Page 99 of My Lovely Tragedy
He brushes his hair out of his face, only for it to flop back over. He scratches at his temple, kneads the skin there, then says, “Not in so many words. I have always thought that every action, every choice we make, weaves a path for the next thing, and it goes on from there. So, say I choose to go into the city that December day, then I walked around said city with no destination in mind. For many reasons. But deciding to walk around then led me to bumping into you—or should I say you into me.” He smirks, and I return it with a grin of my own, choosing to reminisce instead of burn with hatred.
For what he’s done. And what he’s turned me into.
“And from there, I made the choice to ask you to come home with me, and you accepted.”
“Like dominoes.”
He shrugs and finishes off his glass. “In a way. The metaphors are endless if you let them be.”
“I bet you love that,” I grumble as Tobias fills his glass. He holds the bottle out to me, and I glance between it and my glass before shrugging and extending my arm. His face warms as he slowly tips the mahogany liquid in. Filling it nearly to the brim.
“I do.”
“So…” I drawl, starting to feel the effects of the liquor already.This shit is strong.“You think I’m okay to drink because of… what—fate?” I laugh. What a ridiculous concept.
“Well… in a roundabout way, sure.”
I blink at him and latch onto the necklace of bruises around his neck, down to where they disappear beneath his olive-green sweater. “You’re so confusing. That doesn’t even makesense!” I swallow a bit more. Then another because why not. Turns out, gasoline can start to taste pretty fuckin’ good.
I foughtsohard to resist.
“On the contrary.”
“Oh. My god, Tobias. Quit talking like that.” I clutch my head.
“Like what?” he muses, crossing one leg over the other, stretching histrousers.
He’s so fucking pretentious.
“Like… like all smart and shit. The way you word things is sneaky as fuck. Always filled with double meanings and whatever.” I lift my arm to point at him. He follows it down to the tip of my finger. Gaze full of heat and…
Jesus. I really shouldn’t have drank anything.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I groan and slump back with a near empty glass. It all went to my head. The couch creaks.
“Like what?”
I peer at him through one cracked eyelid. “Don’t talk like that either.”
“This is just my voice, darling. Not much I can do about that.” My groin burns. I scrunch my eyes as tight as they’ll go.
“Well, then juststop talking.”
“I can do that.”He sounds a lot closer.
Don’t look.
Don’t look at him.
I open my eyes… and drown in hessonite.
And then, he touches me. Tenderly. With a delicacy I don’t deserve. His skin stings, a dragging friction over my arms and up to my throat. My breath hitches when he wraps his fingers around my neck, but he doesn’t tighten his grip.
He holds me. Feels my pulse chugging wildly. A heavy throb.For him.
My glass clatters to the floor, spilling out, but Tobias doesn’t even acknowledge it. Not when our mouths are a breath away and I can taste the scotch bleeding between us.
My head swims, limbs quivering.
