My eyes widen as I stare into his. He’s serious. “Why?” I murmur against his lips. “You’re the one who’sliterallybulletproof.”
A sad smile. “Am I, though? It doesn’t feel like it. At least, not anymore.”
His eyes narrow as if he’s bringing himself back into his thoughts. He firms his lips and clears his throat before I can say anything else. “Do you want to watch how I change my story, then decide if you want me to change yours?” He puts a breath of space between us, pulling away like he always does when he catches himself allowing too much bonding.
Roman pulls my shirt back over my head and hands me back the jacket. I shiver but am grateful to be wrapped back up in the warmth of it.
“Okay,” I say skeptically.
I’m not exactly into watching people cause themselves pain, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about his process.
Roman pulls a small circular container with red powder from his pocket and unscrews the cap. He takes a lighter to the edge of his pocketknife, cleaning the blade and immediately dipping it into the powder.
He pulls up his sleeve and points to what looks like a scar from a medical incision. The bulletproof mesh, I bet. I frown at the painful wrench that twists my heart.
With a steady hand, Roman cuts into his arm. His eyes narrow with pain, but an almost euphoric expression spreads across his face as his blood spills down his arm.
I open my mouth to ask if he’s okay, but he shoots a look at me.
“I’m fine, Squirt.”
I have to hold myself back from trying to help him and sit patiently as he works. When he’s done, he dumps a little of thepowder over his wound and lets it sit there for a few minutes before wiping it off.
The bleeding stops instantly. The powder must be a coagulant of some sort. The design that remains is an ivy vine, wrapping around the original scar. It looks like a tattoo almost.
“There.” He grins almost to himself, but his eyes flash up to mine. “Much better, don’t you think?”
I nod absently as I let my fingers softly touch his raised skin. “Do you come out here often to do this?” The image in my head of him out here alone, carving himself up at night hits deeper than I thought possible.
Roman shrugs. “Not always here. I have a few other places,” he says casually.
I can’t tear my gaze from the scar below his eye, VI. He was just a young man when he gave himself that. His story about it was haunting. A history of self-loathing that’s led to this. I wonder if he’ll ever stop.He’s not mine to fix, I remind myself.
“Did you really lead your squad to their deaths when you served?” He gives me a short nod. “Did you do it on purpose?”
Roman’s expression flattens, but he presses his lips together and gives another short nod. “It’s what got me thrown into the underground, remember?”
Even though he’s admitting to me he’s done something heinous, I have a hard time believing it. He kept it brief the other night, yet he has no trouble talking about other things. Is it because he fucked up? I want to know everything there is to know about him.
“Do you regret it?”
He turns his head toward me and we share a silent moment. “No. They were bad people. I know it doesn’t excuse my actions, but they were killing innocent civilians, and I couldn’t let them do it anymore. I don’t regret it.” There’s guilt in his gaze, though.Roman’s guilt looks like storms building behind his eyes and lightning swelling in his veins.
“But?”
“You don’t miss a thing…but now that I’m in the Dark Forces, I find that I’ve become the very man I hate.” His eyes linger on my arm, where my scar lies underneath. There’s no way I can live the rest of my life without knowing what he’d make of my scar. So, against my better judgment, I shrug off my jacket and pull my shirt over my head, offering him my arm.
“An asshole?” I muse.
He chuckles as he cleans off the edge of his blade on his jeans before using his lighter again to sterilize it. He dips it in the powder and smooths his hand over my skin.
I look away and tense my muscles for the pain to come.
“Someone who hurts innocent people.” His voice rolls down my arm and makes me shiver. The cut of his blade comes next. I whimper and fist my hands against my thighs. “I lost the part of myself that cared a long time ago. People became things in my way or objects that I needed to discard. Emotionless beings that are only out to fulfill their own needs over empathy for others. I lost my humanity. I would follow an order over anything.” His voice tenses at the last part, and his hands pause briefly before resuming.
Focus on the sound of his voice.I take a deep breath and try to ignore the pain that flares over my skin in slow, agonizing lines.
“That’s a terribly miserable way to view the world,” I murmur.
