Page 127 of Worse Fates

Love our Lucero, who now belongs to you as wholly as he ever did to me. Love him without shame—loudly. Stomp your foot and tell the world, with all the disrespect you can muster, that this man, and you, deserve to be loved.

Because, simply and whole-heartidly, it’s true.

Yours, once his,

Samuel Rees.

In the quiet of the wardrobe, huddled in a nest of Lucero’s clothes, I press the letter to my chest.

In my mind Lucero’s soulmates were perfect images of men I could never live up to. But they’re people, fucked up as the rest of us.

“I promise,” I say to the letter. To Samuel, Tristan, Francisco, Lucero and myself. “I promise.”

Then I go to the shoebox I’ve got tucked behind my clothes and open it. Inside is the brooch I stole that started this whole thing, the empty jam jar I used to write my mirror message, before escaping out the window. A small pile of petals from the first flowers I ever got Lucero.

And now this letter, which I safely tuck inside before slotting the lid back on.

Loving is scary. But…so is not loving.

Deciding not to change again, I go back to my soulmate in just his shirt that falls to my knees. His eyes land on me, and he smiles.

I’ll share the letter with him later.

For now I gotta live as loudly as I can. So I climb on top of him grinning, this will definitely be fun. And not awkward at all.

…Alright, maybe a little awkward.

But that’s fine.

“Okay, so…”

He waits, patiently.

“Okay,” I repeat.

After a beat, I go towards the drawer with all the lube, not breaking our eye contact like Lucero does with smooth accuracy.

Too bad I miss.

I gasp, tipping sideways and about to faceplant when Lucero, laughing, catches me and pulls me back up.

Chuckling with him, I drop my face into his chest. “I’m messing up this whole topping thing.”

“You’re doing perfectly,” he says with complete honesty, then reaches for the drawer and, gaze locked, pulls out lube.

Fuck sakes, how is he that suave? I bet he practices when I’m not around.

“Either you're a great liar, or delusional.”

“Both?” He offers up. “And you know, beautiful, there are more ways than one to top. Let me show you…”

Soon, he has me panting, my fingers tangled in his hair as his lubed digits stretch my hole.

“Are you ready to top me, Golden?” he whispers in my ear, his blunt dickhead hot and pressing against my hole. The shirt I’m wearing slipped down my shoulders.

I nod. “Yes, so ready.”

He nips my jaw. “That isn’t how you ask for things you want.”