Page 20 of Betrayed In Crimson
I shove at his arm. His big, muscled arm.
Jesus. I can’t be drunk already.
I yank the bottle off him and drink some more. “Fuck,” I cough.
He laughs, a deep, throaty laugh.
I blink and look out into the blanket of darkness. “Do you ever feel lonely being a nomad?”
“Sometimes. But then I also need to be alone,” he sighs.
“Yeah.” I nod in agreement. “When was the last time you got laid?” I ask bluntly, giving him a side glance.
He arches his brow, and I don’t miss how his gaze roams over my body. “A while,” is all he says.
I swallow. Was Evelynn right? Should I just fuck him? Get it out of my system?
I look away, clearing my throat. “Fucking Evelynn,” I sigh, shaking my head. I reach over and snatch the bottle from his hand, knocking back as much as I can handle.
“I’m guessing it’s been a while for you,” he chuckles.
Clearing my throat, I hand him back the bottle. “I haven’t been with anyone since I changed.”
“That was twenty-seven years ago,” he says in disbelief.
“Yeah,” I mumble. “I’m not exactly the trusting type, you know.”
His mouth sets to a thin line, his jaw tight. “Morbius is…” He pauses, shaking his head. “Morbius is venom.”
“I mean, yeah. He is. But don’t you think if things were different, he wouldn’t be where he is now?” I ask.
Cain frowns. “He made all his own decisions. He acted alone. He is responsible for everything,” he seethes, utter contempt dripping from every word.
“Don’t get me wrong, I hate him. I really hate him. But he came back for me. He changed me. He could have left me for dead,” I defend.
Cain’s lips part like he’s about to say something, but he swiftly presses the bottle to his lips and takes a long drink.
“I killed my wife.” His voice is low. “She was everything to me. I killed her: no one else to blame but me. I will carry that guilt, that regret, that pain with me for the rest of my existence. If Morbius is the man you think he is, then he would be doing everything in his power to regain your trust, to make sure you are happy. He wouldn’t be attacking your friends, the ones that have been there for you every day since,” he grinds out.
I nod, his words stinging even though I know there is truth to them.
“What do you miss the most?” I ask, completely changing the subject.
“Wow, you switched that up quick.”
I shrug. “The truth hurts, and tonight I just want to forget the truth. Forget everything that has brought me here. I want to laugh again. I want just to be me,” I confess.
Silence stretches between us and, for a moment, I fear he’ll leave me alone on the roof.
I’m so tired of being alone.
“I miss food,” he says at last, breaking the silence, a soft smile on his lips.
Grateful, I turn to face him, sitting cross-legged. “What food?” I press.
He looks up to the stars, licking his lips. “Hot chocolate fudge cake with vanilla ice cream. You?”
“Damn, starting strong,” I laugh. “Okay… you may think this is pathetic, but I miss my morning coffee. I miss the feeling that first sip of the day gives you. The hot liquid warming you up from the inside out.” I sigh, eyes closing as I relive the memory.
