Page 45 of Wild Heart
“Say you promise.”
“I fucking promise.”
He made a sharp sound and pressed his lips to mine. It wasn’t a kiss, but a claiming, frantic display of ownership. He sank his teeth into my lips and nibbled along their curve. His tongue soothed the parts he’d made throb, and I didn’t dare move until he was done.
Breaths heavy and cheeks flushed, he stared down at me with the softest of smiles.
“Red,” he breathed.
“What?”
“Your lips are red. I like it very much.”
He shifted then, pinching a red marker between his fingers. The one he used before was long abandoned, but he didn’t seem to mind. Cheap plastic bent when he sank his teeth into the cap and let it drop from his mouth. Frowning, he stared at the blob of ink he’d left behind and went to work fixing it.
“Thank you,” he said after a beat. “For these. It helps. A lot.”
I placed a hand on the small of his back, smiling when I felt his skin pebble.
“Do you want to talk about your nightmare?”
“I wouldn’t call it a nightmare.”
I sure as fuck would.
He’d woken up gasping for breath, tearing at the sheets and the skin covering his chest. Sweat made him slippery as he reached for me, making himself small, as though he was trying to get inside of my skin.
It took too damn long for him to find his breath again, and his fingers were trembling as they struggled to trace my tattoos. I’d lifted him then, crawling out of bed and carrying him down the stairs. One by one, I turned on all the lights, bathing the room in a warm glow. He was still shaking when I gave him the markers and spread myself across the couch.
For him, I was a human canvas…
… he’d been coloring ever since.
“It’s just… this dream I have where my mouth is open, but my lungs refuse to expand. I can’t breathe. I can’t scream. I’m dying… and nobody hears me.”
He sounded empty. Indifferent. Apathetic. Like he’d done this a time or fucking two, and any reaction he could have now would be useless… because who would care, anyway.
Me.
I would.
God. It burned, and in its wake were blisters of misplaced rage and aggressive promises.
“I hear you, Marcos. I hear you every time you take a breath.”
“I know,” he whispered. Strong. “It’s just a dream. One I’ve been having most of my life. It was stronger than it’s been in a while, and I think it’s just because of the week I had. I’m still too paralyzed to get near those locker rooms. My dad was more asshole than not. He touched my marks, and you weren’t here—”
“I should’ve been.”
“You told me you wouldn’t be, and I thought I was going to be okay. Maybe being alone was too much, I don’t know, but I got angry.”
My eyebrows drew together, and I dragged my hand up and down his spine.
“Angry at who, baby?”
“Mr. Thomas for making you meet with him. Your job for being so demanding. The stupid scar on your stomach and every fucking person who got to see you when I couldn’t.”
My arm ached as he jabbed at my skin, forcing the tip of the marker into my muscle over and over again until I was covered in small red dots.
