"There's a word I found recently. Evanescence. It made me think of you. It made me think of us. Were we just a dream, Sebastian?"
TW : Key themes of suicide and trauma.
WARNING: This is Book Two. Please read "affluenza" first to avoid any spoilers...
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WE HAD FALLEN asleep at some unknown hour in the night with our bare chests pressed against one another's. I couldn't remember how we got in this position, but it must've been sometime after we cleaned up all the hair from the bathroom floor and Roman ushered me into the shower with him. All we did was shower and somehow it felt like one of the most intimate things we'd ever done. It felt like we weren't just two people who knew each other, but people who knew each other.
I open my eyes to the thin sunlight streaming through the cracked window—Roman always kept the windows open—and turn to see Roman's chest still pressed against mine, his breaths softly fanning on my forehead. I bring my hand up slowly, tracing the outlines of his lips as he sleeps. I don't think I'd ever seen him look so peaceful. He looked like he was no more than sixteen when he slept.
My heart thuds softly in my chest and I bring my hand back to my side. Too much. Way too much. And still, not enough.
I move to roll out of bed, sure that if I stayed a minute longer I'd realize something that I wasn't ready to realize just yet. A warm hand grabs onto my hip and pulls me back to my place and I gawk at Roman's 'sleeping' figure. His eyes remain shut but his hand is firm against my hip, pressing so hard that I'm almost completely sure he'll leave bruises. "Rome?" I whisper tentatively.
He's completely still. Scarily still. I bring my finger to his cheek, poking his soft skin once. "Roman? Rome, are you awake?"
Roman sighs loudly, his hand sliding down to my bottom as his eyes open. "I heard you the first time, darlin'," he mumbles and my cheeks heat up in embarrassment.
I brush my hand across his forehead softly. "How do you feel?"
His eyes open just a bit before opening fully, catching sight of my hair, or lack thereof again. "I'm angry with myself," he admits. "But I'm okay. I'll be okay."
I bite my lip, not sure what to say. I knew how he felt. It was the same way I felt whenever I smoked, the way it brought me back to my childhood all at once. What a mess we were.
"Still can't believe you did that," Roman murmurs, nodding toward my new haircut. His eyes water up just a bit and I can feel my stomach sinking, feeling like this was too far. All I'd done was make him feel bad. Again.
"It's no big deal," I respond back quickly, trying my best to keep his tears from spilling over. "It'll grow back."
Roman's hand leaves my butt and brings his fingers to my face, his thumb outlining my eyelids as they flutter closed from his touch. "It's not that, Braylen," he whispers, blinking as a tear trickles down his face.
"Then what?" I ask, bringing the pad of my thumb up to wipe away his tear.
He shuts his eyes completely. "No one has ever done anything like that for me. Ever."
