luck for the night - rl.

50. kilting it.

I looked up at Remington, the man whose heart I had broken, the tiny sparkle of hope I could see igniting again in his eyes, my heart skipped a beat. I was exactly where I wanted to be, needed to be right now, but I still felt sad, and weak, and pained. And I knew he did too.

His eyes went over me, my face, my posture, and it was as if only now, he really saw me. His brows lowered, voice soft. "You look like shit."

My thumb went over a dark circle under his eye, "so do you."

"Well, what can I say? being broken does that to a person."

I sighed, fingertips going up and moving a piece of hair out of his face. "I know, and I'm so sorry I did." I took a deep breath, ignoring the fiery fear that burnt in my chest again. This was it, the moment when I finally told him the truth. "I-" I started, but right at that moment, someone knocked on the door.

"Stage in one, Remington!"

"Okay!" Remington replied, raising his voice ever so slightly, eyes not leaving mine. "Don't worry about that. Take your time."

So I did, taking another few deep breaths before I started talking. "I have this thing, I can't really explain it. Call it an obsession, call it superstition..." I paused, breath catching in my throat. Terror sparked in my chest, my brain, my whole body. "I don't know how to say this."

"Well then," Remington's voice was soft, "start at the beginning. Take however long you need. I'm here." Looking up into his eyes, I knew I did not deserve this kindness. Still, he gave it to me.

I slowly sucked in a breath and started again, all the way from the beginning. "I grew up poor. Parents skipping meals so I could eat kind of poor. Somewhere along the way, I made myself believe that..." I paused, looking away from Remington, into his dressing room, filled with clothes and food and makeup and random other items, "that luck was a finite thing. For years I believed that I only got one lucky moment a day. Some days it would be getting a good mark on a test, or finding a tenner on the street... Figuring out how to scam the slot machines out of money..." Now, I looked back at him, "Or the really attractive singer of the band at your best friend's work party coming up to you and giving you roses..." My cheeks turned a heated red.

"Or kissing him in an elevator?" Remington asked with a wink.

"It was before midnight, that's why I did not kiss you," I whispered in explanation, "and then when midnight passed, I believed I could do it. Had the luck to do it." I paused for a second, before the real truth slipped from my lips. "Somehow, I have always believed I don't deserve you. Or more, the luck of having you in my life."

"Oh baby..." he wrapped his arms around me, pressing me to his perfectly inked chest, warmth rushing into my heart. "You do. You absolutely do." I could not believe it was true, but all of the pain in my chest melted away. The icy stake, the guilt of lying. "And I'm sorry for what happened when you were young. Now that's something you didn't deserve."

"Don't be," I murmured, "I don't want your pity."

He pressed a gentle kiss against the top of my head, his lips lingering there, pulling me so tight against him that I could feel his heartbeat, his lungs filling and deflating.

"I lied too," he said after a short while. "When you woke up that morning, you asked me why I was awake, remember?" Slowly, his grip on me loosened, his fingers now wrapping around mine.

"It is difficult to sleep when you're this happy," I repeated his words from that fateful morning.

"I didn't sleep at all that night," now his eyes went down to our hands, confession rolling from his mouth, "In reality, I was up all night, holding onto you, hoping that you weren't like them. Praying that you weren't lying about your feelings. But I think that made me believe you were exactly like them." He smiled self-consciously, "So in a way, I also felt like I did not deserve you."