Page 7 of The Fractured

The words came like a punch to my own heart.

Lily frowned at herself. “But I’m confused because I know I should be grateful I didn’t die. I should be happy I’m here. With you. And for a little while after the hospital, I was… But then I see myself, and I wonder why you’re still here.”

I frowned this time as my chest squeezed. “Where else would I be?”

“Anywhere else but with someone who’s been nothing but a shell these past couple of months?... I see the way you look at me, like you’re worried I’m going to break, and it makes me wonder why you’d bother staying.”

“I offered to be here, remember? I wanna be here.”

“Are you sure, though? I don’t think you’ve had a good enough look at the scars on my skin to say that. I’m not exactly desirable anymore.” She sighed and dropped her face to her hands. “That sounded different in my head.”

“Lily.”

She looked up, chewing the inside of her cheek.

“What part of me sayin’ I love you did you not get?” I carefully reached for her face, and for the first time in a while, she let me touch her, pressing her cheek into my palm. “That includes scars and your overthinkin’ brain. I’m not going anywhere.”

I shouldn’t have said it, but it had slipped out before the thoughts of prison reminded me how much time I had left with her. Sure, there were visiting hours, but that wasn’t the same as being with her like this. Just the two of us in the quiet. I also didn’t like the idea of her going through metal detectors and body searches only to sit in some seedy visitor’s room waiting for me to be led out of a cell.

Lily smiled briefly, despite the sadness in her eyes, and then slowly moved closer.

Her lips were inches from mine, but she paused, looking over my face before gently brushing a strand of my hair away from my forehead.

“I don’t deserve you,” she whispered.

“Yeah, you do.”

My heart backflipped when she brought her soft lips to mine, kissing me so tenderly and slowly. Each kiss was hesitant, but grew hungrier as she melted — her walls were slowly coming down. Without really thinking, my hand drifted to her waist,jostling her shirt enough for my fingertips to skim across her scar.

She tensed, and I quickly removed my hand.

“Sorry—”

“No, it’s okay.” There was a faint spark of urgency in her eyes. “It’s strange being touched there. I half expect it to explode with pain whenever it’s bumped.”

“Is there pain?” I glanced at her side and then searched her face. Still so close to my own, I could kiss her again.

“No pain.” She shook her head. “Just butterflies.Lotsof butterflies.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m nervous. But in a good way.”

I was lost for a second, thinking the nerves were from communicating how she felt, until I paid attention to the look she was giving me. I missed that look — the silent invitation within it.

“It’s only been a month and a half since the accident,” was the first coherent thing to leave my mouth. It was a better choice of words than the,fuck it, let's go,that raced through my head.

“I know.”

“And you’re okay with it? Just a second ago, you weren’t exactly—”

“That month and a half has been too long...” Her hands drifted to the hem of her shirt. But then she hesitated. “There is something I should mention… I haven’t really shaved since leaving the hospital.”

I shook my head. “Not an issue. Ever.”

She smiled a little again and returned to lifting her shirt, inhaling as if preparing to step from her comfort zone.

“Wait.” I needed to apply logic and not let my dick ignore any potential warning signs — any tells that might say she wasn’t fine. “This is what you want?”