“I’ve been brooding over the Matt situation,” I turned to face him. “Perhaps if we figure out where he is, we can stay as far away as possible.”
“I’ve already thought that through,” he brushed a strand of hair out of my face, placing it neatly behind my ear, “Terry’s on it. I have a strong sense that he’s holed up with Lacy, though.”
“Yeah I thought the same thing.”
“Good thing he’s stationed outside her apartment, waiting patiently for them to show face.”
“Good plan,” I let out my breath, unaware that I was holding it in the first place, “I still have a job, right?” As much as I’d like to assume I did, I did quit.
“Yes,” he grinned, “Vickie will be so glad to see you. I’m pretty sure she hates me.”
“She doesn’t hate you,” I smiled. I wanted to tell him about Marques, but I held back, “You should really get to know her. She’s an amazing woman.”
“The only amazing woman I care about is standing in front of me,” he leaned in and kissed me gently. “Let me wash you,” he turned me around, leaving me to face the wall. I heard the small shampoo bottles lid fall to the floor, moments later a lathered wash cloth hit my back. He slowly washed me, the soap washing away the grime from our trip.
“My turn,” I turned, grabbing the washcloth from his hands and turning him, slowly washing his back as he’d washed mine. The muscles rippled under my touch, Tim still not completely comfortable with me touching him in such an intimate way. “Why don’t you like being touched?”
“I’d rather not talk about it,” he shrugged me off, turning into the water to wash away to suds.
“Oh no, its time we got to the bottom of it. Tell me,” I looked at him with pleading eyes.
“I’ve never talked to anyone about it,” he confessed, “I don’t know how to begin.”
“From the beginning,” I smiled.
“Alright,” he let out a large sigh, “I was touched.”
“I know I just touched you,” I joked. Tim didn’t smile, though, he just stared at me.
“No, Vanessa. As a child, I was touched.”
“Like, an adult touched you?” I gasped.
“Yeah,” he nodded, “I haven’t enjoyed intimate touch since.”
“Jesus, Tim, I’m so sorry. Who?”
“That I don’t want to talk about. Not now. Maybe some other time?”
“Yeah, of course,” I agreed, not wanting to push the subject. Him saying anything at all was enough. “I love you, Tim. I love you more than I can ever express.”
“I know,” he leaned in, kissing me, “I love you too.”
He may not have told me who touched him, but he told me. That was more than I could ever ask for.
He was opening up to me. He was allowing me to love him in a way he’d never been loved before.
I had to treat it with care.
I had to love him back harder than he expected. And I would.
--------The End--------
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Loving Munroe Page 7
