Page 68 of Skin Deep

I felt it at as soon as I walked in the room. Something draining that almost brought me to my knees.

“Go away,” she said, her tone as lifeless as the feeling in the room.

“No,” I said. “I was your one call. That means I’m here to bail you out. To fight for you.”

“I’m not a fucking criminal,” she said.

“No,” I said. “You’re not.”

The first time I met her, I thought she was bigger than life. Seeing her this way, she seemed like she was nothing but skin and bones. Like the hurt inside of her was eating her up. I had a manic urge to wrap my arms around her and shield her from the world. To protect her from everything and anything that would hurt her.

“But whatever you are,” I said, “you’re mine.”

She laughed, but there was no humor in it. It was laced with razors and acid. “Yours?”

“Mine,” I said.

“Go. Get out!”

“You can’t push me out this time, Georgina. I had no fucking clue—” I stopped there, because everything that came from my mouth was nothing but excuses at this point.

I saw her with Mac, and it tore me up inside. Jealousy did. I’d watched Mari with him, but when I saw her with him—it felt like she tore my heart out.

Before I realized what she was doing, she flung what seemed like a thick pamphlet at my head from the side. “Getout! Getout!” She started screaming, looking for something else to throw, but she wouldn’t face me. Then she started screaming in Italian or Sicilian.

The nurse ran in, and I held my hands up. She looked between us, then stepped out quietly.

“You can’t hurt me enough to send me away,” I said. “After you left me, I went to Modica. You weren’t there yet,” I lied. The issue with Mac was a moot point. “I knocked at the gates, but no one let me in. Then I had to leave. My family is in trouble.”

She made a disbelieving noise. Like maybe she was thinking—trouble? What aboutmytrouble?

“I know,” I said. “I fucked up.”

She sighed. It was tired. So fucking heavy. “Leave.”

“No,” I said. “I’m not. Find something else. Throw it at me. I can take a fucking beating, baby. Sticks and stones only break bones. What I feel in here—” I touched my chest, even though she couldn’t see. “Can’t be moved. You love me. I love you, too.”

How ever she needed me to love her, I would. Because I did. I loved her more than I loved my next breath. What I felt for Mari had always come with strings.

Because it was wrong.

This. This was freeing. I loved her despite whatever she could throw at me. She had been right. Neither of us feared what existed between us. It was the rejection we feared.

“Get out.” She could barely say the words, but the pain beneath the surface was too loud to disguise. “Get out. Now.”

Before she could call for the nurse and have me thrown out, I forced myself in front of her. She kept trying to turn her face from me. Hiding behind a veil of dark, matted hair.

“Don’t,” I said, trying to dislodge the lump stuck in my throat. I got down on one knee in front of her. “Don’t fucking hide from me. Hide from the world. From everyone else. But not me. Look at me, Georgina.”

I took her hands in mine; they were so small. Her face was still turned away, hiding herself like this, because she never felt like enough. I kept my voice in check as I moved my palms over her skin. Skin that was cold. She wasn’t supposed to feel this way. She was supposed to be warm, bringing me back to a memory of standing in a field full of sunflowers, with a woman who refused to pick them because it meant the end.

The symbolism of that conversation almost knocked me over.

“I’m not afraid of this.” My voice was as vulnerable as hers, even if she was using anger to mask it, as one of my hands covered her heart. It beat overtime. My other hand touched her temple. “I’m not afraid of what’s in here, either.” I took a deep breath. “No matter what this love between us turns out to be. No matter what you do to me. No matter how dark the days. This love will come with me to my grave.” I lifted one of her hands to my mouth, closed my eyes, and breathed her in deep. “You leave, you take me with you. You understand that, Georgina Dolce?”

My eyes burned and my voice cracked. I thought maybe I was going to break the bones in her hand, my grip was so tight. I was holding on to her because I refused to let go. I’d be the force standing between her and the voices. The weak moments that disguised themselves as energy.

Slowly, her face turned. I lifted a hand and tucked her hair behind her ear. Our eyes connected.

“Fuck me,” I said, lifting some, forcing her head against my lips so I wouldn’t break down in front of her. I couldn’t stand the dead look in her eyes. I would, though. I would do this for the rest of my life, until the light came back into her eyes. “I thought I loved the wrong woman for years. For fucking years. In seven days, you showed me what it meant to love without strings. You showed me what it was to live. You are my seven days. The one thing I’d save in a fire. My one call.”

She started to cry, but it wasn’t loud. Or out of control. But I felt the tremors in her bones. The hurt she didn’t know what to do with. It was worse than if she would have sobbed. I stood, lifting her off the bed, carrying her to the rocking chair placed in front of the window. I kept her close, her head tucked underneath my chin, while she clung to me. The sun bathed her in its light as I vowed to keep her rooted here with me.

This was what my future would look like. I settled into it like a soul settling into new bones.

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