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There is not a single cynical thought to deny the fact that she may be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. She’s intimidatingly peaceful—a contradiction in itself. And I almost want to despise her for it. Because I fear there is a chance that I may begin to enjoy her.
She is an intoxicating sort of exhausting, like running until you’ve lost your breath but enjoying the feeling all the while. And I feel as though I’ve been sprinting for days.
Her eyes well with angry tears. “I started running. I-I didn’t know what to do—” “Shh.” I run a hand down the length of her curls, feeling a hiccup jostle her body. “You did the right thing. Run to me. Always run to me.”
“I’m far from fragile.” I say this in response to each of her tender touches. “I know,” she says softly. “There is quite the difference between fragility and delicacy.” These words are nothing like the hundreds of bubbly ones prior. These words are deliberate, insightful in a way that only she is. “So, you think I’m delicate?” She tilts her head in question. “Don’t you want to be handled with care?”
He’s not exactly a ray of sunshine, but perhaps something equivalent to a moonbeam. Mysterious and unnerving. Equally as beautiful, yet, soft enough to stare at.
“But you… you’re the embodiment of everything I am not. And yet, here I am, crawling back to you as though I’ve left a piece of myself behind.”
“I regret not buying that blue shirt from you, if only so I had your attention long enough to convince you that red suits you better. I regret not telling you how much I like it when you blow those bangs out of your eyes, or the way you clap after finishing a row of stitches. I regret smothering every smile you made me want to give you. And I regret not telling you the truth. But most of all, not saying goodbye.”
“I was selling it for three.” “Yeah…” I draw out the word. “And how was that working out for you?” She crosses her arms. “Three.” “I didn’t realize you were in any position to negotiate.” “Two,” she amends. “And a smile.” I visibly weigh the offer, tilting my head back and forth. “That’s a bit steep, honey.” She sighs. “Just the smile then.” “That was the steep part I was referring to.”
I was an expense. A nuisance. A disappointment.” “You’re not,” Adena breathes, shaking her head firmly. “Oh, I was.” I nod, my eyes drifting up to the sky above us. “I just wasn’t fortunate enough to be loved despite it.”
He’s silent for a long moment before murmuring a string of words that have me further gawking. “I made him, and every other man I found, memorize every one of your features. I described the color of your eyes and the length of the lashes lining them. The warmth of your skin, and the specific curl of your hair. Your nose, your lips, your smile. Down to the very scar on your palm from one of my daggers, I made them memorize you. So, yes, he knew exactly who you were and still decided to ignore my threats.”
I roll my head toward her, watching her silhouette stare up into the sky. Awe laces each word from her soft lips. “I always wondered how something could shine so bright, even while being swallowed in darkness.” My eyes run over the shadowed outline of her face. “I’ve been trying to figure that out myself.”
“You are the sweetest thing I have never tasted.” Another brush of his knuckles. “And I doubt I’ve craved anything more.”
Her sewing fingers. They have broken her sewing fingers.
