“I’m going to rip you to pieces when I find you,” he growls.
He pries at his choker as he waits for an answer that will never come, and after a few seconds of silence, he drops the phone back in my bag.
“What happened?” I ask.
“He hung up,” he says, shrugging his wide shoulders.
The muscles in his back are tight as he drops down on the edge of the bed, and I feel guilty as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
With his back turned, I can see the little crescent-shaped birthmark between his shoulder blades. It’s lighter than the rest of him, made to stand out, and I surprise myself as I reach out a hand and brush my fingers over the little patch of skin.
Elliot groans, shoulders slumping with a deep exhale.
“I’m so sorry, Iris,” he says, voice rough with the effort of keeping his anger at bay.
“Don’t be. We’re going to figure it out. It’s alright.”
“No, it’s not alright,” He twists to face me. “Don’t you understand? You’re what he wants.”
“Me?”
“The photos? The phone calls? That performance from Tara?” He pauses, fingers curling into tight fists. “Do you really think you misplaced your copy of Manhurst?” he asks. “You would never lose that book. You love that book. He took it from you, Iris.”
Elliot sighs, dragging a hand down his face.
“I just don’t want you to have to deal with this. You don’t deserve this,” he says. “You’re already…”
He stops himself, but I know what he was going to say.
I’m already broken.
“And that picture with Tara…I just feel like I’m making it worse,” he says, hanging his head.
His locs shroud his face, and I move closer as my guilt threatens to eat me alive.
“Elliot…You could never make it worse. You’re the only thing making it better.”
There’s a sad look in his eye as he lifts his head. The soft green hue is somehow darker, warmer against his deep skin. But he doesn’t speak as he looks at me.
There are few people I can sit in silence with for longer than a few seconds. I can count them all on one hand. But I always suspected Elliot was one of them, if he ever stopped talking long enough for me to find out. It turns out I was right.
We sit there in silence, watching one another. And even though he’s staring, I don’t mind, because for once in my life, it feels like someone actually sees me.
His gaze roams my face, and when that no longer suffices, his fingers trail over my brows, down my cheek, and under my jaw before returning to my mouth, where he strokes my lips with the soft pad of his thumb.
“When are you going to let me kiss you?” he asks, breaking the soft silence.
I laugh a little.
Not on purpose, and not because I think it’s funny, but because I would’ve let him kiss me ages ago if I thought he meant it. But I’m still not sure he does.
“Careful, Cross. Your mystique is wearing off.”
His pierced brow lifts.
“My what?”
“You know, that veil of mystery you have clinging to you.” I wiggle my fingers in front of his face. “I can almost see through it now.”
