Touched by Death

by T. L. Martin

  “I-I-I—”

  “I said”—the chokehold tightens, Dylan’s reddening face the only giveaway—“do you understand?”

  “Y-yes,” he wheezes. “I under . . . stand.”

  The instant Dylan’s released, he’s grabbing at his throat with both hands, tripping over his feet to get to the door. I think I hear him mutter something like ‘frickin mollies’ as he ducks down the hall. I let out a breath, the relief at his absence instantaneous. After locking the door, I slowly turn to face the man whose mere presence has been sending heat waves across my skin.

  Chapter 35

  He’s still eying the closed door, his face a stone-hard mask, eyes deadly. His shoulders are tight like he’s braced to fight, and I know I need to snap him out of it somehow.

  “Hey . . .” There’s a slight tick of his jaw, but that’s it. I try again. “Look at me.”

  After a moment, he closes his eyes. His stance relaxes just barely, and he eventually turns to face me. All at once, the mask melts away. His brows crease together, the sea of green in his eyes softening to an almost pained expression. It’s a quiet look filled with unspoken thoughts, and it makes me take a step toward him. And another.

  “You came for me.”

  Body rigid, his gaze drops to my lips. It’s a quiet rasp when he says, “Of course I came for you.”

  God, just hearing that voice again, watching the way he looks at me as he speaks. I have the strangest desire to curl into his chest, wrap my arms around his neck, press my lips to his skin. I let out a breath, shaking the impulse away. “So that’s what it takes to get your attention these days? A psycho in my room?”

  I’m about to take another step closer when he swallows, shakes his head, steps back. “I’m not staying, Lou. I can’t stay.”

  “What?” I stop and frown. “Why? You just got here.”

  His lips press together. He looks away, closes his eyes again. “It’s good seeing you, Lou. Always is.”

  Then he turns so his back is to me, the ridges of his shoulders tensing as he rakes a hand through his hair, and he starts to fade. I’ve seen it so many times before. I’ve watched him leave, watched as he disappeared from my sight. From my grasp. Not this time.

  I don’t even think before I’m striding toward him. Just before he can vanish completely, I step into his space and grab his arm, my hand curling around the hard lines of his bicep. Something shifts around us, in the air, below our feet.

  “What are you doing?” he quietly growls. “You need to let go. Now.”

  “No. You don’t get to keep doing that, leaving whenever it suits you.”

  “Dammit, Lou—” There’s a rumble beneath me, and I feel my knees go out in a way they have only once before. “I’ve already stepped through. I can’t stop it.”

  “I . . .” I want to say something; I want to move, but I can’t. My muscles aren’t working properly, my throat is closing up.

  The world’s gone black and ice-cold quicker than I can blink, and I no longer know which way is up or down or in between. The warmth of his arm disappears, and that heavy feeling of abandonment consumes me—but it’s different this time. Because this time, my body is shutting down. I can feel it; a stillness in my very being. Nothing is circulating within me.

  My heart, it doesn’t beat.

  My veins are pure ice.

  In fact, everything within me feels as though it’s frozen. Yet there’s something else, too. Something hot I’ve never known before. An outer layer of fire dancing just beneath the surface of my skin. So thin it only teases the boundaries of my organs, never quite reaching them. The heat, I can feel so clearly the way it counteracts the ice inside me. The key to my survival. Like a machine made of invisible flames, it’s working every second I still breathe. The single thing that keeps me alive.

  If you can even call this living.

  My knees, they no longer wobble. A new, odd sort of strength fills me. One that tells me my bones are no longer jelly. They are now strong in this place. Yet still, I float. There’s no ground beneath me to land on, no wall to grab onto for leverage. Not another soul to reach out to. I simply exist. A frozen body floating through an endless desert.

  Darkness watches me from every angle. My only friend. From its own place within the silence, it speaks to me in a strange way. It whispers secrets in my ear, telling me this is where I’m meant to be. It’s so certain, not a trace of doubt. And I think . . . I think it may be right.

  “Lou . . .”

  I hear my name, and I want to cringe. Though the sound is gentle, a deep voice in the shadows, my eardrums react like it’s fingernails on a chalkboard.

  “Stay with me, Lou . . .”

  Shhh, I want to yell. Make it stop. My hands ball into tight fists.

  “Be strong . . .”

  It’s quieter now. Fading more into the distance, and it’s so much nicer this way. My fingers relax, unclenching. This is good. I need the quiet. Only quiet belongs in this void with me.

  Only shadows.

  Only silence.

  Something grabs onto my waist, and I gasp. A hand, it wraps around both sides of me. No! Do not disturb this place. Not when I’m meant to stay here. I wiggle away, trying to fight my way out of their grasp, but the hands only hold on tighter. Fear hits me like an electric shot, my eyes darting blindly around the darkness. I am not supposed to feel this way. I am not supposed to feel at all. Let me go!

  “Shhh.”

  It’s that voice again. It threatens me. Threatens to take me from this place. The only place I know. The only place I’ve ever known. I can’t go. I can’t go.

  “You’re okay, you’re okay.”

  I am not okay. You aren’t listening! I grab onto the large hands and squeeze, struggling to uncurl the fingers that grip me, but it’s useless. A strong arm snakes around my stomach until my back is pressed flat against a solid form. I squirm relentlessly against the tight embrace, refusing to leave the one place I know. Why aren’t I stronger? Why won’t it set me free?

  My body lurches backward as the arms around me pull, and I shake against them as I start to cry. Please, I’m not meant to leave. I need the darkness. Another lurch, another tug, and every inch of separation from this world hurts my soul. I don’t want the hurt, the pain. No.

  The numbness . . . at least I can still sense the numbness.

  Chapter 36

  Light flashes in my eyes. I squeeze them shut in an effort to block it out. It’s too much.

  “Shhh.” That voice. It’s so soft, so gentle. How could a sound so sweet have hurt my ears before? “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

  Fingers stroke the side of my waist in slow, soothing motions. An arm is still curled around me, a warm body pushed up against my back. I start to breathe again, one inhale at a time. It’s okay. I’m okay.

  As though sensing my relief, the hold around me loosens, letting me go little by little. I let my eyes open. One by one, each piece of furniture comes into view. My furniture. My photographs above the mantle.

  And then it clicks. Where I am, and who I’m with.

  I whirl around, almost losing my balance if it weren’t for his arm keeping me steady. It’s him. Right in front of me. He’s okay. I’m okay. That place . . . How did I lose myself like that? A visible shudder runs down my spine as it all sinks in. I never would have found my way out of the darkness, not with the all-consuming way it lured me in.

  I could have been stranded there forever. An empty soul. A lost mind. A silent shadow.

  Content with never speaking. Never feeling. Never loving. Never fighting. Never touching. Forever numb. Even now, the empty sensation crawls across my skin. How could I have thought I needed that?

  All at once my fingers are in his hair, my face buried in the curve of his neck, standing on my tiptoes as I curl my arms around him and let silent tears run down my cheeks. His body stills in my hold, like he doesn’t know how to react. But soon he pulls me in, warm arms wrapping tightly around me a
nd enveloping me in his soothing heat.

  I take in the scent of him, dizzyingly masculine. The texture of his hair, soft and full. The frame of his build, large and strong. The way his chest rises and falls, pressing against mine with each movement. The way his fingers twist my silk robe as though he can’t get close enough, reminding me of just how thin the material is.

  My breathing picks up, a bit faster, harder. My mouth is already so close to his neck . . . I inch closer, until my parted lips brush over his throat. It’s such a subtle move, barely noticeable, yet the way his fingers dig into my skin in response tells me he’s just as aware of our bodies as I am. My eyes close as I listen to his breathing quicken.

  It’s not quiet, the way it hits me—the deep-rooted need to feel him. To touch him. To have him touch me. Kiss, taste, explore. Take me as far away from the numbness as possible and just make me feel something. Make me feel everything.

  My lips are pressed against his neck before I even register what I’m doing. They part a little more, until I’m kissing, tasting, exploring. A raw, guttural sound vibrates from his throat as I make my way up to his jaw, and for a moment he tightens his grip around me. But then he lifts his chin, pulling his lips away from my reach just before I can find them.

  “Lou . . .” It’s a plea, a desperate sort of groan.

  Fine, if he won’t let me have his lips, I’ll take the parts of him I can reach. My mouth finds its way back to his neck, his collarbone, then my hand slips under his T-shirt, the fire of his skin coursing through me and making me feel alive. Exactly what I want. Exactly what I need.

  His hands come down on my waist, planting me in place as he takes a step back. All that I’m left with is the grip on my waist and the heat I’m growing used to, and it’s not enough. Every moment without feeling him is like another moment of being in the void, and I don’t want it to take over. I can’t let it take over.

  “Lou . . . I can’t.”

  “Why?” My exasperation is clear in my voice, my hand running through my hair. “Why can’t you? Tell me.”

  He blows out a breath, his jaw clenching as he drops his head.

  “Just tell me already. Please. Do you not want to be here with me? Do you not want to touch me?”

  “I—dammit, Lou. Of course I want to be here with you. Of course I want to”—his hands come up and scrub down his face—“to touch you.”

  “Then why won’t you? I’m throwing myself at you, and all you can do is push me away. What is it? Why won’t you let me want you?”

  “Because—” He squeezes his eyes shut, inhaling deeply. “Because it’s not real, Lou. None of it is real.”

  “What?” I’m shaking my head. “What are you talking about?”

  “Haven’t you ever wondered why you’re so drawn to someone like me?” He turns and takes a few steps away, fast and intimidating, with tense waves of anger rippling through each movement. “Why you weren’t scared that first night in your bathroom, when you couldn’t even see me?”

  “I—I was scared. Kind of.”

  “No, you weren’t. I see fear every day, Lou. And you, you weren’t scared.”

  I don’t reply, because he’s right. That first night, and the next, I remember thinking I should have been scared. It would have been the logical reaction. But I wasn’t. Instead I felt calm. I felt trust. And I wanted more.

  “You felt connected to me immediately, didn’t you?” He’s taking a step toward me now, his voice quieting. “Just like that night in the lake. A pull to me, a call.”

  Still, I say nothing. What can I say that he doesn’t already seem to know?

  He comes closer. “It’s not something I can shut off.” And closer. “But you need to know, Lou. You need to know that what you think you feel for me? It’s. Not. Real.”

  He whips away before I can respond, making his way to the far window and leaning forward, gripping its ledge. I stare at his back, unsure of what to say, what to feel. The trouble is, I’m not feeling much of anything right now. I suppose I should be experiencing a sense of shock, or anger, or unease. And I can sense it trying to stir within me, the appropriate reaction.

  But all I can think about, all I can remember, is the darkness. The void. The numbness. The single moment I lost any semblance of who I was, including any will to find out. All in a matter of what? Minutes? Seconds? And I was calling that place my home. I blended into the pitch-black pit so completely I became it. Any memories before entering it were gone, wiped clean, any sense of purpose taken with them.

  Is that what my life will be soon? Will my heart just stop, and then poof, I’ll be a barren shadow of the void? An empty soul, unable to experience anything? A slave to the darkness, forever?

  I can’t suppress the way my lips tremble at the thought of it all, and I don’t want to, either. I don’t want to suppress any emotions at all, whether sad or happy. Right or wrong. Not tonight. Not after that glimpse of my future.

  “I am scared,” I finally whisper, gazing distantly at his back. “I’m scared that I won’t wake up tomorrow. I’m scared my heart will freeze, and then when I open my eyes I’ll be stuck there, in that horrible place. But mostly . . . mostly I’m terrified of the way I won’t even fight to get free. The way I’ll think I need it, the numbness that takes over.”

  He pushes off the ledge, slowly turning to face me.

  “Do you know that I can still feel it lingering on me, even now?” I continue, taking a step in his direction. “Like this heavy, sticky, empty sensation I can’t seem to shake. I just want to feel something.” My voice breaks, betraying my desperation, but I don’t care. I keep my steps slow and steady, one in front of the other. “I want a little bit. I want a lot. See, I don’t care if what I feel for you is real or not, because it’s sure as hell real enough to me. Just tell me one thing . . . is what you feel real?”

  He rips his gaze away from me, shakes his head. “That doesn’t matter, Lou. I’m not going to take advantage of the situation—”

  “Answer the question. Is what you feel for me real?”

  “Lou—”

  “Yes. Or no. It’s a simple question, really. Just—”

  “Yes,” he grits out, giving his head another shake and distancing himself. “Okay? Yes, the way I spend every damn second of every damn day thinking about you is real. Yes, the way I wish I could spend every Sunday with you so you’ll never have to cry again is real. The way I wonder what it’d be like to be here when you wake up, to hold you when I want to, to kiss your lips, kiss your neck—yes, it’s fucking real.” He sweeps his hands across his eyes and pulls his hair. “Is that what you want to know?”

  A fresh tear escapes, and I nod. Soak in the new feelings pouring into me. The shock over his confession. The way it almost makes me sadder, knowing I may never get the chance to hear those words from him again. May never again get to see that expression on his handsome face, both pained and longing as he stares deep into my eyes.

  “So show me,” I plead softly, taking a step forward. “Just for tonight, show me what it’s like to feel. To be kissed, to be held, to be wanted by you.”

  Chapter 37

  “Lou . . .” His voice quiets, a gentle whisper. “Please . . . I can’t just—”

  “Yes. You can.” I inch toward him again, my voice shaking. “Make it go away. The fear. The emptiness. All of it. Just give me something more before I lose myself again. Give me you.” My head drops when he doesn’t respond, the desperation taking over, making my lips quiver. “Honestly, what do I have to do to get you to touch me? I mean, Jesus—”

  The words are barely out before his hand is on my waist, the other cradling my neck, and his mouth crushes mine. My lips part, letting our tongues tangle together. His fingers dig into me, pulling me tighter against him. I let out a moan as relief and desire flood me. I’ve gone limp in his arms, letting him support my full weight, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He shifts the angle of his head so he can go deeper, the movement sending a wild rush th
rough me. My hands curl into his hair and tug, and he responds by trapping my bottom lip between his teeth and giving a firm tug of his own.

  Holy hell, yes. The adrenaline spike is just what I need, and I want more.

  My right hand releases his hair and finds its way to the grip he has over my waist. I pry his grasp free and guide his open palm around and down, until it’s fixed on my behind. A growl sounds from somewhere deep in his throat as he presses my hips into him, allowing me to feel the full length of him. I swallow as he abandons my mouth for my neck, and my head falls back, giving him complete access.

  Jesus.

  His tongue. The bed. We need the bed.

  But first . . . reluctantly, I pull my attention back to focus on his shirt, grappling for the material and shoving it up, up, until he has to break his lips away from me as I yank it over his arms, his head. It drops to the ground. My gaze flicks down, and I gasp.

  The scar I’d glimpsed before by his collarbone is what catches my eye first, a severe roughness to it I hadn’t noticed before, but it’s the rest of him that has me speechless. I’ve never seen so many scars on one person. Marks of all shapes and sizes, on his chest, his torso, one etched over his ribcage. Most are so faded they almost blend in with his skin, but a few stand out enough for the pain to seep into my heart.

  Oh, no. What happened to you? I lower myself slightly, using my fingertips to softly trace one that runs over his abs, and he takes in a sharp breath, every muscle tightening beneath my touch. I tilt my head to look up at him, and he swallows, staring down at me, heavy-lidded. My gaze wanders back to his body. Leaning forward, I slide the tip of my tongue higher, along another one of his scars. I hear that hitch in breathing again, then feel a groan as it vibrates from his chest to my tongue.

  I pull away, straighten myself. My movements are sure and confident despite the butterflies swirling in my stomach; the nerves I revel in feeling, because it reminds me I am feeling. I inspect the man before me, the way his eyes dance with the most alluring combination of mesmerized wonder and pure hunger I’ve ever seen, and it sparks something raw inside me. I briefly think back to the fact he’s never touched a woman. He sure as hell kisses like he knows what he’s doing. There’s something primal about his touches, almost instinctive. Intuitive. Fluid.