The Vows We Break - Serena Akeroyd Page 0,40
she opens it, and I tense as I hear her start to set up.
“Seriously, though, how did you clean the wounds?”
“I’d douse a towel in saltwater and lay it on my back.”
“Jesus, that must have been painful.”
“Are you supposed to use profanity in front of a priest?” Anyone else, I’d have reprimanded.
“You’re not a priest,” she mutters absently, and before I can reply, she presses alcohol gauze to my back.
A hiss escapes me as the astringent makes contact, and my limbs lock as I process the pain.
Fuck, it feels good. Weird, not as releasing as when I make the lash marks, but good nonetheless.
She’s thorough, God help me. More thorough than I usually am.
She cleanses everything, and at my side, where she placed the bottle of alcohol on the table, I watch as the level slowly depletes from three-quarters full to nearly empty.
Only then does she murmur, “Jesus.”
“It’ll bleed for a while,” I assure her, knowing that to be the case.
“It looks worse without blood covering it,” she whispers, and something in her voice has me looking over my shoulder at her.
I see her tears, more, I see the trails that pour down her face. Three single track marks, almost symmetrical as they course over her cheeks.
She’s beautiful.
Those tears are beautiful, and I want to taste them because they’re mine.
They fell for me.
I twist around, to the point of pain as it pulls on my wounds, and I reach up, letting my hand cup her cheek even as my thumb strokes along the silken curve of her skin.
As I gather some droplets, I stare into her eyes. Misty green, they’re penetrating, even as they make me feel like I could lose myself in them. Like they were a welcoming fog that would shelter me rather than guide me into danger.
The sight and the thought stirs me to release her, and to bring my thumb to my mouth.
The salty liquid is almost floral on my tongue. Like a wine’s bouquet, it seems to react with my saliva, making her collide with me in a fundamental way.
I swallow at the same moment she does.
“Why are you really here, pixie?”
Her nose curls at that. “I’m not a pixie.”
“You feel like something from a dream,” I rasp.
“I’m not.” She shakes her head. “I came here to help you.”
“Why? People don’t do that. They don’t help random people.”
“You’re not random. I’ve known about you for a long time.”
“How long?”
“Since I was seventeen.” She gnaws on her bottom lip. “I know you think I’m crazy. Maybe I am.” A smile appears on her lips, and it’s sheepish and shaken and self-deprecating. It makes me trust her regardless of her admission. “But I mean you no harm.”
“I already figured that out.” I lift a brow. “You shouldn’t threaten a man like me.”
“I’m not a sinner.” Her chin jerks up. “I know I’m safe.”
“Everyone sins,” I tell her, knowing it to be true.
“Not me.” Her eyes light up.
“You blasphemed.”
“Not my religion anymore.”
“Semantics.”
She grins, and despite myself, I grin back at her. “I’m an author. I can outtalk you at the best of times.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
“Give me a chance, and I will.” Before I can say another word, she clucks her tongue. “You’re making your back bleed even more.”
I shrug. “It’ll do that for a while. Every time I move, it’ll tear open the wounds.”
Her brow puckers. “That sounds excruciating.”
I hum with perverse delight. “It is.”
“Savio,” she whispers, reaching over to cup my cheek, mirroring my earlier gesture. “You have to see how fucked up that is.”
“It’s the only way I know how to cope,” I confess, and the words are a weight off—whether it’s my shoulders or my soul, I’m not sure.
She sighs and her breath brushes my face. It’s faintly minty, like she’s been chewing gum. Her eyes turn sad, and though I understand why, I hate that I did that.
I hate that I made those happy eyes turn sorrowful.
“Let me help you, Savio.”
It’s the first time in too long that I’ve been called my name by anyone other than my parents.
“There’s no helping me,” I counter, believing every single word.
“Then what do you have to lose?”
Seven
Andrea
My apartment was only around the corner. I could have easily stayed there, except I didn’t want to.
I wanted to stay here.
When he offered me a room for the night after seeing me clutch at my aching head, who was I to turn him down?
Who was I to refuse when this was exactly where I was supposed to