Page 153 of Chalk Outline
He shuts me up with his mouth, and I moan against his lush lips, gasping as he coaxes mine apart and slides his tongue inside.
A cool breeze brushes against my face. The kiss is tender, deep, promising, and ferocious. He explores every corner, and I flick my tongue against his, tasting what’s mine.
Every particle that composes me eases.
“Only if you stop asking me questions. But then again, I can finally be myself around you, like you are yourself around me.” He looks down at me, love flickering in his eyes. I tug him closer into a hug. “Can’t get enough of me, can you?”
“Nope.”
The crackling bonfire breaks the forest’s mysterious stillness, and we sway back and forth.
Tucking my head into his chest, I melt against him, sniffing his familiar scent and letting it soothe every cell in my body.
Our hearts beat in sync.
“My mom wasn’t perfect by any means, but she’s the one who gave me our pocket knife. In a twisted way, she knew I’d need it someday, and she still stayed there,” he shares, twirling me and tucking me back against his chest. “We hated beans, and we laughed about it many times because we barely had money, but when we had some pocket change, that’s what we could afford. You don’t know what farts smell like until you’ve eaten beans for a week. You can still taste it in your mouth even when you can’t release it anymore.” He laughs to himself. “She used to play guitar occasionally. I think I heard her play five times in total, so I wanted to try too. I practiced a little during training, and I had a guitar in my room when I lived with you and your grandma, but I never told you about it. I smoked my first cigarette when I was fourteen. I learned how to read when I was five; that was the only time my mom was sober. After that, my dad and I read comic books, and he helped teach me full sentences. Dick also pitched in—funny that he will always be part of my childhood memories. I was a curious kid, gentle, caring. He knew that. They all knew that. I wasn’t violent, pushy, or overly talkative.I just wanted to be a kid, but I knew I couldn’t. I hated my appearance and couldn’t stand to look at myself in the mirror until you smiled at me. After you left Germany, I smiled at myself in the mirror for the first time and waited for the day I could see you again.”
“Germany?” I peer up at him.
“Yeah… I remember that ginger-haired girl dancing with mud on her shoes, smiling, and lying on the grass.”
“You’re finally admitting it.”
“You knew?”
“Grandma told me. It was always you. My guardian angel,” I chuckle.
“Guardian angel, my ass,” he quotes me, laughing, and I snort a laugh. He kisses the top of my head and runs his fingers through my hair.
“I saw you too,” I say, his eyebrows creasing together. “At the circus, the day you ran away. I remembered. I was there with Grandma, and you were on the other side. One of the clowns grabbed me with two other masked guys. They killed my bodyguard and forced me to watch.”
Reeve pauses, looking at me in horror. “That’s what happened?” he whispers, “You couldn’t remember. We thought the trauma blocked everything.”
“I guess this place and being around you made me remember. You know, the brain works in mysterious ways.”
“What were you doing there?”
“I ran away from my bodyguard, and Grandma was there looking for someone... a guy named James.”
His facial expression hardens, and I immediately know he recognizes that name.
“Who is James?” I press my hand to his chest.
He stays silent like a motionless statue.
“Reeve…”
“A parasite.” His expression slowly changes, and uncertainty washes over his features. “I tried to hold on to the family image in my mind—the one I’ve wanted since I was a kid, the kind I always envisioned. I dragged you along because I wanted you, no matter what, but I will never be able to give you peace. To give you a good life. I will always have to look over my shoulder and run away.” He says in a low, hushed tone. The fearful look in his eyes is hard to swallow. He’s damn terrified. “You loved me in your darkest moments and refused to let me go, so how can I be this selfish toward you?”
“I don’t care.” Fresh tears slide down my cheek, and my bottom lip trembles.
“I care.What if someday you resent me for it? What if you realize you made a mistake?”
The words he says gnaw at me, and I feel like he’s trying to push me away intentionally after we spent days in each other’s arms and reassured one another repeatedly.
Why is he doing this?
“Is it because ofhim? We can handle him together, whoever he is.”
