Dahlia Wellburg hates her misery as much as she loves it. She sees herself as a stone: ordinary and unwanted. Yet, they know her to be a rose: soft, but with thorns.
. . .
Mature Content. Check the tags.
"No, somebody always needs to go first. I know this. I go first." - Jenny Slate, Little Weirds
. . .
Andros Kozlov
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I pulled Dahlia's blue dress up and inspected the bruises. I had really dug my fingers into her skin. I had never hated myself more.
I looked at her face. She blinked up at me. Her face was flushed. We were still in my room. She just told me everything I had done, but not in an accusing tone.
Apparently, my vocabulary has been limited to 'Dahlia', 'no' and 'back'.
"I'm sorry."
"You should have told me you sleepwalk," she said softly, trying to tug her dress down. She was only wearing panties. I didn't let her. I needed to make myself see what I had done to her. Fucking idiot.
"We need to ice these." I needed to ice these before I lost my mind. I needed to take away her pain. I needed her to at least hit me across the face for this.
"You should have told me." She didn't let it go. How do you tell a person you want to be with that there are chances that you'd kill them while you're sleeping?
"It's not something I take pride in, Dahlia," I told her. There were ten small bruises caused by my fingertips on her flawless waist. If I had left them there while fucking her soul out of her, I would have loved them. I would have made her count them.
But, like this? When I had no recollection of what I had done? When I didn't know if I would have stopped if she asked me to? I fucked hated them.
"You didn't hurt me, you know? These bruises are nothing in front of the bruises you left on my ass." She tried to sound joking, but I wasn't having it.
"Doesn't matter," I muttered, bending to kiss her bruises. "Those, you wanted. These...I almost threw you off the fucking ship." I kissed them one by one. One. Two. There. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight-
"You didn't, though."
"Don't make excuses for me." I didn't mean to sound as harsh as I did. Why couldn't she just fucking yell and put me out of my misery?
"I wasn't. I was just pointing out the very obvious. Besides..." She sat up before I could kiss all of them. I frowned but let her. She sat on her knees, pulling her dress down. Her hair was a slight mess and her face was still flushed a shade of pink. Fucking adorable. "You were cute. You were scary when you hurt Hedeon. But then you were cute."
"I was cute," I repeated.
"Yes."
I'd have people explain my sleepwalking to me many times, while nursing wherever I had hit them. I didn't know what kept me from not throwing Dahlia into the fucking sea. But I was grateful she was not as harmed as she could have been. What I didn't understand was how I managed to rip myself out of a room that Hedeon had locked.
