It is a miracle anyone has ever known Plume has a kind soul. A miracle they have not been able to see straight to the wretched core of him—to the wicked, neediness of him. To the calloused way he handles love. He has left so many hearts in his wake, swallowed the hearts and left nothing but destruction.
The worst of all has been her.
The worst of all has always been her.
And here he is, repeating the same sins, making the same mistakes.
She is beautiful, he thinks. Lovely and kind and nothing he deserves, but it only makes him crave it more. Crave the kindness of the girl who holds him close. The security of it. She leans against him and he sighs, letting loose of a breath he wasn’t certain that he had been holding. “Thank you,” he whispers at the feel of her cheek against him—at the feel of her pressing into his chest, the thrum of her heartbeat.
His hunger is not sated though. It does not ease. He leans down to run his mouth down her neck, lingering and feeling the way that she feels like silk beneath the velvet of his lips. “You are still so beautiful,” he whispers—and this is a truth. His heart clenches in his chest. “I have never been able to forget just how beautiful you are,” another truth as he presses a kiss to her spine, to the delicate curve of her back.
He should leave.
Before he causes more damage.
Before he makes a mistake.
Before he ruins her.
But she rests against him and it’s the first time in days that he has been able to quell the anguished cries in his head. The first time that he has been able to dull the knife in his chest.
He kisses her again and the rest fades away—and he cannot leave. Not now.
PLUME
but my heart, it don’t beat, it don’t beat the way it used to