𝒫𝑒𝓁𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒯𝑜𝓌𝓃, 4 𝓎𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓈 𝒶𝑔𝑜
𓆏Sebastian𓆏
I sat on the swing, not moving, my sneakers digging into the woodchips until I'd carved two deep, jagged trenches in the earth. I felt like a ghost haunting my own life. My father was gone—officially gone, according to a secretary in the city—and my mother was too busy playing house with Demetrius to notice I was even breathing.
The only thing that felt real was the sharp, localized heat beneath my sleeve. It was a stinging, rhythmic pulse that reminded me I wasn't entirely hollow.
"Sam wanted to know if you were coming over later," Aurora said. Her voice was the only sound that could cut through the "static" in my own head. "He got that new racing game. Said he'd let you be the first player for once."
I didn't look at her. I couldn't. I felt too raw, like if she looked at me too hard, I'd just dissolve into the woodchips. "Sam's a kid, Ro," I muttered. "He thinks a high score actually changes something."
I was being a prick. I knew it. But the anger was the only thing keeping the grief from swallowing me whole. I talked about my dad, about the "foreseeable future," and the way my mother had let Demetrius rearrange the kitchen spices as if my entire childhood could be reorganized into neat, labeled jars.
"You still have us," she said. "You have me."
I reached up to grab the rusted chains, my knuckles white, and the movement was too fast. The heavy fabric of my hoodie caught on a link, and I felt the air—the cold, evening air—hit the skin of my inner wrist.
I froze. My heart stopped.
I knew what she was seeing. In that violet light, the jagged, angry red lines were unmistakable. They were a map of every minute I'd spent alone in that basement, every time I'd felt like I was screaming underwater. I waited for the recoil. I waited for her to gasp, or tell me I was crazy, or run back to the safety of the town.
Instead, she stopped her swing.
I felt her hand wrap around mine.
Her fingers were warm, so much warmer than mine...
I flinched, a pained, pathetic sound catching in my throat, but she didn't let go. She guided my wrist toward her face.
Then, she leaned down.
When her lips touched the marks, the world ceased to exist. The soft, heavy pressure of her mouth against my skin felt like she was trying to pull the pain right out of my veins. I could feel her breath, warm and steady, but her lips felt slightly numb, a ghost of a sensation that made my own blood roar in my ears.
I went limp. The hand that had been gripping the chain fell to my side, and my other hand moved on its own, my fingers hovering over her hair. I felt a terrifying, soul-shattering shift inside my chest. I wasn't just Sebastian, the kid from the basement. I was someone she wanted to hold.
I love you.
My body felt like it was on fire.
I leaned in, my forehead almost touching hers. I wanted to stay in that violet light forever. I wanted to tell her that as long as she was holding my wrist, the dark didn't scare me anymore. I started to reach for her cheek, my fingers trembling—
And then, the air between us snapped.
Aurora didn't pull away with disgust; she pulled away with panic. Her eyes were wide, suddenly reflecting the same "static" I felt in my own head. She let go of my wrist as if the intimacy of the kiss had burned her, her hands flying to her own lap. The chains of her swing clashed with a sharp, metallic ring that sounded like a warning.
"Anyway," she said, her voice coming out high and brittle, sounding much younger than she had a second ago. She wouldn't look at me. She kept her eyes fixed on the empty playground, her chest heaving with shallow breaths. "Sam... Sam's probably wondering where we are. We should go. If we're late, Jodi will make him go to bed before we even get to the first level."
I stayed there, half-leaning into empty air, my hand still hovering where her face had been. The warmth from her lips evaporated instantly, replaced by a cold that felt deeper than the winter.
"Right," I said. My voice sounded flat. I pulled my sleeve down, hiding the marks, hiding the evidence of the only moment I'd ever felt seen. "The game. Wouldn't want to be late for that."
I looked down at the woodchips, watching her kick off and start swinging. She wasn't laughing this time. She was just staring straight ahead, swinging higher and higher, as if she were trying to launch herself out of the park and away from the heavy thing that had just happened between us.
I realized then that Aurora would kiss the wound, but she was terrified of the person who bled. She'd see me, but she'd never let me see her back.
𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 𓆏 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊