I let out a whimper, trying not to cry as he cleaned the wound. Each pass stung like a motherfucker. Like sandpaper digging into my skin as it lit it on fire. In a motion I wasn’t expecting, he pressed his lips to my shoulder and when he pulled back, I saw for the first time an emotion I equated to love.
Reaching up, I lightly cupped his face and leaned down, pressing my lips to his.
No more signs of affection as he bandaged me up. One small glimpse was all I got, but it was enough.
Once done, we headed back into the room and as he stripped, I saw the beginnings of black and blue marks on his back. It had been a knock-down drag-out fight to the death and his battle scars, while painful, were proof of him being alive.
He turned to me, ripping the Velcro off and pulling the vest over my head. Once the bottom shirt was off, we both looked down at the red splotch on my breast, just above my heart.
He said nothing, but leaned down and kissed it as well, before guiding us to the bed.
“How are you feeling?” I asked as we climbed on.
He collapsed down on his back and turned to me. “I’ll be fine.” He held out his hand, beckoning me forward.
“You may have a concussion.”
He didn’t say anything, just grabbed my arm and pulled me down to him.
Slipping into the crook of his neck, I settled into my safe spot. With a sigh, I relaxed into him, my head on his chest, his arm wrapped around my shoulder.
The safest place I could ever be, wrapped in the arms of my killer.
Three days of healing had passed. Three days of nothing but the two of us.
When I awoke, the bed was cold beside me. Panic surged through me, and I sat straight up. My eyes swirled in confusion until I found Six’s brown eyes studying me.
He was dressed, fresh bandages on his wounds and a packed bag at his side.
“What’s going on?”
He slapped his hand down on another bag sitting on a table next to him. “This bag contains cash, a gun and ammo, keys to a Ford Taurus parked outside, and all the paperwork you’ll need to continue to live as Lacey Collins.”
“Six?” None of what he said made sense to my sleep addled brain.
“I have to go.”
I blinked at him. “Why?”
“Because it doesn’t end with Nine and One. They started a war between us and Home. I need to find Five and Seven and we need to end this, or we’ll be running forever.”
He stood and walked to the edge of the bed as I crawled over to it. I swung my arms around his shoulders pulling him tight, mashing our bodies as close together as I could. He indulged my need for affection, but his own need for it seeped out.
Six had become my world—what was I going to do? Where was I going to go?
He stepped back and picked up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. “Lay low somewhere and don’t try to contact anyone you knew, no matter what.”
I reached out, my fingers fisted into his shirt as I held in the begging wail that wanted to slip out. “But you haven’t killed me yet.”
He stared at me for a moment. “I’m not ready to let you go.”
“What does that mean?”
He gripped the back of my neck and pulled me forward with a harsh tug. “It means I finally figured out when I’m going to kill you.”
I froze. His tone was lighter, but the words were what they’d been all along. “When’s that?”
“I’m going to consume you. Slowly. Over years and years, just as you’ve consumed me.” His lips crashed against mine, tongue forcing its way in. Passion and need, taking just as he always did.
Then he was gone, the door slamming behind him, leaving me bewildered. I guessed that was as close to “I love you” as he could give me. Maybe one day I’d hear it, though.
One day.
I stared at the door, a sense of loneliness and confusion coming over me.
What now?
Never in my mind was there a life after Six plan. His departure was abrupt and left me reeling. My chest was suddenly filled with anxiety.
An hour later, I loaded my suitcase and the bag into the car and drove off. It was going to be a long drive, but as I packed up, there was only one place I could think of to go. A place where childhood memories could keep me company.
It was a start. My death had been postponed, and I had the chance at a new beginning.
A new life.
I wasn’t dying anymore.
It was time to live.
4 months later…
“Wow, Lacey, hungry?” Sue snickered above the small half wall that separated our cubes.
I looked up but continued to chomp away on my pretzels, giving a small shrug to my coworker. “Seems to be an hourly thing lately.”
She chuckled. “I remember those days.”
It was true. In the last few weeks my hunger had kicked in to overdrive. I’d gained five pounds in the last two weeks alone. The second trimester seemed to be making up for the lack of food I was able to consume during the first. If it didn’t slow down, I was going to end up a whale by the time the baby arrived.
The thought stopped me, the pretzels suddenly very unappealing. I tossed the bag onto my desk in disgust and frustration.
Six didn’t know.
I had no way to contact him and hadn’t seen or heard from him since he left.