The little one took his hand with hers, which was still holding a pencil, and turned it towards him to show him what she was looking at.
āOh... this?ā
He twisted his palm upward, and the fingers of his other hand traced the strip of uneven skin. A faint line on either side of his right palm, just above the knuckles - reminiscent of an event from another life. It was an absurd, frightening, yet oddly comical moment, bringing him down with its gravity, which separated two different realities from each other. Some things were hard to forget. And thank god for that. Because it was this particular slice of his memories he kept in his mind like a priceless artefact, telling the story of a few days that had turned his entire life upside down.
āIs it from a knife?ā
āAh... noā¦ā He hesitated. āFrom, erm... teeth.ā
"Scars"
https://archiveofourown.org/works/73064706
I love this! An awesome song, and the power of women. Voices, love and energy that makes the world continue! There is something so amazing in this!
I wouldn't know about it if it weren't for Itziar!
I hate this fucking day!
I need my serotonin or dopamin or whatever...
I am just watching how she leans into the kiss...
***
She was transported back to the past, recalling that day. She hadnāt noticed how she watched Sergio with a smile, completely unaware of what was being said during the lesson. Her eyes sparkled as she seemed to observe herself from a distance, only realizing that the talking had stopped when she met a pair of curious, dark eyes fixed on her. He stood there, his whole body turned toward her, attempting to read her thoughts.
He tilted his head in silent question, and her smile grew even wider. Her eyes squinted with happiness, lights dancing within them despite the foggy, dim weather outside the window. She hadnāt realized that she always stood behind him; somehow, it felt natural, comfortable, giving her a chance to observe the others from a distance. If sheād turned her thoughts inward, perhaps to the psychologist within her, she might have recognized she was distancing herself from the group while simultaneously positioning herself firmly behind him. Confident in his strength, she quietly promised him her unwavering support. Unconscious body language was easy to identify, but her mind was far too preoccupied with the novelty of the situationāand with her admiration for a man she had never seen in this role before. His brilliance radiated; adrenaline and pure joy animated him as he stood tall and confident, entirely in his element. There was no trace of insecurity, no hint of fear or shyness, nothing of the man she had met in that bar three years ago. And he was undeniably sexy.
Realizing she was smiling foolishly, she lowered her head, hoping no one in the room had noticed. She was suddenly worried that they might see through her, might catch a glimpse of the thoughts racing through her mindāthoughts that, at the moment, were anything but pure.
Under his gaze, her body reacted in its familiar, conditioned way. Two years on the island had been more than enough for her to develop this habit, ingrained in her mind. Slowly and methodically, this unconscious reaction surfaced every time. A familiar thrill stirred low in her belly, like an electric pulse, awakening her senses and widening her smile, pulling her toward him with an invisible thread.
Alberto had changed her perception of the world.
It was the kind of realization that usually comes slowly, over timeāor, if it comes suddenly, it's often later than you wish it had. A single person or an event can have that power, shifting everything upside down. Sometimes the change happens in a flash; other times, it unfolds so gradually itās almost imperceptible, and by the time itās complete, itās nearly impossible to go back.
Until Sergio came along. He was like the perfect storm, sweeping through her world and permanently changing its landscape. For a few days, he shattered everything, and suddenly she could savor the sun breaking through the clouds, the gentle breeze. She found herself basking in the calm of a voice that didnāt hiss or strain, a voice devoid of malice or cynicism. She marveled at hands that welcomed her trust without hesitation, words and gestures that offered sincerity and understanding, free from judgment or fear. Here was a man who didnāt dissect her thoughts or pick apart her words, reducing her to a specimen on the autopsy table. He was something new and unknownāa reminder that this should be the norm: a rule for pure and peaceful minds, souls untainted by the worldās harshness.
It wasnāt the sea or the islandās fresh air that healed her. It was him, slowly and steadily. Even as the world united to hunt them down, vowing vengeance, she felt like the safest woman alive. He had taken care of everything.
Her mind was finally at peace. Ever since that day in the warehouse, over three years ago, when she hung by her hands tied to the ceiling, she had known true peace. Her heart was safe.
Her body was safe, nestled in hisāand somehow, that was the most wonderful feeling in the world.
Suppose youād watched the slow accretion of snow over thousands of years as it was compressed and pushed over the deep rock until the glacier calved its icebergs into the sea, and you watched an iceberg drift out through the chilly waters, and you got to know its cargo of happy polar bears and seals as they looked forward to a brave new life in the other hemisphere where they say the ice floes are lined with crunchy penguins, and then whamātragedy loomed in the shape of thousands of tons of unaccountably floating iron and an exciting soundtrackā¦
ā¦youād want to know the whole story."
Gold! Absolute gold!
