Page 160 of Property of Necro
Staring down at his lap, Necro rubs the tips of his damaged fingers together.
I nudge the side of his thigh with my toe. “You don’t know you’re hot, do you?”
His head shakes, barely. If I wasn’t paying attention, I’d miss it. His shoulders rise and fall as he inhales and exhales as if workin’ through something.
I hate this.
Just because he’s different doesn’t make him any less attractive to me. Or any woman worth her salt.
“Babe, I don’t know your history,” I explain, tone soft. “But I know mine, and I know firsthand that awful people can get inside your head and twist you up. A man named Ted did that to me. For years, I was never good enough. Never pretty enough. When he cheated on me, which he did a lot, it was always my fault. When he hit me, it was because I provoked him. When he starved me, it was because I was too fat and needed to lose weight.”
The more I speak, the heavier Necro breathes and the stiffer he becomes, but I need to get this out because he needs to know, to understand, that whatever he’s been through, that whatever anyone has ever said to him or made him believe, that that isn’t him. He is who he decidesto be. He chooses his value. He isn’t what they made him. He is who he is, despite them.
It took me years to stop hating who I saw in the mirror. That’s why I threw myself at jobs and into bed with men who never cared who I was on the inside, but thought I was pretty enough to fuck. They held value in my looks. I was fuckable, but I wasn’t lovable because I didn’t let anyone know the real me. Not that I should have. They didn’t deserve it. They were targets. Cocks with a death sentence. But here, it’s different.
I’m wanted.
Not only for my body but for more.
Coffin might not have fucked me today, but he talked to me for hours, sharing stories as he built. I did the same. I’ve never spoken with anyone like I have them—unveiling the ugly, unsavory bits of us and our pasts and not being judged for it.
It’s freeing.
So, I continue to unburden myself, hoping that it helps Necro do the same.
From my time in the closet, to my uncle, to Ted, I open the door, and every skeleton falls out. Necro listens and doesn’t interrupt. He never looks at me. He stares at his lap and fiddles with his fingers the entire time, but I can tell he’s paying attention.
“You may hate yourself because that’s who they made you to be. But you’re more than that. You’re desirable. You’re the club president of a fucking motorcycle club, for Christ’s sake. Your brothers love you.”
A violent shiver ripples through Necro’s form as he slowly looks up and meets my gaze.You’re mine,he signs.
And I…
She’s mine.
Her.
Only her.
My Soul.
She belongs to us.
To me.
That pale skin.
Mine.
Those freckles.
Mine.
Those perky, but not too perky, tits with barbells poking through the thin fabric of her t-shirt.
Mine.
That sweet, sensitive pussy.
