Love and Lust (The Hamartia Trilogy Book 2)

Capitolo II

"That's stupid," I frowned. From the looks of Lucas' physique, he can handle a bullet or two. Why did I use myself as a human shield?

"My thoughts exactly," he chuckled and I sniffed, smiling as well. There was something about him that I trust. It wasn't his smile nor his touch but it was something else. Whatever it was I knew I was safe with him and that no one would hurt me.

"When the tray fell, I remembered the gunshot," I admitted, fidgeting my fingers.

"Sigmund said it would be normal for you to suffer from PTSD," he pointed, standing from the bed and unpacked the paper bag. Like I suspected, it was food—mushroom soup. "He also said that you might be hungry. So I bought you this." He took out a styro-bowl and a plastic spoon out of the bag, and settled them onto the table, throwing away the packaging.

Then he sat back on the bed, taking off the lid and slowly mixing the soup with the spoon as the satisfying steam from the bottom clouds. He took a spoonful, slid the spoon on the side to avoid it from dripping, and blew like a fucking mother.

"I can manage—"

"No," he shook his head as he carried the spoon to me. I frowned but kept my mouth closed. "Always defying, Mari."

"I might be on a hospital bed, Lucas, but last time I checked, my limbs are working just fine." I crossed my hands over my chest and I stared at him, waiting for what he would do. And he does the same.

"Look," he sighed, putting the spoon back in the soup container. "You can starve to death if you want, but there is only one way to get food into your stomach. This way or nothing." He gave me a challenging look and shrugged. "I heard soup is better when it's hot."

"Fine," I said, giving up. I was hungry after all. And I could lower my pride just this time for a full stomach. Lucas smiled, satisfied, and brought the spoon back to my mouth. I took it without even caring that it's hot. I swallowed the soup, at first my throat was sore, but after a while, I got through it.

"Attagirl, Mari," Lucas cooed when the bowl was empty. I felt so little at that moment, like I was seven—a child, with the way Lucas was treating me.

"Why do you call me that?" I asked when he jumped off the bed and cleaned the table. I noticed how he keeps everything in order. How he neatly disposed of the trash, how he fixed his shirt every time he stood and how he hand-irons the sheet when he fidgets.

"What?" he frowned, walking towards the corner table and pours water on a glass.

"Mari," I pointed. "Why do you call me Mari?"

He returned beside me again, handing me a glass of water. "It's your name."

"Nobody calls me that," I said before drinking the water in half. "Most people call me Caty."

"I wouldn't be special if I called you Caty," he pointed, taking the glass and setting it back on the table.

"And you think calling me Mari will?"

"I don't know," he shrugged, smirking. "But it's not about what I'm feeling. It's about how you feel when I'm the only one calling you that. Mari."

I stared at him, completely taken aback. It did feel different, weird even, that he calls me Mari. But I couldn't deny the fact that something in me tingles when he calls me by my second name. It was like a personal endearment.

"And what do I call you?"

"To you I go by many names," he chuckled. "Fucker, shit, jerk, asshole. But I prefer it when you call me Lucas. It's not special or anything but I like the way your tongue moves when you say it." I felt my cheeks turn red and Lucas threw his head back laughing. "God, you're adorable."