Shattered(6)

When Mari turns around, she has a soft smile on her lips. She isn't afraid of him. She doesn't pity him. Mari acts like Trystan is the same guy he was yesterday, before she learned his secret. She sits down next to him and helps him pull her shirt on. It was too big on her, but it's about the right size for him. She buttons it up, a few of the top buttons she leaves open, and smiles at him.

Mari places her hand over his heart and says, "No one will know."

Their eyes lock. A rush of emotion floods through him. Trystan feels too much. After everything that happened, he just wants to hold onto her and never let go. Acting on the urge, Trystan leans in and gathers Mari in his arms and holds her tight. She winces as he does it, which makes him let go. "You're hurt."

Trystan's blue gaze slips over the cami. He doesn't see anything. Slowly, he inches his hand toward the hem of her shirt. Mari is very still, her dark eyes tracking his hands as he takes the bottom of her cami and slowly slides it up. An angry purple mark mars her perfectly pale skin. He can't breathe. Things can't be like this. She's hurt because of him. He shouldn't do this. He shouldn't be here with her and he sure as hell shouldn't be touching her, but he can't stop. It's still early. No one is here. Trystan could slide his fingers along her soft skin and press his lips to hers. She could take him away from here with a taste of those lips. Trystan could be higher than high in a heartbeat if he just leaned in and kissed her.

Mari's eyes drift to his lips. His hands are still on her shirt, his fingers are so close to her skin that it aches not to touch her. Mari takes a jagged breath and looks up at him. Her eyes are molten chocolate. They shimmer with golden heat. The way she looks at him makes Trystan's heart beat harder. Suddenly, he's hot all over. His body is responding to her. He wants to lean in. Trystan wants to be with her, but he doesn't move.

Trystan's lips are a breath from Mari's. The stay like that too long, impossibly long. Lingering thoughts tease him, telling him to take what he needs - that she'll let him - that Mari needs him just as much. But he can't. He can't drag her into this more than he already has. Guilt juts up between them like a wall.

Trystan blinks and breaks their gaze. He turns his face away from Mari without explanation. He sucks in air and runs his hands through his hair and down the back of his neck.

She deserves so much more.

~MARI~

When Trystan pulls away, it feels like my lungs have been ripped out of my throat. I don't understand why he does it. My heart races frantically, and won't calm down. Trystan bends forward and lowers his head like he's praying. He doesn't look up right away. I want to take him in my arms and fix this, but I know I can't. There are too many things bottled up inside of him, too many thoughts that I don't know. So, I do the only thing that I know to do.

I stand up and smooth my shirt back into place. My middle is still sore as hell, but I'd rather die than pass up the chance to have Trystan's hands on me.

"Come on, Scott," I say, grabbing a pillow off the couch. The thing is old, huge, and heavy. Trystan glances at me from the corner of his eye. I waive the pillow at him. It nearly knocks me off balance. "I'm serious, Scott. We both have shitty lives. Mine is covered in glitz so people don't bother to notice, but I'm not stupid. And I'm not letting you give in to it. Get up."

When Trystan doesn't move, I swing the pillow at him. I try to do it gently, but there is no gently with these things. It's too big. The pillow hits him in the side of the face and makes a smacking sound. Trystan actually sways sideways. He glances at me with a shocked look on his face. The corners of my lips curl up. "You know you liked it." I waggle my eyebrows at him and he laughs.

Trystan stands and plucks a pillow from the couch, but not before I have the chance to whack him again. The pillow is too heavy. It pulls me forward every time I swing. When it smacks Trystan, it sounds like I hit him with a ream of paper. He rounds on me with that boyish grin on his face, and then nearly falls over. I laugh, but Trystan already has his footing back. He taps me lightly with his pillow, like I might break.

"What the hell was that, Scott?" I tease him and bounce on the balls of my feet. I taunt him and say, "Play like you mean it."

"You like it rough?" The corner of his mouth twitches.

"No holding back. Not now. Not ever." I say the words and know that I'm not talking about a pillow fight. I'm talking about us, about what's happening between us and to us. I don't want to give up and I don't want to lose him.

I swipe my pillow at his arm. It took a mega-swing to get momentum, but I manage. When the pillow collides with Trystan, he staggers to the side before dropping his pillow. His blue eyes are crystal clear. Trystan steps toward me, pulls the pillow from my hands, and slides his palms up my cheeks and then tangles his fingers in my hair.

A rush of tingles shoots through my middle. I can't breathe. Trystan looks at me like I'm air and that he can't breathe without me. He brings our faces closer, so slowly that it feels like I'm going to die, but then our lips touch and everything changes. Butterflies fill my stomach. They swoop inside of me, making me giddy. The spots on my face where his palms touch my skin are electrified. A current shoots through me and makes me tingle.

And his lips, oh God, his lips - they press lightly at first. His mouth is so soft, his lips are so full. It's like that kiss when we were rehearsing, and then suddenly it's not. Trystan stops holding back. His desperation hits me hard. The tension in his arms flows into his hands and onto my cheeks as he tightens his grip.