Sparrow

46

Take the mask off
When you speak to me

•

He looked too peaceful sleeping. His shallow breathing filling the silent room, as the plane hovers silently in the night. Buzzing and bumping every so often.

With my small hand placed lightly on his chest, as I let my hair fall down his broad shoulder and the corner of my lips rest softly in the crook of his neck.

His arm stretched out under me, his hand gripping the small of my back so tight, scared I'll disappear from him again. His hands were so much bigger than mine, and I was so small compared to him.

Smaller then I had ever truly realized.

But I have lived in his world of big men and big guns, and much more—how? I should ask myself one time

I had woken long ago, my dreams haunted by darkness and things I didn't want to relive ever again. Though I woke up with my body pressed up against his still, his arms encircling me In protection, and those dark things didn't bother me anymore. Because he was here, and he came for me.

hours have passed now and I could have moved or shifted, I could wake him up and we could talk more but he was exhausted so I let him sleep. Both his mind and his body needed rest, though he would never have had taken it if I had given it.

He was such a dangerous man, I knew that. He was feared and hated, respected and bowed to. He was worse then hell if he wanted to be. But it looks like he hasn't rested a single day since I've left, he looks thinner, darker, and more hollow than before.

His breathing was shallow, and I counted every rise his chest made. I counted until I lost track and kissed his neck instead.

I was selfish when I went over the edge. Not even realizing all that he needed me for. All I needed him for.

I was ready to die, the rain had chilled me to the point where death didn't even seem that cold anymore.

But I heard him yell my name, right before I closed my eyes. I heard him yell my name into the cars fire. And I fucking wanted to yell his name back, and then suddenly I wasn't okay with dying anymore.

His shirt rode up slightly as he laid on his back, and I let my hand creep up and under it. His skin was hot to the touch, and my hand rested on the ridges of his ribs, over the scar from the knife his dad had stabbed him with when he was a kid.

His body shifted, ever so slightly. His hand digging harder into my back, as his chest tightened. like he had forgotten I was close to him, before he shot out in a seated position and flings the covers from himself. "Serina?" He called out to me, looking at the darkness, his voice deep from sleep.

"I'm here." I say quietly, as I reach my hand to his forearm and his eyes shoots to me and they are so wild, and he lets out a breath and falls down onto the bed, his hands reaching out to pull me up and into his body again. He turns his head and breaths into my hair, before letting out an exhale that I hope will release whatever is pent up inside him. His voice his loe but I still hear him "How long was I out?" He asks me, his words husky and toned. And fuck he sounded hot.

I traced the scar on his ribs, as I said "a while." I whispered "you sleep so peacefully, did you know that."

He swallowed and brought his hand up to my hair and kissed my forehead. "Nothing about me is peaceful we both know that." He said, and then suddenly he was on top of me.