~MARI~

My heart is racing too hard. I didn't think that I could feel more attracted to Trystan than I already did, but when he touched me like that - oh my God. It was like every inch of my body was burning. I couldn't stop staring at his hands, willing them to touch me. I still haven't moved. I'm leaning against the wall, and finally hear the shower turn on. I wonder what Trystan looks like in there with the water running over his body. I think about how much I'd like to run my hands over him. I don't even realize that's what I'm thinking. I just feel the palm of my hand grow hotter and more sensitive. I think about his bare skin and the water. I blink hard, trying to free the thoughts from my mind.

Scolding myself, I push off the wall. What's the matter with me? When did I become this hornball who only thinks about sex? I pad across the room and grab a pair of sweats from my dresser. I strip quickly with my back to the bathroom door in case Trystan walks out. The water is still running, but I'm too nervous to think.

I'm mad at myself for acting like this, for melting so fast. He barely touched me and I'm falling to pieces. I tug my sweatshirt over my head and pull on a pair of fuzzy socks. This is the least sexy outfit I own. The sweatshirt is way too big. It swims on me. I yank my hair into a ponytail and jump up on the bed and flick on the TV. I try to stop thinking about him, but I can't. I watch a show without really seeing it.

When the water turns off, my heart beats faster. I wish I were a sane person. I wish for a lot of things that I can't have. I decide that I'm not doing anything with him tonight. I want more time. Plus, the bruises on my stomach and the way it aches, I just would rather he saw me the way I usually am. I realize what I'm thinking and feel the heat burn across my cheeks.

Trystan pulls open the bathroom door. He's bare-chested, wearing the new jeans around his hips, with no shoes. His hair is so dark and still dripping. There's a towel in his hand. Trystan wraps it around his shoulders. He notices my blush and says, "I love it when you do that." He smiles at me, winks, and then runs the towel over his head.

"I hate it when I do that, which seems to be all the time. It's not becoming at all." I realize I sound like my mother and flinch.

But Trystan doesn't care. He steps toward me with that sexy smile he always wears. "It's sexy as hell." He tugs at the towel and adds, "I can't say the same for this, and unless I wear a towel all night, you're going to see bruises. The thing is..." he looks down for a second. When his blue eyes lift, he meets my gaze. "I don't want you to fuss about it all night. The past is the past. I can't fix it. I would, if I could." Trystan's breathing hard, his chest is rising and falling too quickly. It pains me to see him like this.

"You can leave the towel on, if you want. Or..." I smile. I have an idea. I jump off my bed and cross the room. My dresser drawer has exactly what I need. Without thinking twice about it, I grab a pair of scissors and slice through the bottom of my sweatshirt. Trystan looks at me like I'm crazy. He flinches, his hands lifting until he realizes what I'm doing. I cut off the front bottom half of the shirt. It reveals my rainbow bruises as if they were framed. The scrap of fabric falls to the floor. I put the sheers down and turn back to him. "Better?"

Trystan grins. It makes those beautiful eyes sparkle like the sea in the afternoon sun. "Is there any other circumstance where you'd cut your clothes off like that? No? Are you sure." He looks at the floor and then back up at my face. He finally answers, "Yes, it's better."

I nod toward his towel. "Good, then drop it."

Trystan glances at me from the corner of his eye. He pulls the towel away. The angry marks around his neck look worse than last night. I try not to react. I lift my eyes to his. I step across the room and slip my arms around his waist. Trystan's eyes lock on mine, but there's something there, like he has to protect himself from me.

My fingers trace the warm, smooth skin at his waist. I say softly, "We're the same. You know that, right?"

Trystan's gaze remains locked with mine. He inhales sharply as my fingers move around to his back. There's a small space between us, both physical and mental. "Mari, don't..." It's all he can manage. His jaw is tight, locked shut. The muscles in his neck are corded like he can barely swallow.

I want him to relax, to feel safe for once. My godforsaken parents won't show up until dawn. There's no one to hurt him here. I have a sinking feeling in my stomach. Maybe he thinks that I'll hurt him. My eyes lower. My gaze traces the curves of the muscles on his chest, but I'm not brave enough to lift my hand. My heart beats harder. I want him to understand. I feel the pull to him, like we're two sides of the same coin. The fact that I'm shiny and he's not doesn't matter. We're connected. We're the same.

I don't look into his eyes again. I know what I want to do. Tugging his arm, I pull him toward my bed. I flick out the lights as I pass them. We're encased in darkness. Trystan doesn't move easily. It's like he's holding back. I finally say, "I just want to hold you. I want to sleep with your arms around me. No sex."

Trystan's voice catches when he speaks, "Mari, I don't know. I don't want to do anything you'll regret - "

"I won't regret this. I'll never regret this." I slip back on my bed, but he won't sit. His eyes pierce through me like a sword.

"You said this was something that was reserved for marriage." He's still looking at me. I smile softly. It turns out that all those times I scolded him for taking sex so lightly, he was listening. I almost wish he wasn't. He runs his hands through his hair and looks at me. "I don't think this is a good idea. I don't want you to resent me. These aren't whims with you. It's part of who you are. I can't do this to you."

I'm kneeling on the bed, looking at him. My eyes sweep over his face. He means well. Trystan wants to protect me. I understand, and I know he won't change his mind. "You're too good for me."

He laughs. It sounds so haunted and bitter that it kills me. "I doubt it. I heard I'm made of snails and puppy dog tails." Trystan grins at me and winks, quickly covering the emotions that played across his face seconds ago.

I lay back in my bed and he pulls up my blankets and tucks me in. Then, he settles on my floor at the foot of my bed. The clock ticks off the minutes, but I can't sleep. My eyes are wide open. After what feels like forever, I say, "Trystan?"

"Mmm?"

My throat is tight. "How do you manage everything? I mean, no one has any idea and you never give the slightest indication that anything is wrong.

"Some days I feel like I'm going to fall apart. You never seem weak like that. How do you do it? How do you brush off the fact that the people who are supposed to love you the most, don't love you at all?" My lip is quivering. Although I've thought it, I never had the guts to say it before. "I know they don't love me. I know they resent me, but I still can't accept it. I keep hoping that one day they'll really see me and love me for who I am, but that day never comes."

By the time I finish talking, I'm whispering. I don't want to admit the words to anyone, but I do. As I speak, the words crush me. The bitter truth is that I feel guilty that my parents don't love me. I feel like it's my fault. For a long time, I thought that if I was better or smarter - I thought that I could earn their love - but it didn't happen. Nothing changed. I stare at my ceiling without blinking. Thoughts stream from my head like rainwater down a gutter.

Trystan sits up. He's at the foot of my bed on the floor, looking up at me. His hair dried into that messy look he always wears. Pulling his knees into his chest, Trystan leans back against the side of my bed. "I think that's the key - admitting that the day will never come. It's the hardest part it. Hope just rips your heart apart with shit like this.

"There is no hope. There is no peace. Accepting it makes it easier to wade through the day to day stuff. But, I've done a crappy job at hiding it lately. My old man locked me in my room the other day after tossing all my things. He does stuff like that from time to time. It's supposed to remind me of my place. He says that over and over again, like it's a lesson that I need to learn. I know my fucking place."

Trystan takes a deep breath and runs both hands over the back of his neck, stretching as he does it. "Tucker figured it out. For the past few weeks he's been hinting, telling me it's okay to talk to him, but they don't get it. Dragging it out for everyone to see will just make it worse.

And I've got no right, but it makes me mad. Where was Tucker ten years ago? Where was he five years ago? It would have made a difference then. It won't do a goddamn thing now." Trystan startles and looks over his shoulder. His eyes meet mine. He smiles, sheepishly. "I didn't mean to say all that."

I shrug. "It needed to be said."

"How do you do that?" He stands and sits on the end of my bed.

"Do what?"

"How do you make me feel like this? I can be talking about the most horrible thing that ever happened to me, but with you here, the pain lessens. I feel like I'll get through it and everything might be all right after all."

I smile at him. I don't know what else to do. I'm lying back on my pillow. I cross my ankles under the blankets and tuck my hands behind my head. "That's what you do for me. Maybe it's magic. Maybe you're my yang."

"Yang?" He gives me a weird look.

"Yeah, like on a yin yang. We reflect each other, despite everything." I watch him for a moment. His eyes are on mine. I pat the bed next to me and Trystan finally gives in. He crawls toward me and lays his head on my pillow. I turn on my side to look at him.

Trystan kisses my lips lightly and sighs. A smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. "Good night, beautiful girl."