Page 96 of My Lovely Tragedy
And then, I laugh. It’s a sharp, boisterous thing that only lasts a second, but it wracks through me and startles Tobias. He glances up—above his frames. My mouth twists as I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, hating the blast of humiliation that crawls up my neck.
“Do you find something amusing?” Tobias asks, genuinely curious. It only makes me laugh again—and harder. His brows pull together, creating a deep fissure between them, adding to the wrinkles already in place.
I lift my arms from my thighs. “That felt…” I shrug and drop them. A loudclankfollows. “But after?” My nose wrinkles. “I don’t know. It’s just different.”
“It actually hurts,” he suggests, and I shake my head for a moment before nodding. Then, I shake it again, lips pursed.
“Yeah, but not really. It all hurts.”
“A different pain, then.” He drags the pad of his thumb over the soft curve of my inner arm, just below my bicep. He digs into the hollow before following up, over the defined muscle. Out, then back in, grazing through the hairs in my armpit.
“It’s all different. One kind masks, while another consumes. I use one to bear the other. It’s actually kind of confusing. And like… really fucked up,” I muse, mostly to myself, but Tobias hums in agreement as he begins wrapping gauze around my arm.
I follow the path of the pristine, stretchy material, watching as my wounds disappear beneath it. And it’s almost better this way—not seeing them. They feel like they are more—and deeper. Like the pain is festering inside, burning away at my viscera.
His movements are cautious. Each rotation of his hands is with a purposeful mercy unlike the night before when those same hands brought so much fucking destruction. It rounds my attention back to the way he’s looking at me.
Even now.
Always.
“I understand precisely what you mean,” he responds after a while just as he secures the last piece of tape to keep the bandage in place. I drag my nail over the bumpy exterior.
“Do you?” My gaze flickers to his bare arms, but there’s nothing but hair and veins and ivory skin.
Tobias’s throat rolls with a swallow. He takes a step back, allowing me to slide off the counter. “Pain manifests itself in many forms, which I’m sure you know, darling.”
“Are you saying your pain is more… mental?” My brow furrows.
Tobias chuckles, and the sound is so low, it hums through the air and tingles in my veins. “No,corvus.But it is not always visible.”
I look down at his hands, trembling at his sides. He follows the descent of my gaze and presses his palms flat against his towel-clad thighs, stopping the movement. “What kind of pain do you have?” I ask as I take a step forward. His eyes fall to my bare torso, following the lines of softened muscles.
“The kind that hurts a little too much.”
* * *
“Aren’t you nearly finished?”I ask as Tobias’s song loops again. And as many times as I’ve heard it over the last couple of weeks, I’ll never tire of it.
The cadence is the most haunting, agonizing sound I’ve ever heard in my life.But it’s still missing something.
I tap my pen against the notebook splayed across my thighs, eyes blurring the longer I stare at the scratched words in the margins. Pieces that don’t fit.
My head bobs softly in rhythm with each stroke of Tobias’s fingers against black and white. I follow the lines already written, matched beautifully to his music. But maybe not.
I ignore the sting in my eyes and in my nose until the music cuts off sharply once more before he falls back into another loop. The discordance throws me for a second, and I blink wearily. Rub at my burning eyes. Glance at the clock.
“Three AM. Shit.” My jaw cracks as a yawn escapes. My back bows as I stretch, sending my notebook and pen clattering to the floor. The noise draws Tobias out of his trance, and the notes cut off with a harsh bite.
His gaze rakes over me, then drops to the floor. Then, his lips part like he wants to say something, and I wait… but he justdoesn’t.
“Are you hungry?” I ask. He blinks. Once, twice. Those fingers tap against his thigh in his weird, usual pattern. Then, his lips curl inward. “It’s not rocket science, Tobias. I’m just asking if you’re hungry. You haven’t eaten.”
“Neither have you.”
“I ate the dinner you made. At dinner time. You didn’t, and it’s three in the morning.”
“Is it?” he asks, brows shifting upward marginally. I roll my eyes becausethis guy, seriously.
