Under Covers

thirty | nice

A/N: Yes,  it is indeed a double update! Please drop all your thirsty thirsty thoughts into the comments, I really miss hearing from you guys! Hope you're enjoying Jake & Rayna's story <3 xoxo Ami

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thirty | nice

rather than being lush and sandy, most of the beaches in Nice are studded with rocks; these large pebbles – called galets – have been swept from the mouths of rivers over centuries

JAKE

May 9th, 17:46 (GMT +2)
6 days until it happens

I WATCH GOLDEN slivers of Rayna's skin shrink away as she tugs her top back on. My pulse flails, still rapt from the raw, loose, swinging rhythm of her dancing.

I spent two years stationed in Egypt so I've heard this song countless times, seen belly-dancers perform to it, sat in rooms blasting and thudding with it. But until this moment, I've never felt it, never been devastated by it. Rayna's movements were visceral and wild and spellbinding, sweeping me in, winding me up, her hips and her fingers and the tickle of her hair and the rose-syrup of her perfume lingering on her skin, and then spitting me out.

Misshapen and sore, suddenly tinged colder than ice. A minute ago her brown eyes were so warm, but now they've gone flat again, frosted and hard.

She's not sat beside me anymore.

She's propped against the coffee table, legs stretched out in front of her, hands pressed into the carpet. The look on her face promises blood.

I took something from her just now. Saw something I wasn't supposed to see in the bounce of her shoulders, the tender intensity lighting her cheeks, and now she's gonna rip into my chest and extract the deepest, softest bits of me as revenge.

She stays silent for a moment so the "Truth" that spilled from my lips hangs in the air. She lets the suspense widen and climb until it itches.

I reach for the bottle of whiskey perched on the side-table. The glug-glug-glug of it sloshing into my tumbler cuts through the wordless chasm.

Finally, just when the toasted sting touches my tongue, she questions, "Tell me about your tattoo. The one with the woman's name. Who was she?"

The liquor curdles instantly as it scalds down my throat. I lower the cup and it hits the coaster with a jarring bang.

Block it out, turn it off, push it away...

It doesn't work.

Burning rubber, sour petrol, that high-pitched, innocent shriek that I can hear even in the deepest, darkest folds of sleep. Contorted metal, dust, red, red, red, and then black. Black frocks, black blazers, black trousers, black casket, the blackest of dirt.

Black fabric beneath my fingers. I peel my t-shirt off and let it fall to the ground, the stale echo of old grief ringing through my ears. The black letters etched along my left ribs burn.

Something darker than hell shines in her eye. She knew what she was doing asking that question. She knew exactly where to touch to make it hurt.

"Truth or dare." Gravel crunches my voice.

She sees the taut edge to my jaw and hesitates before murmuring, "Truth."

Like clockwork, her fingers tug absently at the tiny chain adorning her wrist. When she's anxious or serious or thinking hard, she runs a fingertip along the faint chain of gold. She never takes it off. It means something.