“I didn’t, beautiful.” He kisses my nose. “Keep your eyes closed, sweet Sorrow.” I do. He moves away from me, the cold air moving between us in a rush. A drawer opens and closes. My hair is lifted off my shoulders. Trace steps close enough I get a whiff of his male musk and . . . Jesus, he smells like me. My face heats. He chuckles.
“Yes, my skin is coated with your pussy juices, and I fucking love it. Best way to wake up in the morning.”
He puts something cold around my neck. Something small caresses my skin below the notch in my neck. A muscular arm slides under my knees, and I’m lifted off the floor. Trace jostles me higher in his arms. I hang on to him with my arms around his neck as he walks us out of the bedroom.
“Are your eyes still closed?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a good girl.”
A door opens. We must be in the bathroom. Trace didn’t walk us far. He must’ve turned on the lights, because a brightness shines through my eyelids. Trace sets me on my feet. He holds me from behind with his chin on top of my head. I can get used to the gentle way he handles and holds me, like I’m the most precious thing to him.
“Open your eyes, Sorrow.”
I open my eyes to my reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Hanging from my neck, on a silver chain, is a blue morpho butterfly pendant. “Trace.” I hold the pendant in my hand. “You remembered.” I tear up. My throat tightens.
“How could any guy forget when a girl tells him his eyes remind her of a blue morpho butterfly? Mind you, I did have to look up exactly what a blue morpho looks like. What do you think, beautiful?”
“I love it.” A tear slides down my face. Trace wipes it away. “I don’t know what to say. No one’s ever given me such a beautiful, thoughtful gift.”
“Say you’ll always think of me whenever you have this on, Sorrow.”
I grasp the pendant in my hand. It heats beneath my grasp. “I’ll never take it off. Never.”
“Aw, Sorrow.” He turns me to him and captures my mouth in the most softest kiss.
My heart soars with happiness. My heart breaks with sadness. I want it all, the complete package, but I know it’s impossible. I love Trace Saints. I’ll never admit that to him. He’s for not committing to one person. I’m for one true love. I’m young, but I know my heart, and my heart wants to say yes to only one guy. A guy who’s been saying yes to multiple girls over the years.
My chest aches, and I want to fold into myself and cry until I can’t cry anymore. Until I’m numb and can pack my love for Trace inside the bag of tragedies I carry on my back, because to love Trace and not be loved back is a tragedy.
I kiss him back like it’s our last kiss. He must sense my sadness. He ends the kiss and puts me at arm’s length. “Everything all right, Sorrow?”
He’s concerned. There’s uncertainty on his face. How do I tell him that in our world of uncertainty, in the present and in the future, I am only certain about one thing—my love for him and only him?
Thank goodness I don’t have to answer him. Voices trail in from the front door.
“Trace, Sorrow, we’re home. Merry Christmas, you two!”
I smile through my tears. Thank goodness for good timing.
“My folks are here?”
“Yes.” I palm his face. “I told them what you did, you know, getting the tree, going out and shopping for presents, and putting up ornaments and lights. They wanted to surprise you.” I press my mouth to his. “Surprise, Trace. Merry Christmas.”
25
Trace
I cannot stop smiling. I can’t believe my parents are fucking home for Christmas, and all because my little bird video-called them and spilled the beans on what we’ve been up to.
“This one’s for you, Trace.” Sorrow hands me a bag.
We’re sitting in front of the tree, enjoying my pancakes and freshly squeezed OJ with Christmas music playing in the background. I take the bag from her, grab a large gift bag from under the tree, and put it in front of her.
She’s sitting cross-legged next to my mom. Mom is leaning into my father. He has his arm around her from behind.
