body, leaving a hot path in their wake.
And I must admit, I’m flattered. My own flickers downward, catching beads of water and tufts of chest hair, slightly grayed with age. My stomach, not round but not chiseled with muscle like Brooklyn’s own. Softer, more vulnerable. Susceptible.
“Uh, yeah.” He clears his throat.He’s uncomfortable,I muse as I perceive his body language. His arms are now crossed over his chest, fingers curled into fists below his armpits. Head turned to the side, eyes downcast, cheeks faintly pink with what I assume to be embarrassment.
My eyes flicker back and forth, my brain working at the same speed to fit pieces together.
He doesn’t…
“Hmm.” I hum aloud, mostly to myself, but the sound prompts Brooklyn to continue.
“Sorry I interrupted.”
