She's beautiful.
The thought surfaces without permission, and I don't try to shove it back down.
What's the point? I'm lying in the dark with a woman handcuffed to my wrist, watching her sleep, feeling her heartbeat through the press of her palm against my chest. Denial seems pretty fucking pointless at this juncture.
Bells is beautiful, and she's here, and she's not running.
And I don't understand any of it.
The rain picks up outside, drumming harder against the glass. Thunder rumbles somewhere in the distance, low and rolling, and Bells makes another small sound in her sleep. Her brow furrows slightly, just for a second, before smoothing out again.
I hold my breath.
She burrows closer.
Her face presses against my shoulder now, her nose brushing the fabric of my shirt. Her hand slides slightly, settling more firmly over my heart. I can feel the warmth of her breath seeping through to my skin.
My hand moves without permission. The one that isn't cuffed to hers. It hovers in the air for a long moment, trembling slightly, before settling against her hair.
And she lets me.
CHAPTER 14
PHOENIX
The blue light from my phone screen is the only thing keeping me company at 6 AM.
Rafael passed out around four, his head tipped back against the couch cushions, snoring softly in a way he'd deny if I ever mentioned it. I should be sleeping too. Should've crashed hours ago when my body started screaming for rest and my eyes started burning from staring at screens.
But every time I close my eyes, I see that photo.
Rex's face. Therealone, not the mask he's hidden behind for as long as I've known him. The extent of the damage laid bare in fluorescent lights.
I scroll past another comment and immediately regret it.
whoever pulled him out of the wreck should be sued tbh, death would have been better
My thumb hovers over the reply button. I could say something. Could defend him, could tell these anonymous assholes thatRex is more than the sum of his scars, that he's brilliant and complicated andhurtingand they're making it worse.
But what's the point?
There are thousands of them. Millions, maybe. The photo has spread faster than wildfire, jumping from platform to platform, spawning memes and reaction videos and think pieces about "the real face behind the mask."
I keep scrolling anyway. Masochistic habit I can't seem to break.
Not all of it is bad. That's the thing that keeps me from throwing my phone across the room.
this changes nothing for me. still love their music. still going to the tour.
y'all are cruel as fuck. the man was in a car accident as a teenager. show some basic human decency
honestly?? this makes me respect him MORE. imagine building that career while dealing with this
And then there are the... other comments. The ones I wasn't expecting.
not me developing a new type watching a man play guitar with half a face
damaged kings deserve love too, just saying