Read Online Between Black and Sunshine by Haven Francis - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Haven Francis
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brain. “Just rip it off like a bandage,” I tell him.
“Give me a damn minute,” he sputters through clenched teeth, the anger very clear in his words.
“Don’t torture yourself. You’ve seen it. Now let me get dressed.”
“Shh,” he hisses.
“Ugh,” I mutter, but stand with my arms stretched into the air. When he has it up to my shoulder blades I bend my arms back until I can reach it and pull it over my head. “Are you getting all of this? Can I put my shirt on now?” I don’t wait for him to answer, I turn around and show him my front side. My untarnished side. “I wish you were as interested in these as you are in my damn back,” I tell him.
He’s shaking again, just like he was in the car. His hands and arms are vibrating with his anger. His jaw is set tight and I can see his teeth pushed together through his parted lips. His eyes don’t see me, he’s focused on nothing. The deep blue of his irises is being overtaken by his black pupils. Damn it . I shouldn’t have let him see me. I knew this would happen. It will prove that he has the ability to get violent and that he’s no good for me. Shit.
I have to pull him out of this. He needs to feel me with him. I push up his t-shirt and lay my naked chest on his rib cage. I slide my hands inside his shirt and over his shoulders. I lay my head on him. “I’m okay, Luca,” I whisper over and over until I feel his hands gently lay themselves on my lower back. They are still shaking so I continue to whisper into his flesh until they stop. His head bends to cover mine and I am now safely cocooned inside of him.
Time passes as we stand like this, until he comes back to me. He holds me at arm’s length, looking so deep into my eyes, like he does sometimes, that it makes me uncomfortable; like he can see my every thought.
“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” I whisper.
His lips tremble but he whispers, “Okay.”
“I just want to lay next to you, I just want to feel you beside me.”
He lets go of half of me to reach over and pull back the blankets. He lays me down in the bed and it feels so good. It’s soft and it smells like him. Like his body. He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls his shirt off over his head and I stare at his beautiful body. His beautiful skin is covered with more tattoos now.
I look at the ones I remember: the dove on his ribcage, the bars over his heart that are there as a reminder to keep people out, the stem of the lotus that wraps around them and snakes up his chest, blooming over his neck. I’m tempted to ask him about the new art on his body but I’m guessing they are all abstract reminders of me. And are all there to remind him to stay away.
I run my hands over his strong arms, over each beautifully defined muscle. My fingers trail over his then to his lower abdomen. I trace over his muscles, digging my thumb into each one. My fingers spread over his chest, which is almost completely covered with ink.
Lost in his body, I hardly notice when his hand makes its way from my arm to my collar bone. He traces it lightly, sending shivers through my body. His finger makes a trail between my breasts. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers.
I look up at him and smile. The pity is gone from his eyes now, replaced by appreciation… wonder. This is the look I like best on him.
His palm splays out over my stomach, covering me completely. He runs his hands up my ribs then he pauses. “What is this?” He asks me, noticing my new tattoo for the first time.
“Us,” I say.
“You draw it?”
“Yeah.”
“Is he watching over us?” He asks about Jonah, the dove.
“Yes.”
“Why are you looking at me and I’m looking out. Not at you. Not at Jonah?”
“You’re waiting, for whatever you wait for. To tell you it’s okay. You tell me what you’re looking at?”
He smiles a crooked smile, and lets out a sad laugh. “Fate, destiny, the inevitable,” he suggests.
Same vague answer as always, but
“Give me a damn minute,” he sputters through clenched teeth, the anger very clear in his words.
“Don’t torture yourself. You’ve seen it. Now let me get dressed.”
“Shh,” he hisses.
“Ugh,” I mutter, but stand with my arms stretched into the air. When he has it up to my shoulder blades I bend my arms back until I can reach it and pull it over my head. “Are you getting all of this? Can I put my shirt on now?” I don’t wait for him to answer, I turn around and show him my front side. My untarnished side. “I wish you were as interested in these as you are in my damn back,” I tell him.
He’s shaking again, just like he was in the car. His hands and arms are vibrating with his anger. His jaw is set tight and I can see his teeth pushed together through his parted lips. His eyes don’t see me, he’s focused on nothing. The deep blue of his irises is being overtaken by his black pupils. Damn it . I shouldn’t have let him see me. I knew this would happen. It will prove that he has the ability to get violent and that he’s no good for me. Shit.
I have to pull him out of this. He needs to feel me with him. I push up his t-shirt and lay my naked chest on his rib cage. I slide my hands inside his shirt and over his shoulders. I lay my head on him. “I’m okay, Luca,” I whisper over and over until I feel his hands gently lay themselves on my lower back. They are still shaking so I continue to whisper into his flesh until they stop. His head bends to cover mine and I am now safely cocooned inside of him.
Time passes as we stand like this, until he comes back to me. He holds me at arm’s length, looking so deep into my eyes, like he does sometimes, that it makes me uncomfortable; like he can see my every thought.
“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” I whisper.
His lips tremble but he whispers, “Okay.”
“I just want to lay next to you, I just want to feel you beside me.”
He lets go of half of me to reach over and pull back the blankets. He lays me down in the bed and it feels so good. It’s soft and it smells like him. Like his body. He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls his shirt off over his head and I stare at his beautiful body. His beautiful skin is covered with more tattoos now.
I look at the ones I remember: the dove on his ribcage, the bars over his heart that are there as a reminder to keep people out, the stem of the lotus that wraps around them and snakes up his chest, blooming over his neck. I’m tempted to ask him about the new art on his body but I’m guessing they are all abstract reminders of me. And are all there to remind him to stay away.
I run my hands over his strong arms, over each beautifully defined muscle. My fingers trail over his then to his lower abdomen. I trace over his muscles, digging my thumb into each one. My fingers spread over his chest, which is almost completely covered with ink.
Lost in his body, I hardly notice when his hand makes its way from my arm to my collar bone. He traces it lightly, sending shivers through my body. His finger makes a trail between my breasts. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers.
I look up at him and smile. The pity is gone from his eyes now, replaced by appreciation… wonder. This is the look I like best on him.
His palm splays out over my stomach, covering me completely. He runs his hands up my ribs then he pauses. “What is this?” He asks me, noticing my new tattoo for the first time.
“Us,” I say.
“You draw it?”
“Yeah.”
“Is he watching over us?” He asks about Jonah, the dove.
“Yes.”
“Why are you looking at me and I’m looking out. Not at you. Not at Jonah?”
“You’re waiting, for whatever you wait for. To tell you it’s okay. You tell me what you’re looking at?”
He smiles a crooked smile, and lets out a sad laugh. “Fate, destiny, the inevitable,” he suggests.
Same vague answer as always, but
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