“Doesn’t the devil thrive in that?” She hikes her brow up, and fuck do I want to yank her on the end of my cock again, just to wipe that look off her face.
“He does, and I’m about to show you just how unholy it can get.”
12
Saint
Angels fall - breaking benjamin
Age Twenty-Two
I’masstillasthe night as I watch her through the window. Anyone spots me, they’ll call the fucking cops. Not that I’d find it in myself to care; my girl would bust me out. Then probably have my arse for stalking her.
Again, something I find myself not mustering a care in the world for. I like when she gets mad.
She’s got her earphones in, bobbing her head to the beat as she flicks through pages of her coursework. She’s been playing catch up when she can. Most of the time her mind’s consumed with dealing with the grief of losing her dad.
He’s been gone for almost three months, and I’m due to leave for England tomorrow. And speaking from experience, the best way to avoid grief is to keep the mind busy.
I’m about to give her a lasting memory that should tie over for my return.
Sliding the window open carefully, I keep my movements minimal, waiting for her reaction. I get about halfway inside before the pen she’s twiddling in her fingers comes to an abrupt halt. Her body stiffens, and those glacial-blue eyes drag up towards me.
I remain rooted in my spot, cladded in complete black. The cigarette in my hand burns an amber bulb one last time before I stub it on the roof, pinging it across the edge.
Indie slaps the textbook over, tugging the wires from her ears. “What are you doing here?” she whispers, but there’s a tug of her lips she’s fighting against.
Good.
I’ve caught her in one of her better moods.
Wouldn’t matter either way. I find a fierce enjoyment enticing a smile from her, knowing the rare ones these days belong to me.
“Do I need to book an appointment to see you, darling?” I ask, sliding inside. My sneakers thump against her hardwood floor, and she pales. She pads across the room, locking her bedroom door and switching off the ceiling light, leaving only her fairy lights glistening.
Perfect. I thrive in the darkness.
“My mom’s just down the hall,” she breathes, a little whimper freeing at the end as I cage her against the door, cocking my head as I examine her.
Her mom knows we’re together, but she’s supposed to be catching up on the studying she’s missing before heading back to university, and therefore on a no-boyfriend streak for a few days.
Ha.
I make those rules, and there’s no conditions of the sort in my book. “It’s not me that needs to worry about being quiet, Indie.”
A gasp brushes my neck as I scoop her in my arms, her bare legs wrapping around my waist on instinct. Pressing her against the door, I kiss her with an intensity that sends my head spinning.
Fuck, she’s like my own personal high.
I’ve never touched drugs, will never need to having her in my arms—she’s the purest substance I’ll ever get a hold of.
Shaking hands roam up my sweatshirt, wrapping around the back of my neck as I devour her. We haven’t had sex yet, didn’t want to rush her when she was grieving. We’ve done everything else, building up to the moment as I try to coax the confidence I know she has buried deep down.
She thought the sneaky text telling me she wanted to fuck when I was back wouldn’t have me running over here like I was trying to break a world record for a sprint.
Now I have that knowledge, paired with waiting for what could be weeks?
I might actually fucking die.
