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The air huffs out of his nose as he suppresses a laugh. I smile, bending my neck to press a kiss onto the crown of his head.
“That. But…I guess you can understand me now, right? You understand how scary it was for me back then.”
I sigh deeply, the guilt gnawing at my stomach. To go through something like that and have the one person you love and rely on turn their back…
“I do. You know I’ll do anything to make it up to you, right? Literally anything. You name it, I’ll do it.”
“Anything?” he repeats, an edge of mischief lacing his voice.
“Anything.”
“Would you…wear a full outfit of pastel colors?” He walks his fingers up my bicep playfully.
I chuckle under my breath. “I’ll wear one item of pastel clothing, pick another weapon.” It’s a compromise, one that will damage my carefully curated aesthetic. But I’ll do it for him.
He hums, thinking. “You can start with making me avocado toast for the rest of my life.”
He probably doesn’t mean anything by it, but his words make me hope for a future where he heals properly, and I forgive myself. When all of this bodily haunting crap is behind us, and he can teach me what it means to be a witch, and I can learn what it feels like to embrace one.
The minutes tick by, my fantasies bleeding back into worries about the hitchhiker in my body.
“Bels…” I whisper into his hair.
“Mmm?” he mumbles sleepily.
I don’t really know what to ask. Or how to ask it, not understanding it myself.
“If this thing inside me wants you…it can’t get to you, right?”
I wait for his response, a minute slipping by.
All I get are slow, even breaths.
The following morning, I wake with a pressure under my skin that’s starting to feel horribly familiar.
In the short time I’ve been inflicted with this presence, I’ve come to notice good days and bad days. The good days, I feel almost normal, just the occasional dizzy spell or getting shit all sleep. Today, though…
Trying to run from the bad day, I leave a scrawled note on the kitchen counter just in case Bellamy wakes while I’m gone. I only go as far as the nearest convenience store, picking up some fresh ingredients for breakfast.
The pressure deepens the farther I get from his apartment—or maybe Bellamy himself.
When I get back, the sight of him sprawled out on the floor with a book in front of him makes me feel marginally better. Judging by the worn look of it, this is one of his…spellbooks? I’m sure there’s another word for it.
“What are they called again?” I blurt, dumping the grocery bag on the small kitchen table. His apartment is tiny, but very cute, and very him. Tapestries and plants and organized chaos.
“What?” He looks up, blowing a strand of hair off his forehead. His finger is stuck to the page, following whatever he’s reading. The loopy scrawl is like a doctor’s note on steroids—basically unreadable. To me, anyway.
“That…spellbook thingy.” I motion with my hand.
“It’s a grimoire.” He rolls his eyes. “And look here…it says you’re a bitch.”
I gasp loudly, covering my mouth in faux shock. It feels so fucking good to tease each other like this again. “What are you doing anyway? Trying to find a way to turn Séverin into a toad, I hope.”
He laughs, but it’s thin, a frail edge to it. “What is it with you and turning him into an amphibian?”
I sense there’s something bothering him, but I don’t want to smother him. I set to making breakfast instead, lightly encouraging him to talk to me.
“Well, Delphine’s gone AWOL, which sucks. It’s not the first time she’s done it, but it is the longest,” he mutters, prying the next couple of pages of his book apart.
