Page 155 of Property of Necro
I don’t want that.
Not ever.
Even though I’m scared to trust them and let them in because I don’t want to end up hurt, nobody does. I also can’t imagine a world without them—without Necro. He can’t die. He just can’t. I won’t pretend to know what he’s gone through, but the scars on his legs and penis are indication enough of his horrible past.
But this isn’t then.
This isn’t living in a dark closet with my mother or sharing a house with Ted.
This isn’t foster care or sexual abuse from old women or torture at the hands of a cult.
Not anymore.
We survived.
Everyone sitting at this table survived something horrific.
Curling up in Necro’s lap, I rest my cheek against his shoulder as I listen to the brothers carry on and observe what Necro does when he’s here—not eating, not talking, just listening to them. It’s a big family. They tell stories and joke about dumb shit like men do. They all help carry the plates to the kitchen when they’re done to give Mama a much-needed break.
When everyone’s done and Necro’s ready to get up, he helps me stand. I expect him to leave me to run off to do whatever he does, but he doesn’t. Folding my fingers through his, he escorts me down the stairs to his bedroom, not mine, and guides me to the oversized chair.
He nods for me to sit, and I do as he walks back and forth in front of his bookshelf a handful of times before selecting two different novels. He hands one to me before setting the other on the floor as he removes his boots. Then, once he’s ready, he sits beside me on the chair, and we cuddle and read together, hip to hip. It’s peaceful. It’s perfect.
When Coffin stops to check on us, he finds Necro’s hand on my thigh, rubbing in small circles. He kisses me quickly and doesn’t stay long. Neither does Rot or Mama when they come to check on things.
Necro eats at one point, in the corner of his room, his back to me, like it’s something to hide. But I don’t comment on it. This is a baby step, and I’m proud of him for taking it.
When I begin to lose focus and can barely stay awake, I’m more than halfway through my book. Stretching my arms over my head and pointing my bare toes, I yawn. “I need to sleep.”
Looking at me from the corner of his eye, Necro nods once, shallow and almost sad. His shoulders slump as he slides off the chair and offers me his hand to tug me to him. Together, we exit his room to go into mine. He stands at the doorway to the bathroom as I brush my teeth and hair before bed. Then, when it’s time, he tucks me in for the first time in ages.
And my body feels it… hope blooming.
Happiness.
The warmth spreads through me like embers of a fire as I climb into my casket and lie down.
I don’t fight him this time like I have before.
When I expect him to shut the lid, Necro doesn’t. He stares at me, brows furrowed in the center like he’s warring with himself. Then, as if he’s made up his mind, he nods once and reaches around to unlatch his mask, exposing his real face to me—scars and all.
I reach out to touch him, and he bends down to let me. Running my fingers across his cheek, down to his lips, I feel him, and he closes his eyes, savoring the touch, like he’s enjoying himself and not in any pain. It’s beautiful. Every part of him. Of this.
“Thank you,” I whisper, not wanting to break our cozy bubble.
Necro slowly opens his eyes, and when they meet mine, he leans further into my casket and presses his mouth to mine. It’s rough yet gentle. His hot breath puffs over my face, and I kiss him back. Soft at first. A light peck, then a deeper one, and when he groans, I nip his scarred bottom lip, and he shudders, gripping the other side of my casket so he doesn’t fall in.
I kiss and touch him and rub my hand over his head, greedy for more.
“Necro,” I gasp, wanting him to climb inside and fuck me. “Please.”
Shuddering violently, Necro goes stock still. A broken moan wrenches out of his throat, and a moment later, he jerks away.
That’s when I see it as he grabs his mask…a wet spot on the crotch of his jeans.
Then he’s gone, slamming his bedroom door shut behind him.
Smiling softly despite his abrupt departure, I touch my lips and scissor my legs together, aching for more. Just a little more. More kisses. Skin. More… of him. I could get up and go after Necro, but I won’t. He needs space. I don’t know how I know, but I do. This has been a lot to process. It’s been a lot for all of us.
