Romeo is sitting near my feet and watching an anime demon slayer-type show with tiny English subtitles. I have no idea what’s going on and find it a little hard to follow. I also have no idea why I’m sitting here at all. It’s late enough that I could easily plead exhaustion and go to bed.
Well. That’s not true, is it?
I know exactly why I’m here. Romeo’s watching TV, and as always, I’m watching Romeo.
It’s sad. Pitiful, really, that after all this time, I’d still do almost anything to be near him.
It’s just that when we’re like this, quiet, with the lights low and the sound of the TV gently jarring my conscious thoughts, it’s easy to let my mind drift to a place long ago, where nothing bad had happened and our biggest problem was what to put on a sandwich. A time when being close toRomeo was the most comfortable I could be, the happiest, most content it was possible for me to feel.
I let my eyes drift shut and lengthen my breathing, letting myself slip into the vortex between then and now, and though I know damn well it’s delusional, fuck me, it feels good. Every bone in my body feels different. Like the steel pins holding me together have been warmed and started to melt. I don’t move and I don’t think. I just breathe.
In
Out
In
Out
Romeo’s voice finds me through a thick fog. It’s soft like always, husky too, floating through space to find me. I know this voice. He’s not speaking quietly because he’s shy or unsure. He’s speaking quietly because he doesn’t want anyone else to hear what he has to say.
“So, what happened with Sam?”
“Um…” I’m not really sure what to say.I came back here after five years away, took one look at your face, and couldn’t bear to be with him again?No. Can’t go with that. “It just didn’t work out.”
He mulls it over and then shifts minutely, letting the leg closest to me fall open slightly. “You okay?”
“Yeah,”I breathe.
He turns his face back to the TV and my proximity to him makes me itchy again. At first, it’s enough for me to take turns rubbing one foot over the other to sate it, but soon, the contact makes the itch worse. Before long, I’m forced to reach down and rake my nails over my ankles.
One scratch turns into two. Two quickly turn into three.
“Stop scratching.” There’s an old smile in his words.
I stop, bringing my hand up and tucking it under my arm.
I hold out for as long as possible, but now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. My skin is crawling.
Fucking mosquitoes! Little shits won’t be happy until they’ve drained me bone dry. Until all that’s left of me is a corpse. Not even a beautiful corpse. A red, blotchy, shriveled-up prune of a corpse.
I reach down again, moving my hand slowly and carefully so Romeo won’t see. He does. He pounces, quick as a cat, batting my hand away and grabbing my foot by the ankle. It’s a rough action that startles me. He pulls my foot onto his lap and holds it tightly. Possessively. As if it’s his. His fingers wrap almost all the way around it. A cuff. An anchor. Lines smudge and begin to vibrate where he touches me. My skin burns, but I don’t move.
“When did you break up?” he asks after so long I can’t quite remember what we were talking about.
“Uh…”Fuck. What do I do? The truth or a lie? Quickly! The truth or a lie?“The day after I got here.”
He’s quiet again, but not for nearly as long. “The day after we saw each other?”
“Yes.” I fully expected myself to deny it or at least sound deathly embarrassed about it. I don’t. I sound strangely sure of myself. Resigned and a little disheartened, but certain.
In the low, flickering light, I’m only just able to make out the tiniest quirk of a lip. A little side movement. Up and to the right. He pushes the hem of my jeans up just enough that my ankle bone is exposed. Electricity sparks and crackles, and I become extremely aware that I might not have full command of my legs right now. The pad of a thumb traces lines over and around my ankle. It finds the worst bite, the one driving me insane, and crosses it lightly.
Selby’s voice finds us in the dark, nasal and no-nonsense. “Romeo! Are you coming to bed?”
I tense at the sound. Romeo doesn’t. Instead, he worries my bad bite again, lightly and then hard, crossing it by digging his nail into my flesh this time. Marking it with an X.
Yearning, desire, and stinging heat slice into me.
