The Hurt Game

❧ twenty

A soft breath hit the back of my head in a steady yet slow rhythm. Something solid yet soft pressed against my back, with every inhale and exhale it pushed firmer and lighter against me―a chest. An arm was wrapped around my waist. The hand rested half on top of mine, a couple of fingers loosely intertwined. My right leg tangled with two other legs, the touch of skin on skin provided enough warmth and a sense of safety.

My eyes fluttered opened and I saw an unfamiliar wardrobe. My eyebrows frowned a little before I looked down at the arm holding me, trapping me in the position I was currently in. My eyes travelled to the tattooed hand that covered my own partly. It was warm, comforting.

My stomach tingled. A smile tugged at the corners of my lips and I lifted my head a tiny bit, glancing over my shoulder to see Royden still fast asleep. He looked peaceful, the most peaceful I had ever seen him in.

As quietly as I could, I turned onto my back. My hand wiggled free from his and rested on my stomach. He moved a little, his hand twitching and he scooted closer to me. His forehead was now on my shoulder.

The cut on his cheekbone, in the light of the sun that peeked through the curtains, was more visible than last night. The natural light casted a whole different sight and my stomach churned at it.

It was red, slightly swollen. It was obvious someone had tried to clean it, but the person had done a poor job―or the person simply didn't care enough. I prayed that wouldn't have been the case. Royden deserved nothing more than proper care. He deserved to be looked after.

Royden moved in his sleep once more. His arm tensed around my waist and his hand twisted, dragged itself across the mattress until it found my hip. His lips, gentle yet slightly chapped, caressed my shoulder and my whole body tensed. I only now realized, with his lips on my skin, the shirt had slid down from my shoulder.

Slowly and carefully I slid away from him and out of his bed. I adjusted the shirt on me, dressed myself in my leggings and went to the bathroom to relieve myself in the toilet. I ran a hand across my face and through my hair. It was even more tangled than this morning.

When I walked back in the bedroom, Royden's body was sprawled on the bed, on his front. His face nuzzled in the pillow and turned away from me, and his arms were wrapped around it. The blankets were at his hips and his whole, naked back was on the display. A red, angry looking mark lined his waist and I winced a little.

Deciding to let him sleep a little longer, I walked out of the bedroom, closing the door silently. As I walked into the kitchen, my eyes found the time on the oven. They widened with shock.

12.14 PM.

We slept for another three hours and more. I had never slept till this time, not even when I went to bed late or was exhausted. How could I have slept much longer than usual?

I exhaled through my nose noisily. I rummaged through the cupboards, grabbing two large mugs and placing them underneath the coffee machine. I turned the machine on and let it do its work.

While I waited silently, my stomach growling with protest of the lack of food, sounds came from the bedroom. Royden must have woken up. My stomach erupted with another set of tingles and I turned towards the machine, watching the mugs be filled with coffee.

As the mugs were almost full, Royden entered the living room. He was wearing a black t-shirt and instead of shorts, he was wearing grey sweatpants. My heart skipped a beat. He was gorgeous, absolutely, undeniably gorgeous.

My eyes trailed over his muscular arms. The short sleeves were strained around his biceps, making them seem to be larger. His tattoos were works of art, forever there inked in his skin. Whenever his arm moved, some of the images seemed to come alive before they fell silent. He was a work of art.