Chapter 77: Summer's Bruise Beneath My Skin
The ache didn't fade.
It moved.
It shifted, low and molten beneath her skin, curling between her thighs like a fever that refused to break. Aria sat on the edge of the rusted cot long after Selene's footsteps had vanished down the corridor. Her fingers were tight in her lap, nails digging faint crescents into the soft meat of her palm, trying to will herself back into the shell of a body that no longer obeyed her.
The morning light crept through the shattered window. Thin and colorless, like it didn't dare touch what had passed here. Like it feared what it might awaken.
She pressed her thighs together again.
Useless.
The friction brought no comfort. Only shame — and a deeper longing that settled behind her navel like a secret drumbeat. Her skin still remembered Selene's breath on her neck. Her lips still tingled where nothing had touched. It was absurd. It was humiliating. She had begged for distance, and Selene had given it. But now…
Now she felt abandoned. And worse — unfulfilled.
She hated herself for that.
Aria forced herself upright, pulling on her jacket with stiff fingers. Her shirt clung to her skin, damp from a mix of sweat and something else she didn't want to name. Her breath was still shallow. Her chest too tight.
This wasn't love.
It couldn't be.
Love wasn't supposed to feel like your body was betraying you in front of someone who knew exactly how to make you tremble — and then walked away.
She left me like this.
Aria flushed again, biting the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste iron. That reminder helped. Just barely. She needed something physical to drag her away from the thoughts spiraling through her mind — thoughts about Selene's hands, her voice, the press of her body. The coolness that wasn't warmth but felt like it when pressed against her feverish skin.
Stop. Just stop.
She grabbed her bag, shoved open the door, and marched out of the room with more force than necessary. The hallway was cold. Dust rose with every step. The others were likely still asleep — or out scavenging. The air carried the dry, iron tang of old machinery and mildew. Familiar, grounding.
But not enough.
Nothing was.
Every echo of Selene remained behind her eyes. Every brush of memory was laced with need.
Aria reached the end of the corridor and descended the narrow stairs into the factory's lower level, nearly stumbling in her haste. She needed space. She needed to not see Selene. Not today.
Not while she still wanted her so badly she ached from it.
It took hours to find something to distract her.
She hunted for supplies alone, claiming she needed air when the others asked. Miles of dust and gravel and rusted metal did little to ease the tension wound inside her like a coil. Even the brief danger of a rogue scavenger — someone with a rusted pipe and desperation in his eyes — wasn't enough to make her forget the feel of Selene's hand at the small of her back.
She returned to the base by midday with a bruised elbow and a cracked knuckle from knocking the man out, but her mind was still back in that moment — pressed to Selene's chest, feeling like she'd die from too much want.
When she stepped into the dark atrium, Selene wasn't there.
Relief hit her first.
Then panic.
Then the realization she was searching for her.
Aria cursed under her breath and threw herself into sorting the supplies. Jerky, canned beans, a dented tin of peaches, a broken radio they might cannibalize for parts. Her hands shook as she worked, the buzz of her own body too loud. Every tin she stacked, every wrapper she folded, every inch of dust she scrubbed from metal — none of it drowned the pulse between her legs.
"You're avoiding me."
The voice struck like ice poured straight down her spine.
Aria flinched, jerking so hard a can rolled from the table and clattered loudly to the ground. She didn't look up. She didn't have to.
Selene's presence was unmistakable.
Cold. Commanding. Beautiful.
"Not avoiding," Aria mumbled, picking up the can with trembling fingers. "Just busy."
A beat of silence.
Then the sound of approaching footsteps. Calm. Deliberate.
"Busy?" Selene's voice was silk-wrapped steel. "You haven't looked me in the eye since I walked away."
Aria's breath caught. Her fingers tightened around the can. "Maybe I didn't want to."
Another step. Closer now. She could feel the air shift — feel that strange chill that accompanied Selene wherever she went. It wasn't unpleasant. It wasn't comfortable either.
It was electric.
"You begged for space," Selene murmured. "So I gave it to you."
Aria whipped around, eyes blazing — but the effect was ruined by the way her face flushed instantly, heat spilling down her neck. "I didn't beg," she snapped. "I just… I needed time. You — you did something to me."
Selene tilted her head. Her forest - green eyes caught the light like polished moss.
"I did nothing you didn't already want."
"That's not fair."
"No," Selene agreed. "But it's true."
Aria turned back to the table, furious at the tears stinging her eyes. "You think you know everything," she muttered. "Like I'm some… some puzzle you've already solved."
There was silence.
Then — Selene's breath against her neck. Close. Too close.
"You're not a puzzle," she whispered. "You're an instinct I never forgot how to read."
Aria shivered so hard she nearly dropped the can again.
She spun, chest heaving, mouth parted to shout — but Selene was already too close. Their bodies inches apart. Her breath caught again. Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides, unsure what to do, unsure what she even wanted anymore.
"You left me like that," Aria whispered.
"You asked me to."
"You knew what I was feeling —"
"Yes," Selene said simply. "And I honored your request. Even though every part of me wanted to stay."
Aria's eyes stung again. "Why do you always do this to me? Say things I don't know how to answer?"
"Because you already know the answers," Selene said. "You're just too afraid of what they mean."
They stood there — still, silent, the air thick with everything unsaid.
Then, without meaning to, Aria's gaze flicked down.
Selene saw it.
Her lips curved, slow and devastating.
"You're still aching," she said, not a question.
Aria turned crimson. "I hate you."
"No," Selene said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind Aria's ear again, "you just hate that you love how I make you feel."
A single touch.
Just her fingers, brushing Aria's cheek.
Aria leaned into it without thinking. The sigh that left her chest was barely audible — but Selene heard it. Felt it. Her smile widened — but this time it wasn't cold. It was something softer. Fonder.
"You're not avoiding me," Selene murmured. "You're orbiting."
Aria blinked.
"Orbiting?"
"You keep trying to escape gravity. But you always come back."
Aria opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Tried again.
"I don't know what I'm doing," she confessed.
Selene cupped her face, thumb resting just beneath her lip. "You don't have to. Not yet."
Aria swallowed hard.
Then — whispered.
"Then why does it hurt so much when you leave?"
Selene didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
Instead, she leaned in, just enough for Aria to feel the ghost of her breath again.
Not kissing.
Just waiting.
And Aria — trembling and helpless — didn't pull away.
Didn't flinch.
Because her body was done lying.
Because she was tired of pretending the ache would fade if she ignored it long enough.
And as the daylight bled cold through the cracks in the wall, Aria finally exhaled the tension that had lived in her since morning.
She didn't move closer.
But she didn't retreat.
And that was enough.
Selene stepped back.
"I'll wait," she said simply. "But don't take too long, little one. Hunger has its limits."
And then she left — again.
But this time, Aria didn't feel abandoned.
She felt chosen.
She touched her lips without realizing it.
Still trembling.
Still aching.
But not afraid.
Not anymore.