52: Terrified

**Tristan**

I didn’t know what I was expected to feel right now. Anger? Resentment? Sadness? I was conflicted, but none of my confliction arose from Lucien. Instead, it arose from the man he called father. I wanted to hate his father. I wanted to loathe him, but the more I stood there and thought, the more I couldn’t help but find it pointless. Lucien’s father was dead. What good did it do to hate a dead man? Ambrose had taught me to move forward from my past, to turn away from it and take a step towards my future, and so this was one of the times where I gladly adhered to what he’d taught me. Hating a dead man wouldn’t bring my father and mother back from the dead, and hating the man I was slowly growing to fall for was a waste of energy, especially when he was looking as regretful as he did- as though he were guilty. It annoyed me. He didn’t kill my parents, his father did. It did, however put things into perspective. Jasmine wasn’t just Lucien’s crutch. She was also his burden. He thought that he owed it to her to love her. So, some part of his “love” for my sister, and I wasn’t sure how much of it, was a result of his guilt.

“You’re quiet again… what are you thinking?” he asked softly, nearing me slowly. A look of worry was etched onto his face, as if to prepare himself for my resentment.

But instead, I shook my head and said, “Did you think that this would change anything?”

Lucien stayed quiet for a moment but didn’t stop walking towards me. It was only when he was right in front of me, that he began to speak again.

“I don’t know, Tristan… there are so many things I’ve done that you should hate me for.”

“But I don’t,” I retorted, “you aren’t your father. Why should I hold you accountable for his mistakes? I hardly think that’s fair on you, and it’s a lot of guilt for you to let yourself carry around. Don’t you feel heavy?” I asked this, genuinely curious. I’d begun to realise that Lucien had a habit of torturing himself through this unbearable guilt he held. I wasn’t well-acquainted with the feeling, but I’d observed enough of it through Oliver. It weighed him down and drained him, and looking at Lucien now, I could see his own guilt was doing the same.

Lucien sat down next to me, never taking his eyes off of mine. His were unreadable now, and I found myself lost in this gripping sense of curiosity.

“It is heavy.” It came out of his mouth quietly, almost like a soft, tired whisper. He swallowed, trying to remove the sore lump in his throat and then looked away from me. Almost instinctively, my hand reached out for his. It was becoming a natural instinct to his pain.

“Then let go of it…” I uttered out softly.

He turned back toward me with an astonished look on his face. His brows then furrowed, as though he were trying to figure me out for a moment. He did this for a while, just sitting in silence and staring at me as though I were some kind of anomaly.

“It’s not that easy.” He said. I realised then, what he meant. It wasn’t just the guilt he was holding onto. He couldn’t forgive himself. Everyone had forgiven him, but he’d now become his own jailer.

“You know you don’t have to torture yourself, Lucien.” I said.

Lucien raised another questioning brow. “Why not? It’s what I deserve, after all.”

And what I said next, not even I expected myself to say.

“No, you don’t. You deserve a lot more than that. You deserve to be loved and forgiven.” But as I said it, I couldn’t help but feel as though I were reassuring myself in the process. It was as though I were telling myself that I deserved to be loved and forgiven as well.

What I’d said seemed to really affect Lucien who held my hand a little tighter and stared at me a little longer and leaned in a little closer.

“I don’t understand you… I’m good at reading people too but you… you just confuse me. I won’t lie though, I like it.” I could feel the warmth of his breath against my lips as he spoke and gulped slightly as a hunger began to grow within me. He was so close I could just-

“Let’s move onto the next room.”

**Lucien**

Tristan thought that *I* deserved to be loved and forgiven? It was so strange, every time I brought my mind back to those words of hers, they made me feel something I wasn’t quite used to feeling. It made me feel as though I had a right to feel worthy of something other than misery. It made me feel hopeful. Then again, Tristan always made me feel that way. I was hopeful for a lot of things, of which, her love was the most prominent. I adored her immensely and the more time I spent with her, the more I realised how different she was to her sister. Where Jasmine was cautious with her emotions, Tristan was beginning to get a little experimental with hers. Granted, she did live a lot of her life without feeling anything. Where Jasmine was often impulsive and frantic, Tristan was controlled and level-headed… most of the time. Tristan was also much quieter than her sister was. Instead of speaking, she tended to sit, listen and observe. It was refreshing.

The next room that Tristan and I entered into was my old one. Her eyes peered curiously at everything. They roamed in silent observation over the dusty pale purple curtains, the peeling grey paint on the walls, the lonely, ragged pale purple rug, the torn books scattered on my bedside table and then they finally gazed at the soft silver sheets on my bed. She gently reached her hand out and let her fingers touch at the surface of them. I wondered again, what she was thinking.

“I wonder how many people have had the privilege of laying under these sheets with you…” she said softly.

*That* was what she was thinking? I couldn’t help but chuckle at the subtle jealousy I picked up in her voice. I had to give her credit though, she did *try* to hide it.

She turned towards me and raised a questioning brow. “What?”

“You’re jealous.”

Immediately her cheeks flushed red, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “I am not!”

Her lips were saying one thing, but her racing heartrate, blush and startled eyes were saying another. Admittedly, I found her jealousy rather attractive. I liked the idea of her wanting me to herself. I just needed to push her into the right direction to get the right reaction out of her.

“You’re not?” I questioned, walking closer towards her. She slowly backed away from me.

“N-no…”

I’d backed her up into the corner, with her back pressed up against the wall.

“What if I told you that I’ve had many people in this bed with me…” I said lowly. Our faces were inches apart and I could see every single beautiful feature of hers. At first, I disliked the fact that she was so beautiful. Whenever I imagined my mate, I thought of someone like Jasmine. Beautiful in a plain, subtle way. But now, I’d grown to appreciate and even admire Tristan’s striking beauty. Her beautiful green eyes, framed by her long black lashes, her full lips which were now a dark shade of red, her high cheekbones, her pointy nose and her beautiful curls which framed her round face.

Her cheeks had turned even redder, and her hands had balled into fists. “I don’t care…”

“If you don’t care… then why did you bring it up? Why bring up the people I’ve had writhing in pleasure in this very room?”

She bit at her lip- an act of restraint, but one which only made me want her more.

“Still don’t care…” she huffed out.

“Yes, you do. You’re jealous, Love.” I leaned in and whispered this in her ear. I could feel her shiver beneath me, and a new feeling began to creep in on her. This time, one I could even smell in the air. Lust.

“I’m not jealous.”

I let my hands wander down the soft, warm skin of her arms to her legs. I lifted her left leg up and moved closer towards her, raising her leg up to my hip. She let out a gasp and immediately clutched at my back.

“Say it. Tell me you’re jealous. I want to hear you say it.” I said against her lips.

She gulped and took in a sharp breath. That’s when I knew I’d gotten under her skin.

“I… I’m jealous.” She said in a soft whisper.

I wanted to kiss her so badly. I wanted to finally feel her lips on mine. But now I had an even greater obligation than before to make sure I did nothing to hurt her. I still did not want to taint her lips, until I knew for sure, that I was completely and utterly rid of Jasmine. But restraint was proving to be more difficult than I was used to, which was strange considering my usual ability to be exceedingly self-controlled when I needed to be. And so I distracted my lips with her neck. But the more of her skin my lips touched, the more I craved. Again, nothing compared to the feeling I had whenever I was this close to her. It was as though this mate bond between us had grown stronger, and with it, amplified this attraction between the both of us.

Tristan practically moaned out as my skin touched hers. It was so easy for her to give in to me, so easy for her to trust me with her body. I couldn’t get enough of her, and it was clear by the way her hands were beginning to tug at my hair and clothes, that she couldn’t get enough of me either- which was becoming a bit of a problem.

The more Tristan reacted the way she did, the less self-control I had over my body and that hunger for not only her lips, but something way more intimate was beginning to grow rapidly. She gripped at the hem of my shirt, about to run her hands over my skin when a newfound fear gripped over me. My scars. I don’t know why, but the idea of letting her see *that* part of me, the ugly part, was more terrifying than I’d anticipated. When I was with other “lovers” I didn’t really care. I could entice them and enchant them to the point where they were undeniably attracted and intoxicated by the very thought of me. But Tristan was different. She’d ask about the scars. She’d want to know how I’d gotten them, and although I’d told her the story, showing her the story was an entirely different thing. They’d mean something to her, and in turn, they’d have to mean something to me too. And so instead I pressed her hand against a spot on my chest I knew was untainted by my scars, a place smooth and safe for the both of us.

She let out another moan as I dragged my tongue down to her chest and bit playfully at the top of her left breast. But I underestimated Tristan, and her strength. In a swift movement, she’d pushed me back until I fell against the surface of the mattress. Fuck, she was strong. She now had my hands pinned tightly against the bed and her eyes were pulsating a dark shade of blue. I was engrossed in the look on her face. The sheer desperation etched on it, made me desperate for her. And guided by this desperation, I wrapped my arm around her and gently pulled her down, underneath me. She never once fought back. Instead, she gazed up at me with this look of vulnerability in her eyes. She was so ready for me to make her mine, so ready for me to end this all right now- the restraint, the caution, those promises I’d made to her. And before I knew it, I was leaning in, ready to end it all too. I was prepared for the feeling of her lips on mine, the closeness of our bodies, the heat on our skins, right until she said, softly, “I trust you…”

That was when all sense made its way back into my mind and I immediately pushed myself off of her.

“Fuck…” I uttered out. I cussed again, and again until I couldn’t take it anymore and I punched at the wall, cracking through it. If she hadn’t said that, I would have done something I know I would have ended up regretting.

“What’s wrong…” Tristan uttered out concerned. I looked up at her. She was startled, and now, didn’t even try to hide it. The sight of an actual expression on her face other than desperation, pleasure, annoyance and nonchalance, startled me.

“I… I’m sorry. I just… I can’t.” I said with a nervous tug at my hair. Damn it, sometimes she made me feel so unsure of myself.

“Did I do something wrong?” She asked, and when she did, I realised how much I fucked up. I thought I could handle this sexual attraction between the two of us, as I had before. But then again, I was barely able to control myself. I had to be careful for a little while longer. Just until I was sure that I could love Tristan the way she deserved.

“No. You did nothing wrong, Love. I’m sorry, I just don’t want us to move too fast.” I said.

She tilted her head, and the startled look left her face, only to be replaced by a sense of curiosity. “Is that why you haven’t kissed my lips?”

I nodded and gave her a side-smile. “It is. I just want us to do this properly.”

“You mean… you want to make sure you’re over my sister?”

Sometimes she was too perceptive for her own good. I didn’t reply to her statement. Instead, I took a seat next to her and raised her hand to my lips and kissed it tenderly.

“You trust me, right?” I asked, looking deeply into her eyes, searching for any doubt.

She stared back at me, and her eyes surprisingly softened. “Of course, I do Lucien.”

That was all I needed to hear from her to make me feel okay again. There was no rush for us. One by one, I’d uncover my scars for her, and with it, move on from them. But until then, we needed these boundaries, because although she trusted me, I didn’t trust myself. In fact, I was terrified of who I was.