Page 3 of My Lovely Tragedy
I force myself to my feet, ignoring the twinge in my tailbone as I brush the slush off, though the snow has already seeped in. Goosebumps sharply trickle down my arms, and my body jerks with a full-body shiver. It’s then that I truly take notice of the blurry world around me, and I bring my hand to my face, fingertips grazing skin instead of rounded wire.
“Shit,” I mumble as I crouch down, blindly running my hand along the snow-covered ground in search of the thin frames, so small and fragile, lost amongst the immensity of endless gray. My heart lurches, panic rushing in at the prospect of not being able to see. To being vulnerable and exposed.
“Ar’ya lookin’ for these?” The stranger’s voice pulsates through me. I turn toward the melody, meeting a blueish, gray blur. I blindly reach out, and my cold, numb fingers brush his before I wrap mine around my frames.
As I slide them onto my face and the bridge rests comfortably on my nose, the world comes back into view, blissfully clear and snowy, despite the smudges, and my eyelids flutter in relief.
The thunderous beat of my heart slows its thrashing against my sternum. Oxygen fills my lungs once more, the frigid air bringing clarity. And then my gaze fixates on the man in front of me. His head is hanging between his shoulders, chin nearly to his chest while his long, blonde hair obscures his face. Crystals float around him before sinking into the messy tendrils.
“Thank you,” I murmur, tilting my head to the side as I take him in. The blistering wind howling around us is long forgotten as he lifts his own at the sound of my voice and our eyes connect through the distance. The most stunning shade of cerulean stares back at me, surrounded by a vibrant shade of red. The veins in the whites of his eyes are burst and bleeding, coated with a glassy sheen through half-closed eyelids.
It takes great will to tear my gaze from his, but once I do, I quickly take in his appearance, noting the state of his dishevelment. His blue jacket hangs loosely off one of his shoulders, showcasing a black tank top underneath with the smoothest, lightly tanned skin, the muscles beneath nearly bulging. His too-large, gray sweatpants hang off his hips, soaked from the snow and tucked carelessly into untied black boots.
My eyes drag along his body, back up to his face, making quick but thorough work of my observance. His hair hangs low, the ends whipping back and forth as the wind gusts. A few tendrils stick to his stubble-covered face.
My numb fingers twitch. Mind reeling.Stunned.
I part my lips to ask him if he needs help, but nothing comes out. For the first time in my life, absolutely no words come to me. I’m left utterly blank. Speechless. Andhedid that to me…
“Y’good?” the stranger asks me, slurring heavily. My heart flutters, a rapidthump thump thumphammering against my ribcage and creeping up into my throat, making it difficult to breathe, let alone speak.
I nod and swallow, the pressure increasing tenfold as I force the pulsating lump back down. I’m consumed with fascination. With intrigue. All within a single, breathless moment in time.
“Yes, I am all right.” The words finally find me. “Are you? You are the one who fell into me.”
He harrumphs. “S’good.” He breaks eye contact as he drops back against the pole, eyelashes long and pale against his flushed cheekbones. My feet shift forward, my body leaning as my eyes catch on a black mark near his temple.
“What are you doing out in this storm?” I ask, raising my voice over the howling wind as it turns the world around us into a blur of white lines.
“S’going for a walk n’got turned around.” He swallows, and my eyes follow the bob of his Adam’s apple as it rolls. “Never been in this part of the city before.”
I nod, encouraging him to keep talking. For a second more.
I have never loved the sound of someone’s voice before. I’ve written about it dozens of times—the effect a singular tone can have over someone—their mind and their body—but I cannot say I have ever experienced that feeling. Until now.
It is simply…magnificent.
The man narrows his eyes at me after a few moments of silence, lips thinning into a tight line. “Know who I am? Recognize me?” he bites out, and although his words are garbled, I hear the venom laced within.
I’m taken aback, and I blink slowly, my index finger pushing at the bridge of my glasses. “Should I?” I lift a brow, feeling the wayward curls of my hair brush over it. “I’ve never seen you a day in my life,” I rasp. “ThatI would remember,” I add without thought.
“Shit, seriously? Can’t ‘member the last time—” He hiccups, and I feel myself smile, eyes creasing at the corners. “Happened,” he finishes with a breath. A line of water slides down the bridge of his nose and through the light stubble on his chin.
“Who are you?” I ask, curiosity piqued. He’s surprised I don’t know him, which makes me think I should, that I am missing a vital piece of information.
“No one. But—" he huffs out a breath, then lifts his head, shaking hair away from his mouth, “can call me Brooklyn,” he says as he meets my eyes through what is probably a blurry lens for him. Then, his shoulders fall as his head rolls between them, and I’m left feeling bereft.
“Brooklyn,” I breathe out, loving the taste of his name on my tongue. “Hmm,” I hum.
He scoffs. “Yeah. Can you help me up, strange nerdy guy?” His eyes crease at the corners, one more closed than open as he peers at me. “World’s spinnin’ a bit.” He laughs to himself—a small huff—and I watch in awe as his lips curve up into a muted smile before it disappears almost as quickly, leaving me to wonder if it was a figment of my imagination.
“Yes, of course.” I mentally berate myself for my lack of insight and place myself between his spread legs. Leaning down, I curl my arms beneath his armpits to haul him to his feet. He stumbles a bit, his front thumping into mine as he grips my biceps. I’m taller than him, and his shoulders are wider, so my face presses into the curve of his thick neck and shoulder as I steady him.
I inhale his scent: smoke—the earthy kind—liquor, and something I just can’t put my name on…
“Thanks… mmm?” Brooklyn trails off, and I lift my gaze from where my hands are holding onto his narrow waist.
My breath catches having him so close. His heat, the smell of his breath as it blows against my face in heavy puffs. Even scented with alcohol, I feel myself drawing breath faster just to get more of it, my mind flooding with all the words I could use to describe this moment.
