Silas was already staring by the time I looked back at him. He lurked in the shadows, only approaching when I acknowledged him, as if he was giving room for my imagination to breathe.
While his eyes always represented something dangerous, they always managed to be so gentle when they dared to look my way.
“You did this for me?”
They drew me in like a crow to something shiny, abandoning my resolve for the overwhelming need to possess. His leather-clad hand cupped my face. “Who else would I do it for?”
I searched his face for anything, any reason to run from him, but he was not lying. He was a simple creature to read; there was nothing in his tone or words indicating he was not entirely serious.
“Every day I spent without you those years ago was a day wasted. But the days that came after realizing that you were not coming back were the loneliest in my lifetime.”
“Silas.” His name came out like a plea before he silenced me with his lips, embracing me tighter than he had ever before, enough to leave bruises with his fingertips in his desperate grip.
“Do not leave me again, please.”
“I need to think.” I swallowed.
“You do enough of that.” He rested his forehead against mine. “Do whatfeelsright, not what youthinkis right.”
“That sounds like a dangerous path.”
“What is life if you cannot find something you love, and let it kill you?”
I shuddered at his words, tempted to pull away, but for some reason, I didn’t. “I’m cold.”
“Let me keep you warm,” he whispered, holding me tight in our embrace.
“You are the coldest man I know. How will you manage that?”
His eyes darted past me.
I glanced behind us, and propped against the wall was an obviously new bottle of champagne. I suppose the room was cold enough to store a bottle.
“I don’t drink anymore.” My gaze returned to him.
“Yes, you do,” he laughed. “You just don’t drink inpublicanymore.”
I rolled my eyes, but the gesture was enough to fluster me. The entire situation was enough to throw me off.
There we were. No furniture, no decor, not even proper champagne glasses. Just him and me.
We sipped the bottle empty on the floor, by the company of a single used candle left behind from the previous owner. It was one of those instances where you forgot who you were, or who you were posturing to be in the outside world. The only version of yourself that existed was in the room, developing along with the night hours. We talked for so long that the flame ran out of wax to melt, but we didn’t need it anyway since the sun was beginning to peek through the frosted windows, and our time was marked by an empty bottle.
31
THE POISONER
The sheets were smooth against my skin, a simple pleasure considering the soreness of my limbs and cuts on my skin from the day before.
The sheets smelled clean. I wasn’t entirely sure of the perfume, but it was an intimate touch. I was so deep in sleep, I barely remembered crawling into bed. Late nights were always blurry, especially paired with champagne.
Champagne.
I nearly forgot. We were up until early morning, just talking. The time completely escaped us, and I’m sure Phoebe was worried sick.
My cheeks grew hot; I covered my face with the pillow. Even though my memories were only of us speaking, they made my stomach flutter. I was either smitten or severely ill. Possibly both.
Then the inevitable guilt settled in along with my memory.
