Claimed me.
“You look so tired.” My face was still cradled in her hands, her thumb running over my jawline, the other smoothing out my eyebrows, brushing my lashes…all over me, like she was memorising me.
“Just slightly,” I whispered, leaning further into her touch before I realised I was doing it, my body responding faster than my thoughts.
Something warm stirred low in my chest, spreading, even to places I barely thought of. It always did every time she touched me, unfamiliar and unsteady, not quite a want, not quite a need. I didn’t know if it was simply my body’s reaction to the awareness of her, of how close she was, of how easily she could undo me if she tried.
I didn’t move. I didn’t know how.
I only knew I loved it when she touched me.
“My pretty boy,” she whispered, her gaze soft as she caressed my cheek. “I’m sorry.”
My brows knitted. “For what?”
She sighed, her hand dropping to her side, and I almost grabbed them, just so I could return them to my face.
“I shouldn’t have pestered you into coming.” She glanced behind her at the building, then turned back to me, hand raised to tuck a loose strand behind her ear. “I could’ve been a little more patient.”
“You were patient,” I whispered. “You waited for four days.”
Her lips curved gently, a ghostly smile touching them.
“Shall we?” I asked, giving her my hand so willingly. She took it, and her skin was warm against mine, steadying me as my heart began to race again.
I couldn’t really remember what the inside of a theatre looked like. I was five the last time I entered one. That was about 27 years ago. I didn’t watch movies. Though I had an idea what it looked like. I did create an image of it every time I read a book with a movie theatre scene.
It didn’t look like a foreign land when we entered. For some reason, the dimmed lights, the low conversation buzzing in the air, and the scent of popcorn. They all felt so familiar.
We took our seats, and the preview of the movie, I assumed, flickered into the screen. She leaned toward me, her arm brushing against mine, her body heat licking at my skin.
She whispered something about the scene on the screen, but I didn’t quite catch it. She said a joke I didn’t hear, but smiled anyway.
Then a sudden pressure began to press into my head, words warping and distorting.
Twenty minutes or less in and the dialogue on the screen began to lag, music swelling too loud, then too quiet.
The screen flickered brighter than it should, whites burning at the edges.
My vision suddenly tunnelled.
“Want some?” she asked quietly, raising the white and red striped popcorn pack to me.
“No.” I shook my head, hiding the strain in my voice. Zaghan was coming. He wasn’t waiting anymore. He was trying to force his way through.
I glanced down at Elizabeth, my chest tight as the tip of her finger trailed phantom lines on the back of my palm.
The action drew a soft gasp from me, electric jolts weaving down my spine, crackling beneath my veins.
My gaze shifted to her face, to see the girl rearranging my insides with a simple touch. But her attention was on the screen, her green eyes streaked with grey, green, and blue as they reflected the gaudy colours on the screen.
I didn’t know how long I stared at her for. Maybe long enough for her to notice, as she turned to me, brow raised daintily.
“You alright, Snow White?” she whispered, her tongue darting out ever so lightly to swipe at the crumb of popcorn on her lower lip.
“Yeah.” The lie came out easily, too easily.
My left hand had gone cold, numb. I flexed my fingers, pressing them into my palm until it hurt. Pain helped, sometimes. But this time, the pressure didn’t recede. It creptup my spine, coiled at the base of my skull. It was a familiar tightening, a presence pressing forward, violent, impatient now.
