From the Ashes

His voice is quiet, deep.

My sleepy heart flutters at that voice, and I feel a hand on my shoulder.

“Thought so,” his voice murmurs in a whisper, at my cold skin. His hand is gloriously warm.

“Do you have extra blankets here?” I croak. His form shifts in the dark, and my blankets are lifted off of my lap in a startling rush of cold air. I give a curse as I reach to replace them, finding Roman’s hand as he crawls under the blankets beside me.

“Here, Thea,” he whispers, and my heart warms at the nickname. I find his body in the dark, and discover he’s shirtless.

“You’re emanating heat,” I say with a chattering jaw, and my hands fall onto his forearms. He chuckles in the dark as he pulls me in to lie against him. My face flushes as my meagerly clothed torso presses against his warm, bare skin, his arm sliding underneath me to hold me tight. I feel his large hand press gently against the small of my back, through my thin tank top. Gingerly, I slip my arms underneath his to carefully hold onto his lower back. The muscles beneath are strong, and tight.

“What are you doing here, Rome?” I whisper to him, tilting my head up to murmur the words drowsily into his neck. His free hand pulls the blankets up snugly around my jaw.

“Taking care of you,” he whispers simply as the hand moves to trail the fingers across the length of my face. I gingerly shift my legs to wrap around one of his, and our bodies move so that he’s slightly on top of me. He doesn’t protest at the gesture. Our hips rest against each other’s, and Roman places his warm hand against my air-cooled cheek.

“There’s just a cold front moving in from the north,” he murmurs, “Brought down by the rain. It’s pretty cold tonight, I know how much you hate that.”

His presence wakes me rather than sends me off to sleep, and my heart pounds harder the more lucid I get. But this time... It’s not a nervous, light-headed pound, like I’m used to.

It’s warm.

It’s comfortable, perfect, right. Swelling in happiness rather than pounding with nerves.

I think this is the most content I’ve ever been to be in Roman’s arms in this way. His chest rumbles with a soft chuckle.

“We’ve done this once before, but you probably don’t remember it very well,” he tells me softly. I return the thought with a quiet giggle.

“You’re right about that one. What exactly happened, I never got the play-by-play. You just tried to trick me into thinking we had sex.”

Roman’s forehead falls onto mine as he laughs softly.

“You believed me, at first.”

“Yeah, yeah. That was the worst-case-scenario in my mind. Now what actually happened?” I asked.

“Well,” he began in a gentle voice, “I held you like this. And you clutched onto me the entire night. I checked on you whenever I would wake up, kept you warm, kept you comfortable. Took care of you.” The metal of his snakebites brush coolly against the skin of my forehead as he tilts his head down. With my face in his neck, I inhale the sweet scent of his still-damp hair.

“So... Is now a good time to say... thank you?” I ask with a chuckle, my hands sliding up his warm back. He chuckles right back.

“Better late than never, I suppose.” His free hand shifts underneath the blankets, and he slowly caresses the skin on my arm, his touch soothingly warm.

“Thank you for coming in here tonight,” I whisper, “I was really miserable.”

“Of course. If you ever need anything, you know I’m right across the hall.” I nod against him.

We fall silent for a while, and I relish his soft, warm breath on my neck, the gentle rhythm of his pulse against me. My fingers trail lines over his lower back, and he sighs at the gesture.

“That feels nice,” he whispers, and I continue, knowing how good it feels to have your back scratched. My hands travel up to his shoulder blades, and I begin to feel strange bumps and ridges under my right hand. I pause, moving my left hand over to investigate with touch. Whatever was covering the back of his left shoulder is massive. The ridged skin spreads in waxy and bumpy patterns from his shoulder to below his shoulder blade, some streaks of whatever it is stretching almost to the area below his ribs.

“Roman,” I whisper, moving away from him slightly to look across the pillow at his face in the dark room, “What do you have on your back?” I ask the question. He’s giving me a steady, tired look with those smoky eyes.

“I want you to sleep tonight.”

“There’s no way I can if you don’t tell me.”

He studies me for a beat, his hands gently gripping my hips. The glint of his eyes disappears as he closes them, and I prop myself up on my elbow. The cold air creeps into the gap that lies between our bodies. I reach up to place my hand against his neck, my thumb trailing the edge of his jaw. He moves his hand to grasp my wrist gently.

“It’s a burn.”

My thumb halts, and my breath catches.

A burn that size?

“What in the world...” I whisper, clutching his neck slightly. He lays still, his eyes opening to meet mine steadily in the dark.

“Gasoline.” I release the breath I was holding, lying back down on the pillow, shifting closer to him to place both hands on either side of his face. I extend my fingers up into his hair, my stomach twisting at the thought. The pain that that burn would have caused...

“When? How old were you?” I asked. He rests his forehead down against mine, and I accept it eagerly by tilting my head up to meet it.

“13. It was at my dad’s house. He was off his rocker drunk, wanted to have a fire out back for fun, as a family. I didn’t want to go out in the first place, I hate spending ‘quality’ time with him. I pissed him off by refusing, so he dragged me out and sat me down, gave me a marshmallow stick and said we were making smores, father and son. I told him to eat shit. He has quite the temper.”

I feel sick to my stomach. Physically and utterly sick to my stomach.

“I went away to a shrink for a long time to deal with the nightmares and the trauma. People at school thought I was gone at rehab for drugs.”

“Roman,” I breathe, not able to get close enough to him. I clutch him to me, burying my hands up in the hair behind his neck, my face pressed against his cheek. I can’t stop saying his name, or telling him how sorry I am. How his father should be in jail.

“It could’ve been an accident, under the circumstances. Easily.” My stomach twists painfully.

“No. No, that’s not right...” I grimace, clutching the back of his neck as I kiss his cheek once, twice. His arms slide around me gently.

“It’s okay, Aleithea.”

“No, it isn’t!” I sit up, flicking on the light to look down at Roman, muffed up hair and steady gaze. His knees bend to create a tent in the blankets as he props himself up slightly on his elbows. He sits up all the way, and I move to lean against him, my fingers trailing over the rugged skin on his back. His snakebites create an odd sensation on my forehead as he kisses it gently.

“Show me?” I whisper. He slides away from me and turns around to face the opposite direction. I stare at the ugly scars that mar his skin. They ripple down his back in sickly patterns, crossing and raised in many places over his muscular body. The worst part lies around his shoulder blade. Touches of the scar grace the backs of his arms, and I reach to place my hands on his disfigured back. The muscles are still strong beneath, but the disgusting skin on top is twisted and ugly. I run my hands up and down it, touching every inch of the marred skin. I place my lips against his scars, reaching one hand around to press against the warm space between his pectorals. His shaggy head turns to the side as I continue to place kisses against his disfigured back.

“I can’t feel any of that,” he murmurs. I clutch at his chest with my hand.

“None?”

“I feel the pressure, slightly, but not the actual touch. This is new, though. Most girls get freaked out or disgusted.” I pause, hugging him to me and leaning my head against his shoulder. I swivel my head toward his turned one, our noses touching.

“I care about you,” I say with my eyes closed, my voice barely above a whisper. He gives a long sigh.

“That’s the difference.”

Roman moves away from me to turn off the lamp, and I search for him desperately in the dark. He grasps my searching hand and I pull myself to him. He lifts me to turn his body, and set me on the other side as I hold onto him with no intent of letting go anytime soon. His body is curled to encompass mine, and I lie in a ball surrounded by Roman.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” I ask him in the darkness, my arms bent to be pressed between both of our chests, my hands caressing his face.

“I planned on it, Thea. I’m not going anywhere,” he assures me, grasping my hips tightly.

“Thank you...”