Kiara （Present）
Kiara
Present
I’m so scared to fall asleep. I’m lying on my back, his head in my lap, his hands wrapped around my hips, holding me so tight I can’t move. I played with his hair for so long that he fell asleep.
I’ve been imagining him falling asleep in my arms for so long. For six fucking years.
My body is sore and tired, and I’m just so afraid I’ll wake up alone again.
My mind is on a rollercoaster, thinking about everything that happened.
I run my fingers over his skin, as tenderly as possible so as not to wake him up.
I want him to sleep like this forever, only to wake up to make love to me again, then fall back asleep, never leaving me.
I could drug him and kidnap him like he did to me. I think I get it now. That would be so easy.
But he’s too heavy, I wouldn’t get very far.
His scent isn’t leaving my nostrils now. I can smell him all around me, feel him still inside me, his lips still on mine, his teeth still in my skin, the light pain inside me, the soreness still lingering.
He’s everywhere.
It’s perfect.
My fingers carefully graze the few black paintings on his skin, some of them already burned into my memory as my fingers follow them automatically, but some are new and I’m memorizing them now.
The black tattoos together with his raven hair contrast with how pale his skin is, almost making him look like he’s in a black-and-white filter.
I graze the black lines of his original last name in Azbuka. A tattoo honoring his real father, who died fighting for his country. He doesn’t remember him, he was still a baby when that happened.
His mother’s name is right under it. Svetlana. Laced with a black rose.
My fingers slide down his side and ribs, touching some other words in Azbuka, little ones this time, in a beautiful handwritten font.
That’s a part of the song he and Natalya liked when they were kids.
The song he sang to her while holding her in his arms so she wouldn’t hear her mother being raped and choked to death by some soldiers.
Tears start falling down my cheeks, and I can’t stop them. I see him as a child—small, breakable, holding his little sister, desperate to keep her away from what’s happening right in front of his eyes, watching his mother fighting for air and slowly dying on filthy ground.
A memory that traumatized him forever.
I remember when he told me. Only fragments of it. I had to figure out the rest of what happened. And suddenly it made sense to me. The detachment and fear in his eyes when I wanted to touch him for the first time. When I wanted him to make love to me for the first time.
And that day he told me, I saw him cry for the first time ever.
I remember how special it felt. He was always so controlled, and seeing his walls break felt like holding a piece of his soul. Just a couple of tears crawled down his cheeks, no sobbing, no change in expression. It was so heartbreaking and beautiful at the same time.
Not like when I cry. I get all red and swollen, and bile sticks in my throat. Just like now when I graze the memories he carved into his skin.
I follow some other lines all the way to his arm, muscles lacing together with veins covering them along the way to the wrist.
His hands.
I always knew the melted skin meant something horrible, but he never told me the story behind it.
Well, he did, but I didn’t believe him. I saw the pain in his eyes when he lied to me, saying it was a terrible accident that happened when he was fifteen.
I just know there are things he never opened up about, either because he feels ashamed or he thinks it would scare me off.
No matter what it is, it could never change the way I see him. I wish he could see how beautiful he is through my eyes. I feel like the damaged hands just symbolize all the pain he has to carry with him every day.
Another rain of tears falls down my face, and I have to hold back the sob so I don’t wake him up. I keep staring at him, devouring the sight of him and keeping bad thoughts out of my mind.
I won’t lose him again. God knows I wouldn’t survive it twice.
So why do I feel so anxious? Why do I feel the need to drug him to stay with me?
Pain and happiness are mixing in my chest while we lie in silence, his barely audible snoring keeping me calm.
It’s early in the morning, and I can see how the darkness is breaking and light is slowly coming in through the dark clouds.
I’ve become anxious about sunlight while I’m here. Every time it comes, he shuts me out or I end up waking up alone. I could drug him so he sleeps through the day and then wakes up at night. But I can’t get up, he’s holding me so tight my legs could soon die from not getting enough blood flow.
Grey light starts to fill the room, and I finally take a good look around.
The base of his suite is the same as mine, same windows and same gothic features, but the contents are so minimalistic.
Right next to the big French window is a piece of black furniture, full of guns and knives.
All the weapons are lined up perfectly next to each other, precisely.
On the night table beside the bed is another gun, the one he’s always carrying around.
Everywhere else are just tons of books, perfectly aligned by color in the big library cabinets. I tilt my head to see right into the walk-in closet, all the contents only black and white, with some grey, aligned by color again, of course.
I look at his sleeping head and smile.
My little freak, are you, Kasien.
He moves his head in my lap.
No, no, no, don’t wake up. Stay like this.
He doesn’t let me go but sinks his face into my belly, inhaling my skin again.
I grin through the dried tears.
He’s a little weirdo but I love whatever is wrong with him. I’m not scared of it anymore. Sometimes I have a feeling he wants to bite into my neck and rip my head off, but I’m surprisingly okay with that.
He lifts my T-shirt and slides his head under the fabric on my chest, kissing my breasts.
My chest trembles with silent laughter when the memories hit me. He used to do this all the time. He would come at me, lift the hem of my T-shirt and slide his head under there, like he wanted to climb under my skin and hide.
My fingers wipe the rest of the tears off my cheeks and suddenly I can’t stop smiling.
He gets out from under my shirt and starts kissing my navel, licking the skin all around and almost sticking his tongue there when I squeal.
“Stop kissing my navel, that’s disgusting,” I laugh.
He laughs against my skin but doesn’t stop and starts licking me there. I squirm to get out of his hold but it’s too firm.
“You’re disgusting, you know that?” I laugh while I keep trying to get away.
He spins us around until he’s lying on his back with me on top of him.
“I know. But I’m also obsessed and I don’t give a fuck. Now come here.”
His morning voice is so fucking hot that butterflies stir low in my belly.
“Hands on the headboard,” he says, then grips my ass and pulls me down onto his face, my pussy right on his lips since I’m not wearing any underwear.
I do as I’m told and rest my hands on the headboard of the bed to hold myself when he starts to eat me alive, my eyes rolling to the back of my head until I see stars.
?
He managed to fuck me once more before I could get out of bed and wash my face, even though I hadn’t slept at all.
I just wanted to feel clean before getting back to bed.
I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, studying the little marks of him all over my body while I can’t stop the smile tugging on my lips.
He followed me immediately to the bathroom and now he’s sitting on the edge of the bathtub, only in his black boxers, studying me.
He gets up and hugs me from behind, sinking his head in the crook between my neck and shoulder, his huge form swallowing me, fitting me like a bigger piece of a puzzle.
My eyes fall shut while I devour this feeling. The feeling of him finally breaking, finally letting me back in. I can’t believe it was only two weeks ago when I thought I was hallucinating, seeing him holding me in my bathroom, the same way he’s holding me now.
Back then, there was still a small doubt about his intentions with me. I believed there was a chance he came for me to shut me up.
When I open my eyes, I see him watching us, his head still sunk in my neck, his eyes flicking from one red mark on my skin to another.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I keep ruining you.”
His eyes flutter, sad and apologetic. I meet his gaze in the mirror and give him a subtle smile while circling my hand behind me, threading my fingers into his hair.
“And please don’t ever stop,” I say.
I turn around in his arms to face him, his brows knitted together and eyes full of pain.
My heart sinks.
“You’re not really talking about a couple of marks on my skin, are you?” I ask him and he just gulps and slightly shakes his head.
“Kasien,” I grab his face in my palms, making him focus on my voice, “I’m not letting you go and I’m not running, accept it finally.”
He frowns at me, his expression confusing. I swallow, heartbeat loud in my ears.
“You don’t understand what you’re choosing,” he finally answers.
“I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
He steps back just enough to look at me fully, eyes dark, exhausted, wrecked, but still holding mine.
“Choosing me means losing everything else.”
“I have nothing since I lost you.”
My heart is hammering hard, afraid he will switch.
He just glares at me, shaking his head in denial, like he can’t believe what I’m saying.
My voice drops to a whisper. “I choose you and I don’t care what it takes. Let me have you,” I pause, pressing myself closer to him. “Please.” My voice breaks a little, but I keep the fear hidden.
His eyes soften again while he’s possessively running his fingers through my hair, gripping them.