Scars on top of scars, some old, some new. Painful red marks everywhere, fresh ones too, and they look like brandings. Like they were made with fire.
When I touch one of the redder ones, he hisses and arches his back.
“Did you do this?” I murmur.
He groans. “I never wanted you to see it.”
I shake my head. So this is why he never let me touch his back. Why he would hide in shirts and never go fully naked in front of me.
I lower my eyes to look into his, hiding behind a curtain of hair. “Is this how you punished yourself?” I ask, trying to be as gentle as I can.
He averts his eyes and nods. “It’s how we repent for the sins we commit by hurting others for theirs.” He swallows. “And I’ve earned each one of them.”
My hand reaches over to his back again. And he looks up, his eyes filled with pain. “It reminds us that we are all sinners and that we will all face the same fate.”
The same fate. Death.
Everything that happened has all led up to this moment. And I can’t help but feel in awe of the raw power this pain exudes, even if it’s gnarly. Each one of these painful scars hides a story. He applied the pain to make sure that he would feel the same pain as the sinners did.
If that isn’t devotion … I don’t know what is.
I touch his naked skin, which still glows red from the fresh wounds. The freshest of them all causing the most anguish. “Did you do this because of me?”
He nods, and the hurt in his eyes undoes me.
No wonder he hated being in my room with me. Every second of every punishment he applied, he gave back to himself again and again until his skin was full of scars and he had nothing left to give.
Except his life.
I lick my lips at the sight of him, wishing I could mend all of the scars and make them disappear.
He doesn’t deserve to hurt for trying to make the world a better place.
He turns and grabs my hand to stop me from touching him further. “Do you hate me now? I have the scars of a monster.”
A compassionate smile forms on my face. “It only makes me love you more.”
His face darkens. “Don’t say that. Don’t—”
I press my lips to his, unable to stop myself. I cannot let him do this to himself. He needs to see that I mean it. That I’m serious about this.
“How can you say that after everything that’s happened?” he murmurs between kisses.
“It isn’t illegal to change your mind,” I reply, wrapping my arms around his neck. “And I have. If only I’d known sooner. Maybe I could’ve spared you all this pain.”
He cups my face with his hand, and I lean into it, desperate for more. “I needed this pain to remind me what was truly the most important thing in the world to me: You. And I would rather die than see you hurt.”
“But I need you to care just as much about yourself,” I say. “Please.”
Our foreheads lean against each other as I gaze affectionately into his eyes. For the first time since he took me, it doesn’t feel like we are forlorn lovers or captor and captive. In his arms, I feel safe and wanted, like a lover whose heart has finally been set free.
He leans in, our lips hovering close to each other, wind gushing between us. Our legs are entwined, my hands around his neck, his around my waist. And as I close my eyes, his mouth covers mine in a sweet embrace.
We kiss for what seems like all eternity, and I honestly don’t want it to stop. I let him envelop me with love, just as I want to shower him in mine. I don’t want to lose him. Even when I told myself I wanted nothing more … it was all a lie to protect my wounded heart.
But he stitched it back together with the wire that kept his own heart sewn together, causing it to shatter into a million little pieces. But I will fix the seam and pull him back together again.
So I kiss him back with fervor, each kiss deeper than the one before, showing my love for him. Just like our arms, our hearts are coiled together in a wicked dance, and I don’t ever want it to stop.
I need him closer, deeper, endlessly, until we both perish together.
I don’t want to grow old alone and unhappy.
I want him by my side forever.
And if I can’t have that, then I want nothing else.
“Please,” I murmur every time his lips part from mine.
“Please … what?” he whispers, his lips raw and red from kissing me.
“Please … more.”
I can feel him smile against me. And he leans in further, pushing me down to the cold stone tiles of this balcony that I’ve never been to before this day. He picked such a beautiful, serene place to die. No wonder he kept this place hidden from me. It would have made me cry.