Page 437 of A Society of Traitors

Photograph

Ed Sheeran

I pulled my legs up to my chest, wrapped my arms around them, and looked at the boy in front of me.

We knew each other's bodies, but he was more confident with his than I was with mine.

As he carefully moved the wet sponge over my knees, concentrating on my scarred legs, I watched longingly how his muscles tensed and relaxed.

I was impatient, had expected us to do something else here, but he insisted on washing me, trying to cleanse me of the dirt of my past. And he did it so slowly and gently, as if I were fragile.

I stared at his masculine upper body, wet with water and foam. Broad shoulders that had carried me across the football field countless times.

The memory made me smile.

“Nash...” I giggled softly, already having suppressed the panic attack.

He looked up, and I held my breath as the reflection of the countless candles flickered in his soft blue eyes. It was always his eyes that made me forget who I was.

An amused smile played on his lips and the skin tightened around his defined jaw.

“I know what you want, pretty lady, but that's not why we're here.”

“Then what for?” I snorted in frustration and splashed him.

“Okay, okay...” He held up his hands defensively. “If you give this a chance, you'll get everything you want afterward.”

There was playfulness in his eyes, and his tousled hair gave him the charm it had taken to steal my heart not so long ago.

“You should learn that it's okay to cry.”

Any traces of euphoria left my body, and all that remained was a dull yet overwhelming ache.

I remembered how he had calmed me down, how I had been sitting on the kitchen floor, trembling, just twenty minutes ago.

Everything had built up inside me, and I could still feel all the pain that I didn't allow to break out. The pain I wanted to forget was leaving its scars on my insides. He waited eagerly for Nash to leave the house and for me to be alone again in my little dark world.

I didn't want to be alone.