For that dream to become our reality but how selfish would that be? Or would it? Am I letting my own fears, my own demons dictate Blackie’s future? On one hand I think it would be cruel of me to have a baby, knowing I could pass down the illness that runs in my family to my child and watch my baby suffer like I have. Then on the other hand it would be cruel to take that dream from Blackie especially when the man just started dreaming again.
It’s times like this, when I want to talk to my dad, when I wish things were different for us. If there was anyone who might understand my thoughts it would be my father, but he’s not ready for me to discuss babies with him. He barely can handle me living with Blackie.
Funny how even when I’m not silent—I am.
I walk into the empty room and lean against the wall furthest from the door, looking around the space. It would be the perfect room for a baby. I slide down the wall, bring my knees to my chest and rest the masks on top of them.
Happiness.
Sadness.
Would I ever find the middle ground?
I close my eyes and drop my head to my knees, deciding I was done with the torment for the day. All I want is to forget reality just for a little while.
I was too engrossed in my thoughts to hear the front door close, or the sound of Blackie’s boots pounding against the wooden steps, but the moment I hear him call for me I lift my head and stare up at my Leather.
“Lace,” he whispers, threading his fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his face as his eyes dart around the room before they gaze into mine. “What’re you doin’?”
I shrug my shoulders.
“Nothing,” I say. Advancing toward me, he crouches down in front of me and continues to stare at me, concern etched across his beautiful face.
“Everything okay?”
I glance down at the smiling mask and force myself to mimic the gesture. He diverts his eyes to the masks on my knees, gently reaching out to take them from me. I wanted to snatch them back, hang onto them like a child clutches a blanket for security but refrain from it.
He stares down at them for a moment before lifting his eyes back to mine. He places the masks on the floor beside him before reaching out and caressing my cheek with the back of his hand.
“Talk to me, girl,” he coaxes. “Did you forget to take your medicine today?
His question feels like a slap to the face and causes me to flinch. It wasn’t an accusation but a question of concern, yet it angered me he would even ask.
“Of course I took my medicine,” I snap. “They’re not magic pills, Blackie. I still have the ability to feel, just like every other human being.”
“Then tell me what your feeling because I’m not a mind reader, girl,” he replies, keeping his voice calm.
“I’m just sad is all,” I mutter. Frustration chomps at the words, making them sound edgier, meaner and more aggressive than I mean for them to be. If I don’t have a smile plastered to my face at any given time everyone automatically assumes I skipped my meds and unleashed the crazy.
“I’m allowed to be sad,” I argue.
“Of course you are but if you’re sad then you need to tell me why,” he demands. “Let me make it better for you,” he adds, softly.
I shake my head, wishing it was as easy as he made it.
“You can’t fix every part of me that’s broken no matter how much you want to,” I rasp, pushing off to stand. I go to walk away, meaning to put space between us until I gather control over myself because Blackie didn’t deserve my demons—not when he had his own threatening to avenge.
But he had a different plan. Closing his hand around my ankle he stops me in my tracks.
“Lace,” he rasps, demanding my attention. He rises, his hand traveling up my leg as he stands to his full height. “Don’t underestimate me,” he says gravely. “Give me your broken pieces and let me glue them back together.”
“You can’t,” I insist, my voice barely audible. “It’s not fair to you.”
He brings his hands to my face, bending his knees to make his eyes level with mine.
“I love you, Lace,” he says simply. “And all the broken pieces of you are the missing pieces of me.”
I understood those words better than anything because I owned the broken parts of him too, claimed them a long time ago when he gave me his fractured soul.
His gaze burns into me before giving me a slight nod as he lifts me into his arms. I surrender my pieces to him as I wrap my arms loosely around his neck and let him carry me out of the room of broken dreams.
He carries me into the bathroom, sets me down on top of the vanity before taking my face in his hands and pressing his lips gently against mine.
“Hold tight,” he murmurs against my mouth. Shedding his leather jacket and hanging it on the door knob he rolls up his sleeves and crouches down alongside the bath tub. He runs the water, sticks out his hand to test the temperature before he turns back to me.
“Get undressed,” he says softly, crossing his arms against his chest as he waits for me to follow his instructions. I grabbed the hem of my shirt, work it over my head and drop it to the counter, sliding off to stand up and shimmy my shorts down my legs.