Page 241 of Because I Killed Him
The words seem to strike him physically; his face falls, as if he can’t imagine that kind of limit. “We can meet in secret, then. Like we did before.”
“No, Edmund.” I lift my eyes to his, pleading for him to understand. “This is too serious. It’s the kind of job where, if I mess up, a lot of people could die. If the wrong people even saw us smile at each other, it would be over.”
He rubs the back of his neck, looking even more confused. Then, slowly, I see the realization dawn on him. There’s only one group that would burn a low-citizen alive for just talking to a Blue: the Heretics.
“How long will the job last?” Edmund asks.
“I don’t know. A few weeks or months. Maybe the whole year. But until it’s done, the only time we can talk will be for legal reasons, like Irene’s trial.”
He shifts restlessly and shakes his head, still struggling to accept it. “Who asked you to do this, Loredana? If you tell me, I can—”
“When it’s over, I’ll tell you,” I promise. “But right now, I need you to trust me. Remember what you said: that you want to keep me safe, but you won’t use my safety as an excuse to stop me from doing what I think is right.”
He looks past me and squints, as if recalling the moment. Then he drags his hand across his face with a sigh. “I remember.”
I lean into his chest. “So… you’ll wait for me?”
His smile comes faintly, as though he’s forcing it into place. “Yes, Loredana. I’ll wait for you.” Then he pulls me into his arms, strong and sudden, as if we’re back in that elevator before the first piece of us broke. His hand cradles the back of my head, and his cheek presses against my hair. For a moment, the world fades away, as if its war is raging everywhere but here, everywhere but inside of us.
When Edmund finally speaks, his voice is close to my ear. “Will you send me the record of that Section Twenty-Seven? I’ll look into it.”
“Yes,” I whisper, hugging him tighter. “Thank you.”
We hold each other long enough for me to become aware of the filth on my skin: dirt and sand, old sweat, blood dried stiff in my clothes.
“I’m sorry, Loredana,” Edmund says at last. “But I have to get back to the hospital.”
I know he needs to check on Rosamund. “Of course. I understand. But…” My mouth quivers, and a sting wells behind my eyes. “Edmund, I don’t know how to say goodbye.”
“Good. I don’t want you to.” He cups my chin gently and leans in to kiss me, but I pull back at the last second.
“Edmund, I’m dirty. And the blood isn’t mine.”
His eyes drift over me, then down to himself, as if only now realizing he’s covered in blood, too. With a shrug, he scoops me up and crosses the salon.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“To wash it off.”
He carries me into the lavatory and nudges the door open with his boot. At first, I think he’s taking me to the sink, but then he ducks into the shower, flips on the nozzle, and steps in with me beneath the spray. Warmwater streams over us, soaking our clothes, running downward in rivulets of dirt and blood that swirl into a dark pool at our feet.
I tip my chin back, blinking against the water, and catch his grin through the downpour. The sight is another drop of sadness in my heart. It only occurs to me now how much I’ll miss him, how much I already do, knowing this is our final touch.
“Tell me again, Edmund,” I whisper.
“Tell you what?”
“That you love me.”
He leans down toward me, his hands gentle as they wipe the dirt from my face, neck, and hands. “I love you, Loredana,” he says. “But it’s not enough to tell you. Give me time, and I’ll show you.”
He pulls me out of the spray, one arm wrapped securely around my back while the other brushes my wet hair from my eyes. My boots squeak on the wet floor as he tilts me down against his arm, dipping me beside the open shower door. And there, folded into him, he kisses me, slow yet unrelenting, as if it’s meant to be a promise.
I loop one arm around his neck and draw myself closer, my other hand sliding along the line of water dripping down his cheek. With every moment that carries us nearer to parting, his grip tightens, and his mouth presses harder against me, water rushing over us as if to douse the fire that only grows hotter between us. His heart pounds against my chest, his breath uneven as it mingles with mine and trails down my neck. Wherever his hands touch my body, they leave a mark, like trails of fingerprints across my skin, pieces of himself that will forever be mine. All I can think is that if we managed to find each other in a world like this, then I was wrong. Maybe we’re not cursed. Maybe fate doesn’t hate me after all.
The moment lingers, a fleeting blaze of daylight in the night, until at last, Edmund tears himself away and carefully sets me on my feet. His hands pause on my waist, as if taking in my shape one last time. Then he steps out of the shower, water streaming off him, and drags a towel through his hair before handing it to me. His chest still heaves as he says, “That wasn’t a goodbye.”
He smiles again, though this time, there’s less light in it than sadness. Then he turns toward the door.
