With a wince on her face, she shakes her head. “I have low pain tolerance.”
I chuckle. “I can tell.”
Suddenly remembering she’s holding my arm in a death grip, she lets go like I’m on fire and I just scarred her skin.
I busy my hands with grabbing cream out of the first aid kit because I desperately want to do other things with them. Like pull her lips to mine by her neck, tug her hips to the edge of her seat, and taste her on my tongue. God, I need to stop thinking about Trinity before I do just that.
Handing the tube over to the girl who’s starting to grip me in her choke hold, I watch as she rubs the cream into her raw skin.
“Thanks.” She hands me back the tube with a small smile.
Nodding once, I place everything back in its spot. I nudge her arm with my elbow while gesturing outside. “Let’s go.”
We walk beside each other toward the tree house I know she loves dearly. I’m not sure why though because as we climb up the tree, it looks like the wood is hanging on by a thread.
Maybe I’ll find out why. Hopefully, she’ll open up to me.
Hypocrite, you’re hiding your entire life from her. She doesn’t owe you a single thing.
I let her climb the ladder first for two reasons. One, to be the gentleman my mother raised me to be, and two, to look at her ass. Let me tell you, she has a nice ass. It looks great in those tight shorts. Not too plump, but not too flat, just the way I love it. Not to mention, her long legs, which I imagine wrapped around my waist as my lips travel down her neck.
Trinity has a killer body.
Climbing up, I sit beside her in this tiny wooden structure. I watch as she crosses her legs in front of her, but I hang mine out of the large window overlooking the forest.
“I know what you must be thinking,” she starts off, not looking at me but at the earth below us.
I shrug my shoulders and reply, “Tell me what you think I’m thinking.”
“That I’m a freak.”
I snicker lowly and shake my head in disbelief.
Raising an eyebrow, she looks at me with confusion. “You don’t?”
“I’m just like you.” I pause and look away when she chuckles. “We both bottle up our feelings inside and act like we’re having the time of our lives until we can’t take it anymore and just explode.”
Since the first day my eyes landed on Trinity, I could see the hurt in her eyes. I saw the sadness behind the layer of acting.
The first time we hung out together with my siblings, I studied her the entire night. I saw the way she forced herself to laugh and the way her sad eyes would drop to the floor after a smile left her face. When she suddenly forced them to shine with happiness when she glanced up, that hurt.
I know she’s living with grief. She’s holding on so tight to the feeling of sadness that she’ll never be able to escape her storms.
She’ll never be happy if she doesn’t let go.
Little does she know, we’re just two sad people, sitting in a tree house, mourning our lives.
She’s mourning not only the loss of her father, but of herself too. I’m mourning the fact that I lost myself in the blinding lights on the stage and the cheers of a crowd. The lights shining down on me didn’t bring me up. They brought me down.
“You know, you could have gotten in a lot of trouble today,” I start off, and she laughs.
“So, that’s why you brought me up here? To lecture me?” She moves to get up, but I push her down again.
“No, that’s not what I’m trying to say. God, can’t you just listen?”
“The floor is yours,” she says dramatically.
She’s so stubborn. But why do I love it so much? It’s like I feed off her aggression and anger.
