Page 37 of Beneath the Surface

I shrug. “Just thinking.”

Alex scoots in closer, reaching for me again. This time, I let him pull my arm into his lap and dance his fingers along my surface, pinpricks of pleasure floating through me. I close my eyes and let the feeling wash over me. Let it sink into my pores and fill me up with an energy I haven’t felt from a man’s touch in… ever.

“How did you get these?” His voice is soft as his fingers trail over scarred flesh, but I stiffen in his grasp.

I try to move my arm, but his grip tightens around my wrist and brings me back in. “Don’t hide from me, little bird.”

My lips part and I blow out a slow breath, my stomach in knots at someone acknowledging the marks on my arm that mirror the bruises on my soul.

“You mean my tats?” I force a grin.

His brows draw in, his thumb running circles over the ink, my insides coiling tighter with each pass of his thumb.

“Sure. That’s a good place to start.” He smirks.

I drop my gaze, staring at the tattered gray bunny on my arm—stuffing coming out of the sides, and a gaping black hole where the heart should be. A burn chars the center of my throat and I swallow around the tender tissue.

“Growing up, I had a stuffed animal.” My words catch.

“A bunny?” he guesses.

“Yeah.” I nod. “I kept it for way too long, but it was always my sense of comfort. My brother and I, we moved around a lot. Wiggles grounded me.” I frown. “But eventually, I lost him.”

Alex smiles, his white teeth blinding against his tanned skin. “So why the ink?”

“To feel safe, I guess?” My shoulders lift. “Whenever things happen I don’t want to think about, I can touch it here on my arm and, I don’t know…” Embarrassment floods through me as I talk, worried he’ll think I’m stupid for caring so much about a stuffed animal.

“It makes you feel safe.” His thumb presses into my skin.

“Yeah,” I mumble.

I expect him to dig deeper, to ask about the rough edges of my skin, puckered and raised underneath the ink, but he surprises me by simply nodding and then raising his eyes to meet mine. There’s a depth to his gaze that I haven’t seen before. Like he’s stripping me bare and looking at every used up part of me.

It’s heady and intoxicating.

It’sterrifying.

And even though a large part of me wants to cower away, there’s another part that whispers to let him in. Let himsee.But I’ve never been asked to share a piece of me before, and I’m worried he’ll take it with him when he leaves.

Alex moves, scooching closer on the couch until our thighs are pressed together, the heat of his body blazing next to mine.

I sink into it, sink intohim.

He grabs my fingers, trailing them along the bright colors that cover every inch of his skin. My gut jolts when we stop moving, my hand touching raised flesh. My eyebrows draw in, confusion swimming through my veins, and I lean in closer, eyes straining to see what it is I can feel.

A raised, jagged line.

“The first time I cut, I was eleven.”

My heart jumps into my throat and I swallow around the lump.

“My parents were…” He clears his throat. “Different than most. Controlling. Image was absolutely everything, and because of that, I never had a choice in what mine would be.”

My stomach twists as he speaks, but I’m enraptured by his voice. By his story. I’ve never had anyone share their scars to help me find comfort in my own.

“I don’t even know what made me do it that first time. I can’t remember ever seeing anything about it, or… thinking beforehand. I just remember it had been a good day.” He shakes his head. “Art was my favorite subject, and I spent that entire month working on a piece to bring home. It was of my dad.” His voice pinches. “How I saw him at the time, anyway.”

Curiosity at who his parents are, brims inside me like water overflowing from the tap.

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