Read Online Sun Poisoned (The Sunshine Series) by Nikki Rae - Free Book Online

glow in the dark, illuminated only by the TV to the left of us. “Except for your wings,” he says softly.
    “ Yeah. Except for the wings, all of the other tattoos I have were legally obtained.”
    We both smile briefly before he looks again to the pumpkin, tracing the round shape over and over. I close my eyes, taking in how much I’m not afraid and I don’t pull away. His fingers trail up my arm a little, outlining the portrait of Frankenstein’s Monster I got for a Halloween present a year ago.
    “And this one?”
    I keep my eyes closed as I relay the story of how Jade showed up at my house and drove us to White Dragon, where Cookie tattooed the black and white likeness of the monster from the 1931 movie.
    “Oh.” He hesitates for a second, his hand not moving. “Do you have any others?”
    “ Besides my arms and back?” I open my eyes and see him. I pretend I'm thinking, but I don't have to. “Mmm. Nope.”
    “ None?” he asks teasingly, playing along with my I-have-so-many-tattoos-I-can't-keep-track-of-them joke. His hand resumes moving lightly around; his arm envelopes me in a hug so my head is against his chest.
    His head rests slightly behind mine as his arm moves around to my hip. His breath is on my neck. I can feel his eyelashes against my skin when he blinks. I never want to move again.
    “You don't have any more?” he whispers. His hand runs along my leg hesitantly, waiting for me to stop him. “You don't have any here?” His fingertips brush slowly over my knee and stop just as they reach the top of my thigh. He knows there aren’t any. He’s just being cute.
    “ No,” I say, trying to ignore how my heart has started pounding a little louder. “Well, I used to have one.” I blurt out.
    He stops moving. “Where?”
    Oh what the hell? Might as well make the most out of this comfortable mood. Before I can reason with myself, I shed the blanket just enough so my upper leg is showing. I feel stupid that I made such a big deal about being covered up only minutes ago, yet here I am, shedding the covers and showing him my thigh. The same thigh he's seen before, gushing blood in a bathtub on Halloween. That's where it used to be.
    “Here,” I say, pointing to a spot in between a map of white and pink lines—all the scars I've made.
    Myles glances down. “What was it?” He asks when his eyes are on mine again.
    “ It was a star. A little black star.” I take in a breath and decide to tell him the rest. “I did it myself when I was about fifteen. A sewing needle and ink from a ballpoint pen. It was stupid.”
    His hand moves around my arm, finally settling on top of my hand where it's safe. “What happened to it?”
    “ It kind of got lost.” My voice is quiet.
    His mouth twitches in a sad, understanding smile. “Why did you choose a star?”
    “ It was stupid,” I repeat, looking away from him and the mass of scar tissue that is my upper leg.
    Myles tilts my chin with his hand, but I don't move. He kisses my temple. “I want to know,” he says without sounding pushy.
    I let out a breath. “At the time, my cutting was really bad.” I brave an obviously glance at him before turning my attention to somewhere in the middle of the cotton covering the center of his chest. “It was sort of a reminder. Like a Post-It note or a little piece of string around my pinky.” I shrug.
    “ To remind you not to do it,” he infers.
    I nod. “It totally worked.” I smile because I don't want him to think I'm uncomfortable.
    Slowly, thinking maybe he shouldn't, Myles starts to move his hand again. His fingertips lightly graze the puffy lines, some white, some, mainly the one long gash from last fall, a pale pink. He moves his index finger up, down, to the left, to the right, and up again. Over and over, mapping out a star on top of a galaxy of memories, lines, strokes, cuts, and scars.
    I'm alright with this. I know what he's doing. Reminding me. Reminding me that people love me; that he loves