Chapter 26. #2
Baal steps in front of me with tight brows, “… What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I don’t know.” If glares could kill, my brother would be flat on his ass, “The doctor can’t tell if he’s making progress.”
Baal’s energy is brimming with worry for me, but I can see pity there too.
I think I hate that the most.
“If that’s true, then it’s safe to say space isn’t working,” Aster blocks my path with narrowed eyes. “For either of you. You should go see him. Before he finds that place he’s looking for… and you can’t get him back.”
The last words hit me hardest.
They hit me because I know he’s right.
If a professional can’t get through to him… I might be the only one who can.
You can’t say I didn’t give you that space you wanted, estrellito. We tried it.
Now we’re going to do things my way.
And thank fuck, because any longer and I might’ve lost my mind.
Lucia’s place is an apartment in the city, about forty-five minutes from our estate. I know he’s there because I checked the cameras from my phone; he and Lucia are watching some bootleg movie tonight with the intention of ‘drinking themselves foolish’.
By the time I get there though, they’re both knocked out cold in front of Lucia’s TV.
Lightweights, the both of them.
Who gets drunk on white wine?
Before I can even fully plan the plan, I’m striding into the apartment complex. The elevator hasn’t been working the last few days, so I’m reduced to taking eight flights of stairs up to Lucia’s door, before finally hesitating in front of it.
Talking to a drunk and unconscious Christian doesn’t seem like a solid plan of action…
But at the same time, Aster’s words are there again in my ears, making me antsy.
I should’ve known this wouldn’t have worked. But you begged me so sincerely… I wanted to hope you’d get better. That you’d stop blaming yourself. That you’d realize you deserve to be happy—you deserve to live.
But I was right the first time. If I’m not there to show you how beautiful you are… you’ll disappear.
I’m uneasy. All those days waiting and waiting, with no way to tell if you were getting better… It’s because of that uneasiness, that I turn the building’s cameras away and break into Lucia’s apartment.
It’s because of the new anxiety in my chest that I find myself stepping into her hallway and beelining straight for the living room, where Christian is.
And I feel like a spectre standing in the dark as I watch them sleep soundly, surrounded by stray popcorn, meat and cheese kabobs, and a half-empty bottle of white pinot noir.
You shared half a bottle, and between the two of you, it knocked you out?
I should expect it really, from the man who drinks warm milk instead of coffee.
Weeks of being constantly on edge—of hunting men in an attempt to deal with this unbearable ache in my chest—
And it’s all gone with just one look at your sleeping face.
I huff. It’s nice to know at least you can sleep soundly.
Christian has taken one end of the couch, slouched down into the seat and sleeping soundly, whereas Lucia is on the other end—her face buried in a cushion and her feet buried in Christian’s lap.
Before I can stop myself, I’m cleaning up their mess—moving the wine glasses, setting the bottles aside, packing the kabobs into the fridge…
After a moment’s thought, I take Lucia to her room down the hall and throw her onto her own bed, because the sight of her bothers me.
My spite goes unnoticed as she rolls over to her pillows, deep in sleep, and my jaw twitches.
One day, when Christian has sorted through his demons, I think I’ll deal with you appropriately.
I close her door behind me as I return to Christian’s side, dropping into a crouch to get a good look at his face.
His shirt and sweats hang loosely from his frame, and I scoff. He’s wearing socks for fuck’s sake. He stores heat like a snowflake. His bedhead rushes in a new wave of nostalgia and just by being close to him, it feels like I can finally breathe.
Those memories… do you treasure them like I do?
Or do their ties to Evie hurt you?
I don’t know exactly when I started brushing my fingers through his hair.
I don’t know when I started stroking my knuckles across his cheeks or pressing my thumbs over his lips.
All I know, is that the taste of him is a fleeting moment, stolen away in the dead of the night.
It is a sweet wine on my tongue, that makes the night seem brighter and the beating of my heart louder in my ears. I’d meant it to last only for a moment, but suddenly I’m a starving man who’s been yearning for him for days. An addict chasing the overdose. Wired to take more than he should.
When I finally find it in me to pull away, even in the dark, the pretty blue of his eyes is bright.
“Reuben,” he whispers. His voice is a warm shiver across my body. A torturous craving in my erection and an ache beneath my ribs. He raises his fingers to graze his knuckles against my cheek and I’m leaning into his touch without thinking. Closing my eyes against it because fuck…
Fuck, I miss you.
“A dream?” The sad smile on his lips makes my heartbeat stumble, but his eyes are unfocused. Hazy. “Your hallucinations… are catching recently,” he mumbles.
When I reach out to cup his face in my hands, he leans into me too and I can't help but chuckle bitterly at us, “It's a dream… so you can say, or do, whatever you want.”
If that’s the only way to suspend this moment… If it’ll give me a few more seconds with you… I’d say anything.
His lips are right there. So close, I just need to lean forward to take them. Yet neither of us moves. His hands tangle into my hair as we stare at each other. As though we can read the thoughts in each other’s eyes.
I don’t know who moves first.
I just know the taste of him is better than any dream. I know it’s like the flick of a switch between us. Insistent. Desperate. I’d been suffocating this entire time, and his kiss is everything I needed.
His lips are swollen by the time he pulls away, his fingers deep in my hair. Yet, even as our foreheads touch, we can’t look away.
“I miss you,” he finally confesses.
Then why are you doing this to me?
“Your therapist keeps telling me strange things.” He’s smiling as though he wants to joke with me, but his eyes are glassy.
Suddenly, tears are sliding across his cheeks, making my heart squeeze.
“About the things I deserve. About the things I want… but do you know?” His fingers slide from my hair to my cheeks, watching me as though he’s trying to commit every trace of my skin to memory, “When I try to think about the things I want… there’s only you. ”
I pull him into me, holding his body flush against mine. Hoping—desperately—that it will keep him from breaking, “The moment you realized that… you should’ve come to me right away.”
He shakes his head before burying himself into the crook of my neck, “I can’t. You’re not… mine.”
Ha. “What part of me isn’t yours?”
He only shakes his head again, holding me even more tightly. Whispering. Repeating. “You’re not mine.”
Why can’t you believe I'm yours? When everyone else around us already knows it’s true.
I just don’t understand what’s keeping us apart.
I don’t understand why you’re doing this to us.
“This is a dream, remember?” For the first time, I can’t bear his tears. “I’m yours. No one else’s.”
He pulls away to watch me, as though he’s afraid to blink. As though he’s frightened the dream will end soon.
“Do you like me?” I try to pull him out of his sadness with familiar words, try to bring a smile to my lips to comfort him, but it's the way his face contorts that blinds me and drives the breath out of my lungs.
“I... I love you, Reuben.”
When I take his lips again, it’s because I can no longer contain it—because I need to be inside him.
Forgive me. For stealing those words from your lips when you’re not even lucid. For stealing away your heart in the dead of night.
I continue to beg for forgiveness as I strip his pants away.
I continue to beg as I free his cock, place kisses along his collar, and leave bites along his skin.
Because even I hadn’t realized how much I longed to hear him say it.
“Reuben.”
Right when I’m about to do the unforgivable—to cross the line and slide deeply into his body—he reaches out for me, watching me with a drunken glare. His energy is both sadness and joy. Love and guilt and self-loathing.
“If this is a dream… Tell me—tell me you love me too.” It is a command. A desperate one. As though this is his only chance.
But I’ll tell you as much as you need, baby. Whether we’re awake or dreaming.
“I’ve loved you from the moment we met,” I smile against his lips, enjoying the way his eyes widen slightly, “Since then, I’ve just been… sinking deeper and deeper.”
And it’s not just your name. Or your eyes. Or your strength…
I fell in love with your darkest and brightest moments.
With your pain and your joy and your loyalty.
Your colours are so honest and beautiful, I would pick you out easily in a crowd of thousands.
And I’d give myself over to you without a second thought.
We whisper to each other all through the night. Sweet nothings I've never given to anyone else—that he won't even remember.
I take and take and take more than I should… because I’m an addict who can’t help but spoil a good thing. I’m a thief who’s willing to cross the line, if it means stealing you away—if it means making you mine.
And I’m a man you’ve made so weak, I can barely recognize myself without you.