Bend and Break(poly)(bxb)

Seven's Break

I don't know if I can love more than one person.

It's eight am and the sun is already high in a clouded sky. Spring rain falling with the sunlight. I can hear it, I can feel it on my skin. The warmth and dewiness through a cracked window I forgot to close.

This is how I failed with Von. This is how I fell more in love with him.

It started at night. He would hold me at night. He would pretend I wasn't in love with him, and I would pretend I could make him love me back.

But this is so different. To be loved is so different. To have someone come to me instead of going to them–

My throat is dry, but I can't will myself to get up.

"I know you're awake," Romero says. He puts his fingers in my hair and tugs lightly.

I definitely can't get up now. I definitely can't pull away from a scent that's thick like syrup then just as sticky and succulent. I can't get away from arms that wrap around me so tight and heavy, so warm and unrelenting. Like he'll never let me free.

"Your breathing changes," Romero mumbles. He can't have been awake for more than thirty minutes.

I squint up at him before my eyes blow wide at the sight. At the feeling of my hair being pulled again. This time enough for me to make a sound. There's barely any sunlight through the clouds now, but somehow, his skin is glowing with all that we have.

He's always been...

Gorgeous.

He walks into a room, 6'5 and herculean. Heat radiates off of his skin in little sparks of electricity, ready to flare up at anyone who gets too close. Powerfully built and with all of the warmth of temptation. Once you notice the lightning in his hair, the rippling of his abs, the thunder in his laugh, you can't un-notice it.

And you realize you're stuck in this hot lightning storm that's so painless you don't even realize all of the energy he's giving you.

"You're so weird," I sigh finally. My eyes close on their own, but I'm too scared to fall back asleep. "How was I? I know you were watching me."

"You slept fine," Romero says. He goes to sleep after me but wakes up before me. His hands are moving heavy and warm on my body. They're on my waist, but I want them on my hips– I can't let him distract me.

"Don't lie. I'm trying to remember something."

I'm trying to remember faces or names. I can't let myself forget. I don't care if they're TLs or goddamn police officers. I'm killing everyone who I even think was involved with my bare hands.

"You were stirring a bit in your sleep." Now he's moving his hands lower. "Shaking, gasping, and you kept mumbling something..."

"I'm next," I say dryly.

"Cleo is dead. It was sudden, but he's dead."

I know he's dead. But, his words are still alive. They're floating in the air above me, ready to sink down and puncture my skin. One thing I remember about Cleo is that he always, no matter what, held his word.

"I'll be back to check on you, Sweet." And he'd come back, not even a day later. Dressing any wounds I received, addressing any questions I had, vaguely.

He'd wring out a wet cloth. Hot water, blood, and whatever else running over his thin fingers. Then he'd press it wherever I needed it. Maybe to my swollen lips or bruised back. There's a thick white cloud over my memories of that time. But I still remember them.

Cleo liked me because I was pretty like a girl, because I had this natural scent that didn't go away even after a week of people clawing at me.

"You're going to fix everything, Sweet."