Page 2 of A Sorrow of Truths
Silence. No looking at me. No talk about hunting the truth like he did at first. The game he offered seems stalled, as if he’s changed his mind about it. I don’t know why. Nothing’s changed that I can see or feel. I’m still me, and he’s still him, and the debauchery continues around us.
I gaze at him, taking in the black covering his skin and the bracelets around his wrists. “What are those for?”
“What?”
“The bracelets.” No answer. “Do they mean something? I wore a chain while Gray was here. Are they something similar?”
“No.”
I groan at the blatant display of annoyance with me about something and get up off the bed, walking to him. My robe gets pushed out of the way, as my legs drop around his hips, and I settle into some sort of fluency with him. I’m not sure how it’s happened, but we’ve become close since it’s only been me and him without Gray. Not sexual. Not really, anyway. Sexual is a bond I don’t have with him, but we’ve become familiar in a way that tunes me into him.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, turning his chin to me. He tugs it away from me and glares at the storm, his hands refusing to touch me. “Have I done something wrong?”
“No.”
“Then why are you being an ass?”
“I’m not.”
I chuckle quietly at that and lean my body onto him, tucking my head into his chest at his neck. He feels cold, as if he’s been outside in that storm. I can smell it on him. Frigid air and ridged body under me. Nothing like Gray’s, though. Flatter. Weaker in some ways I can’t process. Darker, too. Dark skin, darker hair. Comforting, though.
Familiar.
“I miss him,” I murmur.
A sigh comes out of him, his fingers slowly travelling to the small of my back. “I miss what he was to me. Nothing else is him, Malachi.” Another sigh, his hand spreading and rubbing slightly. “He’s still in here with me. In my mind, in my thoughts, inside me.” Those thoughts mingle with the bruises still on my skin, the aches still bedded into my heart. “And I want my answers. There aren’t any here and even if there were you wouldn’t tell me, would you? Should I go home?”
His chest heaves in another breath, as he grumbles something to himself about something only he could understand. I don’t care what it is. I would rather lay here on him, keeping him close even at arms-length, than go into the hoards and masses downstairs anymore. It’s become tedious. Lacking something. My fun has gone. It seems to have disappeared the moment Gray did, no matter the pills I took to try recreating the vibe. And now I’m alone and pining. It’s irritating.
Irrational even.
I snuggle my cheek in deeper and look out at the storm with him, eventually feeling his chin rest on the top of my head and his fingers gently trailing through my hair. Maybe this is what Faith gets out of him. Gentle touches. Patience. Tolerance. Love. My thighs squeeze him tightly. I want that again. I want someone to share it all with, relax with and snuggle on cold winter evenings. Alone and being bitch-filled is fatiguing without company.
“This isn’t going to work,” he mutters.
I rub my cheek again, letting the emotions swell inside me, and tap at his chest.
Tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap.
No thud under me like before, no ground to hold on to or beat that’s strong enough to cling to. My rhythm’s gone. Left. Dissolved into nothing but a chase I can’t chase down. Tears threaten. I can feel them building somewhere deep inside me. Not for Rick. Rick has become as dead and buried as he is, almost as forgotten as he needs to be, but Gray? Gray is alive and out there somewhere waiting for me to find his truths.
“This, Hannah,” he says, tapping my spine. “Is not who you need for your quest. Where’s the bitch gone?” She’s there, just dimmed of her sparkle for a while.
I sigh and lift my head, a soft kiss pressed to his cheek before I get off him and wander to the wardrobe. Dimmed of sparkle. Frustrating. No man should dim me of anything, and yet here I am waning and letting him control me from wherever he is, govern my thoughts.
My neck stretches around at the thought, eyes narrowing at the selection of clothes I’ve been gifted from someone. Lots of colour. Reds, blues, greens and purples. Sexy outfits. Dubious outfits. Rubber and leather ones, satin and lace ones. Dresses, all dresses. I sweep them all to the side. I want black. Nothing but black for Hannah the bitch.
I look down at the heels lined up, crystal embellishments on the heels or jewels decorating them, and pick out a pair of high black ones. The robe falls from my shoulders, exposing me to Malachi entirely, and I grab a tight fitting shorter one.
“Would you mind?” I ask, slipping into it and walking back to him.
He stands and looks me over, spinning his finger for me to turn. “Attractive.”
My spine shivers as he drags his finger over it, the feeling reminding me of someone else’s touch, and then I smile as gentle lips touch my shoulder. “I could just fuck him out of you,” he says. “Rid you of the bruises you still have and create new ones.”
I can feel the temptation of that bare down on me, but it won’t work. I know it. He probably does, too, because he isn’t the man I want bruises to come from. No thuds. No rhythm other than one he’ll force.
Still, I angle my neck a little, letting him drag his teeth slowly, and think about the possibility for a while as he does the buttons up on me.