“No. I'm not thirsty. Just stay here with me for a while.”
It wasn't a question, but it felt less like an order. It was a request, because even if he wouldn't admit it, he was scared of what came next.
I placed down the cup with a trembling hand, spilling the overly full drink onto the glossy white table, making it sticky.
I nodded, tucking myself in close. I wrapped my arm around him and just lay there, lost in my thoughts—of the great memories ofWoody, the better ones with his frontman, and all the painful ones I shared with Hell ...until recently.
I didn't hate him anymore for any of the things he did to me.
I didn't understand everything, but I knew his father had created a monster, nurturing and feeding what lived inside his darkness.
But. . . it was only darkness that would allow you to see someone's light.
And I could see the light inside him, flickering with all the sweeter things he did for me. Like learning to dance, writing my book, loving me, in his own messed-up, uncouth, possessive way.
And I loved him, too.
My Hell. My husband. My owner. My shattered future.
Another agonizing breath had him closing his eyes and sinking deeper into the ease of his pillows. . . and sleep called him instantly, with bad dreams following behind his hypersomnia.
My sleepy eyes peeled back, seeing nothing but darkness. I sucked in a breath, hating that I'd closed my eyes for even a second, and I drew the pale pink sheet to the suction of my nostrils.
I pushed back, arms flapping and head shaking until the blanket rolled from its position above my head.
I heard a raspy laugh, and I knew my wish came true. Woodrow was back, and my hair was tickling his ear.
“Hey, darling,” he whispered, sounding not exactly like himself. “Were you daydreaming before you went to sleep?”
The moonlight shone onto him from the open doors, the bright beam highlighting the smile he plastered on his face for me.
“I guess I was.” I definitely was—that was the only reason for the blanket being over my head. “How are you feeling?"
I cuddled back into his waiting arm, stretched under the blanket that tried to suffocate me. I relaxed in his embrace, my head close to the crook of his neck, my hair tickling hisear again.
“I'm okay. Well, I feel like shit. I smell worse than shit. I dread to think what I look like.” His smile faltered, slowly disappearing from his face.
“You're still the most handsome thing I’ve ever seen.” My smile replaced his, bringing light to our conversation.
“You were never a good liar.”
Maybe I wasn't. But I was always good at making him smile, and as the corner of his lips lifted until dimples popped, that was what I focused on.
On his beautiful smile. . . not his ghostly tone, his sunken cheeks, not even the purple staining beneath his eyes, complementing the pink surrounding his pupils.
“You never told me what happened to you when you were there.”
He didn't exactly give an address or say where there was, but I knew he meant my captivity. And my body going from warm and cuddly to sweaty and rigidly stiff, told him that.
“A story for another time,” I rehashed the words I'd already said to him.
“We're running out of time, Moonlight.”
“I read your notes, Woodrow. All the stuff from the prison. I know that's why Hell wanted to hurt me. Wanted revenge. I know how bad it was for you. You don’t need to know how bad it was for me.”
He stared at the smooth ceiling, taking in my words and nothing more. I stared at him, making memories that would last for my very short forever. The way his long dark eyelashes fanned his cheeks as he slowly blinked. The direction his tears ran, escaping from the most beautiful eyes.
“I'm glad you made peace with each other. You and Hell. He loves you.”
