Black Romance - 47 Nine

Salt

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I watched her as shelaid her hand across her chest, her breathing erratic and unhinged as stars twinkled in her eyes.

She was beautiful. In every way. From the color of her hair to the tips of her toes, Jessie was like a bright light, slowly being drowned to silence her beauty. Every scar, every bruise, every cut, each one had a story.

A story I wished she didn’t have, memories I wished she never had to relive inside her head.

You really are too beautiful.

Resting my head in my hand, I looked down on her. “Tell me about yourself. How long have you been with him?”

“You don’t really want to hear my life story.” Her eyes fluttered up to mine, flicking back and forth as the question seemed to press on her chest. Inhaling a sharp breath, she held on to it for a moment before giving me a vague answer. “Too long.”

“No, really, I want to know. Exactly how long?”

I wasn’t sure why, but I needed a real answer. I wanted the truth. I wanted to know all her secrets, all her pain, everything she had to endure that brought her to this point. And then I wanted to strip them from her, leaving her bare and weightless, new from the inside out.

You’ll never fix her.

Rolling onto her side, she tucked her hands under her head and pulled her knees up, snuggling into the blanket. “What does it matter? Any time with that man is too long.”

“Why haven’t you run?”

Glancing down at the light colored scars on her shoulder, she ran her hand across them. A feigned smile spread across her face as she softly touched the curve of her shoulder.

I had my answer.

“Those aren’t scars, they’re your strength.”

Blinking, her lashes fanned across her eyes like canopies as her lips parted like she wanted to scrutinize my comment. Her tongue came out, slowly licking her bottom lip. “I wish I could see it that way, all I see are reminders of a stolen life.”

Reaching my hand out, I stroked her arm, tracing the lines. “Every scar is a moment you found your own will to keep going. You could have given up, but you didn’t. That says more to me about who you are than any words you could use.”

A slight smile teased the corner of her lip as she looked down at the healed wounds. Her voice was lost, replaced by a tender touch as she rested her hand on mine and squeezed. Her smile broadened, and that smile, fuck that smile could drop any man to his knees.

“That’s the smile I’ve been waiting for.”

Dipping her chin into her chest, she moved her gaze around my face. “You said not to do it unless I meant it.”

Brushing my thumb across the soft curve of her jaw, the world around us became less and less vicious. We were both built and molded to only know chaos. Anything outside the boundaries of carnage would be out of reach.

We shouldn’t know happiness, because it would destroy our version of normal.

We shouldn’t know pleasure, because it would extinguish our need to feel misery.

It was a level of self destruction that we both hated and craved without truly realizing it. Because it was all we ever knew.

“You don’t have an accent.”

“That’s because I’m not from here.”

“You’re from the U.S.” Brushing my hand down the outside of her arm, I tickled the tips of my fingers against her soft skin. Jessie nodded as her thoughts clouded her mind. “How did you end up here?”

“How?” she asked, letting out a light laugh. “It was a giant ball of fucked up that got me here.”

Arching a brow, I wanted more. “Where you traveling? Did he steal you off the street?” Every question held meaning. And every answer she gifted gave me more reason to keep her.

You can’t keep her. You’re giving her more than anyone else ever will right now.

It’s all you can do for her, you know that.

“I was nine when he took me and eighteen when he brought me here.”

“Nine?” The number shot out on hard air as the shock must have been written all over my face. Flinching at the pitch in my voice, she seemed to shrink in size, folding up into herself.