Page 81 of Apathy
“Of all the things I just said,” he started laughing, “you only heard that?”
“Vanilla syrup sucks,” I protested. “You can’t blame me for—”
I didn’t manage to say anything more, and before you could say sex, he had me pinned down, hovering over me, holding my hands above my head.
“But it tasted like you.” He bit into the crook of my neck. “Sweet, delicate, and forbidden to be in coffee, but I still want it. You don’t scare me, Skylar. You and whatever is going on in that pretty little head of yours, it doesn’t scare me. What scares me is that you will never look at me like you’re looking at me now when I tell you my story.”
“Ash—”
“No, don’t tell me that you won’t. I promise I would never lie to you, but please don’t ever lie to me either.”
The way he looked at me, the way his eyebrows pulled together, I knew that whatever it was that he wanted to tell me wouldn’t sit well with me. But I didn’t want to think about the future and what it would bring.
For the first time in my life, I wanted to live in the moment. I wanted to enjoy the things I had right now, instead of daydreaming about things that could come.
He moved to the side, and pulled me to him, my back to his front, his hands around my middle and his mouth pressed against my neck.
“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” I murmured as his lips skimmed over the soft spot behind my ear, fighting the goosebumps threatening over my skin.
“What do you want to know?” One of his hands traveled beneath my shirt, and he spread his fingers over my stomach.
“Anything,” I said, but my mind screamed,Everything. I didn’t just want to know trivial things, like his favorite colors, or his favorite band. I wanted to know who gave him his first kiss, what made him smile, what made him angry. I wanted to know more about his brother, about his family. I wanted to know every single thing that made him who he was today.
He paused for a second, his hot breath caressing my skin, as if he contemplated where he would start. As much as I wanted to push him, I knew I had to be careful not to scare him away. Even after everything he said, I had a feeling that we were still on very thin ice, and the last thing I wanted to accomplish was to push him away.
“My last name,” he started, “isn’t really Weber.” His voice was laced with pain, and my gut told me there was more to this story.
I turned around and faced him, seeking his eyes in the dark. So much pain, so much sorrow, guilt, and anger, hid there, swirling in the midnight blue. Lifting my hand, I placed it on his cheek, earning a deep exhale and the closing of his eyes. He placed his other hand over mine and turned his face, kissing my palm.
“You don’t have to tell me that,” I whispered, as if I was talking to a frightened child. “If it hurts you, you don’t have to tell me.”
He pinned me with his eyes, a thousand stories told in that one look. He moved the hair away from my face before he started talking again. “I know I don’t have to tell you, but I want to.”
God, I wanted him to tell me every single thing as well, but not if it made him feel uncomfortable.
“But this… this thing you want to tell me, it hurts you?”
He nodded and moved away from me, the grim expression on his face now directed at the ceiling.
“There is not one single part of this story that doesn’t hurt, Moonshine.” He exhaled and took a deep breath again. “But I want to tell you. I want to share this with you.”
Tears threatened to spill over my cheeks, my heart piercing with the pain lacing his every word, and I grasped his hand in mine and kept quiet, waiting for him to continue.
“My parents were killed when I was six years old.” Oh God. “Truth be told, I can’t even remember what they looked like anymore.”
“Oh, Ash.”
“And I was there, you know?” He turned his head to the side and looked at me. “I was there that night when they were killed. And even though I can’t remember their faces anymore, sometimes when the wind blows too strong, I can still hear my mother’s screams.”
“Did they—” I choked. “Did they catch the murderers?”
A sorrowful smile played on the seams of his lips. “No, Moonshine. They never caught them.”
“I’m so sorry, Ash,” I murmured as I placed my head on his chest. “I am so damn sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about.” He started playing with my hair. “You weren’t the one holding the knife.”
Jesus Christ.
