12. Noah #2
“—the family business one day, so he was always shadowing my father. Because of that, I mostly hung out with my mother. She loved everything about nature. Sometimes we’d go to Central Park and just hang out there all day.
She’d bring a picnic basket and a book, and I’d run around and chase bugs or some shit.
“The day at the Botanic Garden was different because she’d told me it was her birthday. I had no idea. I was just a kid. I didn’t know about adult things like my parents’ birthday or their ages.
“We celebrated with lunch and a piece of cake, then we went to the Gardens. She wanted to sit on a bench and wait for a butterfly to land on her. She said when a butterfly lands on you, it signifies joy or indicates a huge change is coming to your life.”
He exhales a shuddering breath.
“It took five minutes before the first one flew over to us, but it landed on me, not her. Then another and another. After a few minutes, I was covered in them. My mom was laughing so hard; she could barely snap a picture with her Polaroid camera. I still have that picture too. I look at it anytime I’m—”
He stops talking and clenches his jaw. I want him to finish what he was saying, but I won’t push him, because I know how hard it is remembering the ones who are no longer here.
“That was six months before she died.”
It’s clear he’s done sharing this memory with me and starts working on my burns in silence, applying a gel from his first aid kit.
“Can I see it? The photo?”
He smooths the medicine over my jaw, then on my knuckles, considering my request. Once done, he extracts his wallet from his jeans pocket and flips through the contents until finding the photo.
He hands it to me, and I smile as wide as my face will allow. He still has the same dark hair and blue eyes, but as a kid, his cheeks were puffy. I notice no scars either, so he must have gotten them after age eleven.
Tears gather at the back of my throat, and I swallow them down, not wanting to cry about the time before when we were both innocent... before darkness claimed us.
I hand the photo back and stand. “My turn to fix you up.”
“Are you feeling okay? You were trying to pass out on me earlier,” Del says.
My heart flutters because he’s always thinking about me, concerned about me, protecting me. I’m not sure what I did to deserve him . “I’m good now. Come on, let me operate.”
“Do you know how to stitch?”
“Not in the least, but how hard can it be?”
He opens his mouth to argue, but I place my finger over his lips.
“Just trust me. I’ll be gentle with you, Puppet.”
He nips at the pad, and I yelp, pulling it back. He laughs, proud of himself.
Slowly and carefully, Del takes off his t-shirt, then his jeans, and sits down.
I do my best not to ogle his body and focus on the injury on his side from the wood.
It’s still bleeding, and I don’t know how he hasn’t passed out by now.
He does look a little pale. I pierce into his skin, and he doesn’t make a sound.
He doesn’t make a move. His tolerance for pain and all his scars tell me he’s become numb from all his suffering.
I want to murder every single person who’s harmed him… even though I’m one of them.
While I stitch up Del's thigh, he applies the gel for his burns. I’m between his legs as I work and the way he stares down at me in this… intimate position makes my cheeks heat.
He’s looking at me as if he’s ready to throw me on the ground and fuck me until the only name I can remember is his.
I don’t know how I was able to focus, but I finish the stitch, proud of how clean it looks.
The slice on his arm isn’t as bad, only needing two stitches.
“Tell me about your scars.”
I say, trying to distract myself from his searing stares.
I expect him to refuse to talk about them, so I’m surprised when he points to the one on his right forearm first, then to the one on his left stomach. “From the men who forced me to kill my mother.”
He taps three other scars: two on his chest and one on his shoulder. “All of these were from hit jobs. From marks who fought back. I have a couple on my back too.”
I finish the stitches on his forearm then wrap his sprained ankle.
Once done, I stand before him and reach out my hand to graze the scar on his cheek with my fingertips. My thumb skims over the raised skin on his mouth.
“And these?”
He swallows hard, his eyes filling with pain.
This time he doesn’t answer me. That’s when I know they’re from someone who was supposed to love him. Someone who was supposed to protect him.
I have no doubt it was his father.
I cup his head in my hands and lean in because I need to kiss him. I need to let him know he doesn’t have to be alone again, but the sound of a phone ringing interrupts us. Probably my father calling on the burner phone.
Del closes his eyes, and I rest my forehead on his.
“Back to reality,” I whisper.
Fuck. I’m falling in love with this man. I tried to resist him the moment I moved in next to him two months ago. I could never figure out why I was so drawn to him. Now I’m sure that it was his darkness calling to mine.