16. Sixteen #2
“Let it out,” he murmurs. I feel safe in this moment, and I need this more than I’ll ever admit to him.
My body tenses, and I can’t help digging my nails into his arm as my sobs strangle into his chest. His hand doesn’t stop caressing my collarbone in circles, as if he’s waiting for the pain to pass.
I cry until the sound is hoarse, until my body goes limp, wrung out, every tremor leaving me like venom drained… until my breathing slows.
Once silence falls, and only the sound of his heart under my cheek is steady and devastating, something shifts and reality sets back in.
The reality that I’m naked in his arms, exposed and hating that I let him see my pain. I shouldn’t have; this feels like a mistake. I feel as though something possessed me, and I want to hide in another crease that isn’t his neck. His body is too close, too solid. Just too there. Under me.
I shift, the smallest move to rip myself away from him, but he stops me instantly as his arms lock me in tighter.
“No.” His voice is rough, dangerous.
I swallow hard, trying again and shifting against him as my breath quickens, but his hand holds my cheek and whispers into my ear, the heat of his breath on my skin pulsing between my legs.
“Stay like this.” A pause, sharp and loaded. He lifts my chin and I meet his eyes, weary with pain, and the mere sight squeezes my heart. His breath sears, and I think he needs this too.
I can’t keep my eyes away from him. His eyes are so blue, bottomless, grief-stricken and hungry all at once. It’s the first sight of Liam that shows me a different story of a heart and a pulse beneath his intimidating height, muscles and tattoos.
My lips tremble as I search his face, at a loss for words, and his expression mirrors my constraint as he battles himself too.
Truthfully, Liam and I shouldn’t be in a bath together with my back to his chest, my lips mere inches from his, my blood in the water surrounding us.
I’m not sure how we got here, and as if he knows we need to end this, his forehead presses against mine, his expression torn. I wish I knew what he needed.
His voice rasps inches from my lips. “This shouldn’t—” his hand shoots out, yanking the plug, and the bath drains, water swirling pink around us.
He turns the shower on, leaving only steam between us. His palm slides to my throat, thumb under my chin, forcing me to look at him. His eyes burning into me.
“Where?”
My lips part, trembling. “What?”
His free hand snatches the razor off the counter, holding it up between us, gleaming wet in the dim light.
“Where do you want me to take it from you?” His voice is guttural, almost broken, and my heart stutters; he isn’t asking me to stop, he’s asking to own it.
At first, I shake my head. “We don’t need to do this, Liam.” But his expression is terrifyingly intense and vulnerable all at once. His grip tightens on my throat.
“Where, Sara?”
I let go of every restriction, my hand shaking as I guide his, pressing his warm hand and the blade to the soft crease of skin above my thigh, never losing eye contact to his stormy gaze.
“You will never hurt yourself again, Sara, unless you ask me to take it away for you.” He narrows his eyes. Tears sting fresh as they stream down my cheeks. “This is the very last fucking time you ever do this. Do you understand me?”
I nod as his hand loosens at my airway. He watches me intently and finally draws a shallow line, and the blade clatters to the tile.
A thin sting takes my breath away, releasing pleasure into the pit of my stomach, my pain searing out of me.
Stunned and ashamed of my rapture, I notice his face change because he feels it too.
I need to go to therapy.
He gets out of the tub abruptly, yanks a towel from the rack, and drops it hard over me.
“Cover yourself.” His voice is harsh, and I clutch the towel to myself.
“How have I ended up naked with you twice today?” I ask, trembling, watching him as if he might vanish or explode, and I suddenly feel empty.
“Bad luck…” he pauses. “Or maybe you wanted it.” I don’t have time to contemplate his comment.
“Come on,” he commands, tone leaving no room for argument. He scoops me into his arms, the towel clinging damp between us, his clothes soaked through, and my head drops against his chest as he carries me out of the bathroom. I brace myself for Joe’s door — but he passes it.
“I’ll just… I’ll sleep in there,” I say under my breath, watching Joe’s room distancing from me.
“No. You’re sleeping in my bed.” And my breath stalls at the surge of how I feel about doing that.
“Why?” At last, his eyes flick to mine, dark and final, his chiseled jaw under the moonlight taking my breath away. I wish he weren’t so fucking beautiful.
“Because I need to keep an eye on you.”
He sets me down on his mattress, pulling the blanket over me. His knuckles brush my cheek, and heat unfurls low in my stomach at the quick, affectionate gesture. I want to sink into him again, but he walks away as quickly as the thought comes.
As loneliness and heartache talk, fear and safety collide in my chest until I can’t tell them apart, and for the first time since Joe’s accident, I don’t feel entirely alone.
I hear the scrape of a drawer opening, and the air in my lungs shifts as he crosses back into the room, wearing just a shirt and boxers.
The mattress dips behind me and his hand lands on my waist over the towel. I freeze but don’t move. His breaths steadies, as if that’s enough for him, as if that’s all he needs. I force my eyes closed, his words sinking like an anchor in my chest,
Because I need to keep an eye on you.