Each word comes out solid, confidently, desperate to say anything to make him believe me, because I know he’s fighting against whatever war’s raging in his mind.
He steps back from me, reaching down to pick up the towel. “There’s still glimpses of her there.”
When he turns, there’s a hint of a smile on his lips, and then his eyes cast down on my naked body, making my nipples grow tighter as his thumb traces over the scripture along my ribs.
To become something so hauntingly beautiful, one must survive the darkness.
Those stormy eyes glance up at me, and I watch as the subtle thunder crackles in their depths.
“She’s just turned herself into a beautiful little monster.”
30
Indie
Limits - Bad Omens
Age Twenty-Three
“Thiswasstupid…likereally,really fucking stupid.” My voice trembles through a whisper.
Why the hell did I think this was a good idea?
It’s taken us an hour to walk from the bus stop to the secluded area of the Archives. We’re currently huddled behind a tree to catch our breath, slipping into a gap in the mesh fence that allowed us easier entry into the grounds. Completely concealed from the cameras that are anchored at each corner of the boundary.
Regina’s eyes are lit up from the tablet she holds in her hand, the rest of her face concealed by a hood and the balaclava we’re both sporting. Her shaky fingers rattle their way acrossthe screen as she works on the program she’s spent the last year curating.
We’ve only tested it once, and that was on Saint’s dad’s house CCTV. Seeing as both have been out of the country for months now, I thought it was the safest option to test on before the real thing.
Or maybe prompt an excuse for one of them to come home. For him to save me from the desperation that’s dragging me under every single day.
“Okay,” she breathes, her gaze flicking from the screen to the building, “I’ve got a couple minutes recording.”
I don’t speak, holding my breath, waiting for the freak-out that we might be about to willingly walk into our death sentence.
“We need to test it,” she adds, turning around and checking our surroundings.
“What about this?” I pick up a rock that covers the palm of my hand, one big enough to notice if it flies through the air.
She studies it, glancing back over at the camera line of sight, then gives me a nod. “I’ll watch.”
Rising to my feet, I slowly creep towards the fence, careful not to get into any line of sight.
Branches snap beneath my feet, and the wind slinking through the trees causes the metal before me to groan, forcing a shiver to run down my spine.
I push down a swallow, turning to Regina, and she gives me a nod. When I face back into the car park, my chest tightens.
The last time I walked through those doors, my life changed forever.
I’m still crippled by the fuzziness of it all; my mind often tries to fill in the blanks when I’m unguarded.
Therapy has helped, along with upping the training, but I need him back.
I need Saint now more than ever.
Because right now, I feel vulnerable. I don’t have him to run back to if this goes south.
Not that I’d expect him to just welcome me with open arms. Not after I broke his heart.
