Scorn and Devotion

Chapter 38

warnings - Mentions of sex, dick shaming, slut shaming, mentions of alcohol and hangover, poison

When I awoke I was tangled with Timothée. His right arm slung over my back as I slept on my stomach. Our legs were overlapping and knotted together. His face was close to mine and as he slept his breath blew several ringlets out of his face only for them to fall right back into place. He was so beautiful it nearly hurt to look at him.

I bit my lip thinking of the night before. After we'd reached our peaks, the moment had become a bit awkward. My hands had been nearly twitching with the desire to hold him close to me, to run my hands through his hair, but instead I jumped out of the bed, cleaning myself off and pulling on a top and underclothes. By the time I got back Timothée was fast asleep. I nearly felt like crying when I saw he had turned away and was lightly snoring. I was the one who had pushed the just friends narrative and now I was being hypocritical. I had climbed into the bed, worrying I would just spend the whole night staring at the ceiling, my body tingling, but eventually my heavy eyes had closed and I had dozed off.

Now, with the slightly brighter Fairy Lights shining on his skin, I could hardly breathe as I looked at him. It had been so dark the night before I had barely been able to appreciate his form. He was all exquisite angles and porcelain skin, and adorable freckles and chocolate curls and pink lips. My heart felt like it was swelling beyond what I could bear. Finally, I dared to move, gently raising a hand and gently pushing a ringlet away from his eyes. He didn't wake but he leaned into my touch as if he could tell, even in his sleep, that I was there.

"I love you."

I slapped a hand over my mouth. I had NOT meant to say that! Could it be true? I must be, I hadn't even tried to say it.

My hand was still covering my mouth but now it was dampening from something. I was crying. Salty tears were trickling through the spaces in my fingers to my lips. I loved him, that was what I'd been avoiding all this time. I didn't want to admit how much I loved him and how badly it would hurt if he had truly double crossed and abandoned me. This wasn't a friendly love either. It was disgustingly romantic, and loving, and fiercely protective, and even joyous, even in this place.

It was as if a damn had broken in my mind, things I'd been ignoring, and fighting, and pressing down, down, they were bubbling up and spilling over into every corner of my thoughts. I was dancing with Timothée, my head on his chest, his arms clinging to me. I was kissing Timothée so hard it would bruise, but neither of us cared. I was crying on his shoulder, and he was running his fingers through my hair. I was holding him close, rubbing his shoulders as he wept. We were rolling around on a bed, we were riding horses, we were singing. I saw him playing piano. I saw me carefully brushing his curls. I saw him beaming at me every morning. I saw him in wedding clothes. I saw him holding a small baby, his smile so wide it might've split his face.

I began to breathe heavily. The burst of pictures in my mind was overwhelming me. I wanted it, I wanted it all so bad I literally felt as if I were dying. My body was aching and all I wanted was him, him, him, forever and ever. My breathing turned more labored and soon I was hyperventilating. What had I done? I had abused him for so long over a misunderstanding? Then I had said friends. Friends? I could no more be just his friend than the sun could stop rising. I had never felt this depth of need and desire.

I was hyperventilating, and the sound caused Timothée to stir in his sleep. His eyelids began to flutter.

"Are you okay?" He asked me, hands going to the sides of my face. I was searching his eyes as he looked at me, and their lovely shade of green.

"I lo-"

My confession was cut off by a loud noise. Guards clattered into the room, ready to take us to the final task. I couldn't believe they'd come now of all times. I wanted to scream and rip my hair out at the injustice. We could die today and I'd never get to tell him how I felt, how I realized I'd felt for a long time.