Page 77 of Beautifully Damned
The nicker is loud, alive, and I feel her entire body stiffen beside me.
“Is that—no, that can’t be a horse,” she gasps.
I pull the cloth away from her eyes. She blinks hard, then freezes. For one long second, she doesn’t breathe. Then her voice cracks into a squeal. “Ace! You’re—oh my God—you’re alive.”
In an instant, she’s on her knees in the dirt, the silk of her dress be damned. Her hands roam over the animal’s flank. “Your leg. It’s healed. You’re okay. You’re okay.”
The sound she makes next is one of pure joy. “Roman,” she says, breathless, eyes wide with that light I’d sell my soul for. “Did you do this?”
“I made it happen.” I feel my chest expand with pride.
She runs to me, wrapping her arms around my neck, her face pressed to me, and I grip her in return. My heart is a violent drum in my chest.
“Thank you,” she sighs against me.
“Anytime, wife.” I stress the word wife, a reminder that her ridiculous talk of divorce has no place between us.
We spend time with the horse, though my eyes never leave her. I watch her fingers trace the animal’s healed leg, then wipe mud from her own palms on the hem of her dress. She belongs here, I think. She belongs in my hands even more.
“See? No matter how broken, he’s whole again.” I meanus, and she knows it.
She contemplates for a minute before answering. “Not everything can be fixed, Roman. Some things stay broken no matter what you do.”
I feel myself shrink into a boy again, unwanted, unheard, always clawing for attention that never came. A child who was told nothing he did was ever enough. I hate that she has the power to reduce me back to him.
And yet I would let her do it a thousand times if it meant she stayed.
I tell myself to let her go. The words sound simple, but they scrape through my skull until blood roars in my ears. I don’t even know what love is. No one ever said those three useless words to me, not once. Yet I know what I feel for her because every nerve in me burns for her.
But I can see that she needs space, or she’ll suffocate under me. And if I trap her now, she’ll break, and I’ll lose her for good. If she stays here too long, she’ll see it: the collapse. The boy in me who was starved of affection, the boy who curled up in his bed waiting for a hand on his shoulder that never came. That boy who was told he was nothing, who believed it. I won’t force her to carry him.
So I tell myself I will give her air. I will give her the illusion of freedom, though the very thought of her walking away shreds me alive.
She’s bent over Ace, fingers buried in his mane, and I force my voice to cut the silence. “You always wanted to be a vet, didn’t you?”
Her head bobs, distracted.
“Why?” I push.
“I’ve always loved animals. They’re… better. They don’t betray, don’t lie. I wanted to do something that mattered, to help make up for my sins of being a silent observer to this world. And animals… they’re pure. More than any human.”
My angel is light in a world that rots everything it touches, and she still thinks she carries sins. I want to rip open her chest just to see where she hides her purity, how it survives inside her.
My father’s voice cuts through the haze:Failure. Weak. Worthless.Who could ever want you?
Bile stings the back of my tongue. I dig my nails into my palm until the sting grounds me. Her eyes flicker up, brow pulling tight, concern written all over her face. I straighten, bury it all, and mask myself with cold composure.
“It suits you,” I say. “Little angel tending the broken. Did you ever try to pursue it?”
A faint blush colors her cheeks. “No. I studied chemistry.” She looks away, embarrassed.
“Why chemistry then?”
“My parents wanted me to study pharmacy; chemistry was the best compromise.” The words are bitter.
That ends here. No one dictates her life anymore. What she wants, she gets. Always. Even if she doesn’t want me. Then she gets her space.
But space doesn’t mean absence. It means patience. It means waiting. Watching. Being ready to crawl to her on my knees when she finally turns back to me.
