Carved in Her Bones

now-Rhian

It felt too naive to call what I felt for him love—it was something deeper, something beyond words. Being with him was effortless, like breathing. But being apart? That was drowning, an unbearable, overwhelming panic.

And now, here he was, right next to me, looking so peaceful in sleep. I couldn't help but stare, mesmerized by how beautiful he looked.

"You're staring, baby. It's creepy," he murmured, his voice laced with sleep as he slowly opened his eyes and gave me a lazy smile.

"I have questions. Lots of questions," I said without hesitation.

He sat up, leaning against the headboard, facing me. "What kind of questions would you ask me at five in the morning, beautiful?"

"Wait, I need to grab my book." I jumped out of bed, running down to the study to get my journal. There was a rush of excitement—I wanted to ask him everything I'd been wondering about.

He chuckled as I settled back in, journal and pen in hand. "Alright, fire away."

"How many women have you been with?" I blurted out, getting straight to the point.

He shrugged. "I don't know. I never counted. But not a lot."

"How many serious relationships?"

"Just the one."

"Tell me about her."

"Rhian. You. The one." His voice was sincere, and I couldn't help but smile.

"Okay, what about food? What do you like?"

"Anything you make."

"Cop-out answer," I teased.

"No, really. It's the truth."

"Books. What's your favorite?"

"I don't really have a favorite, but I loved The Lord of the Rings growing up. And The Merchant of Venice."

"Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice?"

"Yeah."

I smirked. "You're such a softie, Tomas. A big romantic."

"Don't laugh, but I also loved The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire."

I laughed anyway. "My grandpa used to read that to me to put me to sleep."

Tomas tilted his head, his expression softening. "Tell me about him."

"He was a big softie too, but he wasn't happy. Smoked too much, drank too much. He passed away when I was young."

"And your grandma?"

"She was lovely. Classy, elegant, opinionated. She had no problem letting people know what she thought. She passed two years ago."

He nodded. "I'm sorry."

Then, he surprised me. "What are you afraid of?"

I hesitated. "You've asked me that before, but my answer has changed. This. Us. It scares me."

"Why?" His voice was gentle, coaxing me to open up.

"Because I'm afraid this will be one of those intense relationships that burns bright for a few months and then disappears. I'm afraid that even if we break up for the right reasons, I won't be able to move on from you."