Page 26 of Lash

"But I do."

"Remember how I said I was an obsidian blade?"

I nod, moving my lips on his again, relishing the slip and stutter of my lips on his. "I do."

"There is nothing on earth as sharp as obsidian. Not even lasers. An obsidian blade can cut between the walls of cells themselves."

"Truly?" I ask.

“Yes, truly. But obsidian is also incredibly fragile. It can chip and shatter easily if handled incorrectly."

"Oh." I consider this. "You are fragile, then?"

He sighs. “Sometimes I think so. Other times I feel as unbreakable as diamond. The years and the awful things I have done have accumulated upon my soul like the layers of a pearl. Trauma upon trauma."

“The hardest of substances are also the most easily broken when struck at the correct angle." I brush my lips against his, nuzzling his mustache. "None of us are invincible, Lash. We all have pain. You do not need to bear yours alone."

He inhales a short, shuddering breath. Touches his forehead to mine. Lets it out through pursed lips. "Hope is a cruel thing, Tatiana."

"Without hope, what do we have?" I only belatedly realize that at some point we switched to Croatian. "Allow yourself hope, Lash. Reach for something that brings you joy."

A subtle shake of his head. "I do not know how. I have sheltered my secret heart within a prison of isolation for so long that…" he trails off, shaking his head again, sighing.

"That what?" I prompt.

"I have forgotten what it is to truly feel."

"I am in your arms, Lash. I choose this. Iwantthis. Ilikethis. I feel safe with you, and I have rarely felt safe. Being my father's daughter has meant I have a target on my back at all times, and I have my whole life. But when I am with you, I know I am safe. I know I am protected. That is howIfeel." I trail my fingersthrough his beard, from his earlobe and along his jawline. "How doyoufeel, right now?"

"It is hard to find the words."

I snort. "No, it isn't, Lash. I think you are just afraid of speaking them out loud."

"You demand much of me, Tatiana." He says this in English.

"By asking you to share your feelings? I am not asking you to share your deepest fears or secrets."

"You ask me to unearth my heart. I have buried it, Tatiana. I buried it with my wife. I buried it with my children."

I go still, barely daring to breathe. “Children?” It is a ghost of a question, a syllabic exhale.

"My deepest fears? My darkest secrets? They are deep indeed, and darker than the darkest shadows."

"You had a wife and children?" I ask.

"I did."

"They died?"

"They were murdered. By Roberto Pugli." He pronounces the last namePOOL-yee.

I cannot get any closer to him while we are both still clothed, but I try anyway, snugging my hips against his, draping my thigh over his, resting my torso on his.

"You don't need to tell me," I whisper. "I can tell that the pain is too great."

"My heart is buried in the earth with Ileana, Leonora, and Leander." I hear him swallow hard. "What remains in here…" he taps his chest over his physical heart, “is nothing but broken pieces, sharp edges, and vacant spaces."

"You are a poet, Lash. Did you know?"