Her head snaps back, outrage flashing in her eyes. “Hey! That gun came in pretty handy tonight. I love my gun.”
“That’s not the point.” I reach out and brace myself on the door frame, chest feeling so tight that I have to force myself not to grind my fist into it. “All of those things might tell the world—tell me—that I own you, but that’s not what this is about. I think I want everyone to…no.” I start over. “I want you to understand how I feel.”
Her shoulders straighten and she stares right at me—seeing me. Listening.
I grip the collar of my shirt and pull it apart, buttons tearing at the fabric, revealing my chest. My heart pounds, blood pumping to my ears, but I ignore both it and the puzzled look on her face as I reach into my pants pocket and clasp the smooth wood in my fingers.
I pull it out and flick open the blade. The glint of silver metal shines between us.
Comprehension washes over her features. “Killian,” she says softly, using the voice she saves for calming me down. I like that voice. I like the soothing touch that follows, and I like knowing that it’s only for me. But this isn’t my temper showing here. She doesn’t need to calm me down. I know exactly what I’m doing.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I say, disliking the cagey look in her eyes. “But I need you to understand.”
I look down at my chest and find a spot in the center. It’s easy to pierce the skin. I might not get off on it like Rath does, but pain doesn’t bother me. I have no issues pressing the tip of the blade into my flesh, carving the top curve of the ‘S’。 Blood beads up, then dribbles sluggishly down my chest, but the trail is halted by Story’s fingertips.
“You don’t have to do that!” she rushes out, trying to catch my wrist. “I get it Killian. I understand.”
“Do you?” I ask, not stilling as the knife slices through my skin.
Her hand drops, and when she looks at me, she doesn’t look shocked, or even freaked out. She looks exasperated. “You love me.”
She says it so plainly, so matter of fact, as if she didn’t just put voice to the sick, black thing roiling inside of me.
“I love you,” I repeat softly. It’s not a question, but whispered devotion. It gives me what I need to finish the letter, swooping the final stinging curve, because maybe she doesn’t need it, but I do. “Do you have any idea how much?” Blood spills faster that she can catch it and she grabs the hem of my shirt, pressing against the flesh with a hitched breath. I barely feel the sting. “So much that it’s paralyzing. Sometimes I watch you, and I can’t blink. Can’t swallow. Can’t breathe. I’m too busy wondering what it’d be like.”
Her eyes fly up to mine, wide and stunned. “What it’d be like?”
“If you loved me back.” Yanking down the sleeve of my shirt to expose my arm, I confess, “I got this tattoo not long after you left. I was so drunk that my guy wouldn’t do it until I sobered up, because he said—” I pause when she touches it, blood-sticky fingers leaving a smear over the tattoo’s lips. Shuddering an exhale, I go on, “He said it was a curse. That you never get your girl’s name or face tattooed on you, because it’ll doom you. But even when I got sober, I didn’t care. I made him stay until he finished it, outline to shading. When he did, he looked at me and he said, ‘Five hours. That’s how long it took to doom you.’ And you know what I said?” I laugh at the memory, but it’s a humorless, broken thing. “I told him it actually took about ten months.” I say the next words because it feels like it’d be agony not to. “I love you, Story Austin. And just so we’re clear, not like a sister.”
She looks into my eyes, her own shining with a wetness that I didn’t mean to put there. “Do we have to be doomed?” she asks, voice cracking. “Or can you just stop being a fucking bummer for five minutes and kiss me?”
I catch her by the back of the neck and pull her mouth to mine in a hard, unforgiving kiss. It’s teeth and harsh breaths and my blood is staining her pretty dress. But if all we’re destined to be is calamity, then we’ll make it the best fucking disaster this world has ever seen.
I barely realize she’s dragging me into her room, her palm curled unrelentingly around my neck, but at some point, it penetrates.
She kicks out blindly, shutting the door behind us.
“You sure?” I ask, not daring to open my eyes.