Page 74 of My Lovely Tragedy
I force a breath in through my nose and out through my mouth, shoving the urge down as I drag the cotton over his legs, absorbing what water I can as I work my way up, ignoring his soft, pink cock hanging between his legs. I dry his dark blonde pubic hair, along the silk creases of his thighs, around to his buttocks and between them, before pushing up and absorbing the water droplets clinging to his torso. Over the blonde trail of hair leading to his groin. I dip into his shallow belly button before moving up to his small, pink nipples and over his broad shoulders to his hair, which is still soaked and dripping steadily down his back.
After squeezing the excess, I wrap the towel around his waist and tuck the ends in, securing it, but Brooklyn takes hold, knuckles white from the force of his grip. I lean in, just close enough to touch if he were to sway in my direction. “Thank you,” I whisper across his skin. Goosebumps follow the path of my breath. Brooklyn shivers, shoulders twitching.
Links shift and clank together as he steps around me and out of the damp bathroom. I follow the knobs in his spine until he disappears just on the other side of the door, the drag of his restraints following behind his every step.
With him out of sight, I take one breath of reprieve before I shut the door with a soft click and throw the lid to the toilet seat open. Vomit spews from between my lips, burning hot and putrid. I wretch and gag as my stomach convulses and bile spews from my nostrils.
I choke on the stench, vomit blocking my ability to breathe. My lungs burn, and the sensation mutates with the fire in my gut, muscles and organs clenching and spasming. My back bows, veins bulging and pulsating.
And through it all, all I feel is the throbbing in my temples. My brain melting.
A knock at the door startles me, and I jerk up, smacking my elbow against the porcelain. I rip some toilet paper off the roll and wipe my mouth before dropping it in the bowl and flushing. There’s nothing I can do about the smell at the moment, so I shove myself to my feet and take a slow, deep breath as I sway.
The knock sounds again. I clear my throat, wincing at the rip of fire from my now raw insides. “Just a moment,” I call out softly. Another deep breath. A swipe of my palms over my wet eyelashes.
My fingers wrap around the handle, and I blink slowly. Leaving them closed for a moment. Listening to the sound of him just on the other side. And then, I open the door.
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
BROOKLYN
Tobias’s faceis pale and shiny with sweat. He plasters on a feigned smile and swings the door open the rest of the way. “Come. Sit.” He gestures toward the toilet I just heard him throwing up into.
I eye it warily, gaze flickering back and forth. He stares blankly at me. “Are you okay?” I ask as I do as I’m told and sit on the lid. The towel stretches taut across my thighs, and the tucked corner threatens to slip.
“Of course,” he responds easily as he rifles through the cupboard in the vanity, long legs bent in a crouch. I watch him—watch as a slow flush creeps across his cheeks, as sweat trickles down his temple. A curl bounces as he dips his head.
I trace the outline of his stubbled jaw, flecked with black and gray hairs in equal measure. The slope of his nose, free from his glasses. Dark eyelashes clumped with wetness.
“I heard—” I start to say, but Tobias interrupts.
“Nothing to worry about, darling. Here.” He pushes to his feet, towering over me. My head tilts back as my eyes rake over him. Tall and lanky, surprisingly strong muscles hidden beneath. In his hand is a first aid kit.
I snort, and his dark eyebrows pinch, lips pursed, but he leaves it alone, washing his hands in contemplative silence. “Let’s get you taken care of,” he says as he drops to his knees in front of me again, causing my heart to flip.
My eyes sting as he releases the latches and flips the lid, revealing brand new supplies. He seems to know what he’s doing, so I sit in silence as he pulls out gauze and tape, ointment, and some other sort of bandage.
Then, he grabs my wrist and flips my arm across my thighs. My eyes catch on the horizontal cut—the one I gave myself. It’s nothing emulated to the marks from Tobias. Shallower in comparison to all of the old scars that were once deep wounds, but his run along the length of my arm instead of cutting straight across. Smooth and elegant and every bit him, and I think that’s all that matters.
Each incision leaks a clear fluid mixed with blood. Tobias runs a cotton swab across the first line, and I hiss, jerking away from the sting. His fingers tighten on my wrist, pads of his fingers digging into the soft spots near bone, causing a whimper to flutter in my chest.
“Stay still,” he admonishes, and my face flushes with shame. Gritting my teeth, I watch as he applies an antiseptic over the rest of them, careful and precise, then allows them to air dry before applying a thin coat of ointment. A bandage follows. Then gauze, followed by a strip of tape to keep it all together.
Each movement of his fingers is graceful and full of careful consideration. He did so much more than was necessary. I’ve never felt more cared for in the entirety of my life.
I stare down at the bandages covering my forearm from just below my chains to my elbow—stark white and sterile. Water burns across the surface of my eyeballs, distorting my vision even as they fall thick and hot onto my freshly bandaged arm.
Tobias catches sight of them immediately and pinches my chin, jerking my head up so he can search my eyes. What he’s looking for, I’ll never know. It always seems he can see far deeper than the surface of blue.
His face is stern with sharp edges before they soften, and he lets a piece of me in. Another piece he steals. Another pieceI let him take.
“Come on, darling. Let’s get you laid down.” But before I stand, he dips his head down and places a soft kiss to my bare wrist, above the chains where my pulse flutters away just below the skin. His lips linger for a moment, eyelids fluttering before he pulls away and wraps an arm around my waist.
Together, we walk to the sofa, his arms around me, mine dangling from their forever weight. Tobias draws me down onto the cushion and pulls my pile of blankets on top of me. I shiver, my entire body wracking with it. From the cold. From exhaustion. But the moment Tobias steps away, I lunge forward, reaching for him. Feeling colder than ever. Chilled to the bone.
I hiss as the skin in my forearm pulls taut, but I don’t let go of his bloodied, wet sweater fisted tight between my fingers. He glances down, a small flicker across his lips, and then he’s beside me. Warm and solid andthere.
I fall against him as he tugs the blankets back over my body again, all the way to my neck as I bury my face in his throat. Pressing my nose to his skin, I inhale every molecule of honey and vanilla and bloody sweat. Filling my lungs with it as it marries with the lingering throb of pain and the black waves of sleep dancing in and out of focus.
