Page 26 of Obliterated
And I don’t know why, but it grates on me. My jaw locks tight, I pull my arm back.
“Careful now, you’re staring,” I sneer.
His brows knit. “What? Why are you being like this?”
“You’re scared of me.”
“I’m not.”
Then he does something no one ever dared. He cups my face, fingers firm against my jaw, forcing my head back to meet his eyes. I freeze.Noone’s ever touched me like that before. I don’t remember anyone even trying...
And fuck, I like it.
I hate that I like it.
“I’m scaredforyou,” he says, steady as steel. “Notofyou.”
I frown, throat tight.
“That second Walker…”
“I’m Immune.”
“You’re not invincible.”
“Watch me.”
“For fuck’s sake.” An eyeroll. “You need stitches.”
“Just let it scar like the rest of them.”
His eyes flicker over my arms and chest… my neck, taking in the various crescent shaped scars I know are spread over my tawny skin. I swear there’s… pain in his expression.
“I have a kit,” he croaks.
Before I can argue, he’s already pulling it out of his backpack. He settles the needle, threads it with steady fingers. He grabs a stool from the corner, sits down, and leans in. His hair falls forward, a wayward curl shadowing his face so I can’t see his eyes.
Can’t see what he’s thinking.
His focus is razor-sharp, lips caught between his teeth as he works, stitching my skin closed like he’s done it a hundred times before. Each pull of the thread burns, but I grit through it, because it’s not the pain that’s undoing me… it’s him.
When he ties the last knot, I should be relieved. Instead, I catch myself staring at that lip, chewed raw, and fuck if I know why, but my thumb moves on its own. I press it there, tugging it free from his teeth.
His gaze snaps up.Finally, there they are.My endless seas, swirling with something I can’t name.
His breath stutters, a gasp brushes over my skin as I still my thumb against his mouth, rubbing that pouty bottom lip just because I can.
I’m fucked. I’m royally, totally, ultimatelyfucked.
“Why do you watch me at night?” he asks then, voice low, almost fragile. Like he already knows the answer, but needs to hear me choke on it. The question hangs heavy between us, louder than the remnants of the rain still dripping outside, louder than the pulse pounding in my ears.
“I don’t know,” I lie.
He presses his lips together, eyes flicking up, steady and sure. “I think you do know.” His gaze softens, his words whispering against my thumb. “You want to keep me safe.”
I don’t answer. Don’t need to. He knows it’s true. Somehow, this golden boy has burrowed his way under my skin, latchedthere like a fucking thorn I can’t pull out. The harder I try to dig it free, the deeper it settles.
And every time I think I’ve shaken him, he looks at me with those impossible eyes, and I’m caught all over again.
