Page 49 of Raziel
I didn’t feel bad about what I’d done. Sometimes love means knowing the worst of somebody and choosing them anyway.
But that only works when everybody stops lying.
I hopped on my bike, kicked it into gear, and tore down the street like the devil himself was chasing me.
When I reached home, I found Raziel waiting.
Arms crossed, expression unreadable. Leaning against the porch like he was carved there from granite. Wearing a T-shirt and black sweatpants.
The late light hit the tattoos on his big arms just right, and they looked like shadows moving under his skin.
I could tell he was thinking too deep. And I didn’t like it. If he thought too much, he’d do something safer than me.
“You good, Ra?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at me like I was a problem.
“Why can’t I stay away from you, even when I try?”
He uncrossed his arms, jaw tightening. “No matter how I try to convince myself not to show up at your door, I always end up back here.”
He said it like he was accusing me of something.
I blinked hard, and something in my chest twisted.
That was the closest thing to a confession I’d ever gotten from him.
I stepped closer, reaching out slowly, like I was about to touch a live wire.
“In rehab,” I whispered, “they said addiction isn’t always chemical. It isn’t just about drugs. Sometimes it’s emotional. Psychological. You chase what makes you feel something because everything else is numb.”
I pressed my palm to his chest.
“It’s about the way it makes you feel. The escape.”
His eyes searched mine, dark and burning.
But still, he didn’t speak.
“I’m that for you,” I whispered. “And maybe you’re that for me.”
I dragged my fingers up his chest, wrapping them gently around his throat. Not tight. Just there.
“Maybe we both like chaos a little too much.”
He didn’t flinch. Just stepped in closer, breath fanning across my cheek.
Then he grabbed my chin, like he couldn’t stop himself.
“You wanna go to New York with me?”
I blinked. “You serious?”
His hand didn’t drop. “Yes. Pack light.”
My lips curled into a slow smile. “I’ll be ready whenever.”
He let go—but not before running his thumb over my bottom lip like he was imprinting it into his memory.
