Theo nods, his head brushing my shoulder. “I know, but…” He shrugs. “Then it was my eyes too. I hate seeing them empty and dead, and they were empty and dead for so long.”
“And now?”
Shrugging again, he sighs. “Still my scar, I think. I just… I hate it. It’s such an ugly part of who I am. He permanently disfigured me, you know? I’ll carry that for the rest of my life.”
“I know.” I curl my fingers around his. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s ugly. I think it’s proof that you won. That you beat him. You lived.”
Falling silent for a long beat, Theo sighs. “I wish I could see myself the way you see me.”
An idea comes to mind as I pull into the driveway at home. I put the truck in park and kiss Theo’s temple. “Go inside and wait in our room for me, okay?”
Theo sits up straight and looks at me. “Our room?”
Smiling, I pull him in for a quick kiss. “Yes. Our room. You’ve been staying in it for almost two months. You don’t think it’s yours yet by now?”
A pink flush spreads across his cheeks, and I can’t fight a grin. “Go on, gorgeous. I’ll be right there.”
When he’s in the house, I give it a few more seconds, then get out and head up the stairs. I slip into the room across from mine, grabbing the full-length antique mirror Mom has in here.
It’s heavy as fuck, and I have to set it down outside the bedroom door to push it open.
Theo is sitting on our bed, and when he sees me pick up the mirror and carry it into the room, his eyebrows shoot up. “What is that?”
I wink. “A mirror.”
He rolls his eyes playfully. “No, I see that. What are you doing with it?”
“I’m gonna show you what you look like through my eyes.”
His nose scrunches. “What does that mean?”
I prop the mirror up against the door since it’s the only space I really have for it. “Can I show you?” I ask, turning around to face him.
After a pause, he nods, his throat bobbing. “Okay.”
“Come here, gorgeous,” I say, crooking my finger at him.
Slowly, he crawls off the end of the bed and makes his way over to me.
When he’s standing in front of me, I step behind him and carefully adjust him until he’s centered in front of the mirror.
His eyes find mine in our reflection. “Do you trust me?” I ask, stepping closer to him and pressing myself against his back.
“So much,” he says, not breaking eye contact.
I lower my hands to the hem of his shirt, gripping it before lifting it slightly. He inhales a sharp breath, and I pause.
“When was the last time you looked at it?”
He shrugs. “Directly? Like this? I don’t know.”
I pull his shirt up a little more, and his gaze starts to drop. “Don’t look at it yet. Keep your eyes on me.”
They snap back up, locking on mine. I step back far enough to pull his shirt up and over his head, then I press against his bare back again.
Bringing a hand up, I trail my fingers over the side of his throat. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in my life.”
Letting my hand fall, I clasp his and bring it up to his throat. “Right here, gorgeous. Touch.”
