by Mila Gray
‘Huh?’
‘Do you want me to shave your beard?’
I nod, my mind still struggling to erase the picture of the boot.
Didi’s hand moves, brushes through my hair. My body releases a sigh at her touch. For a split second I imagine myself pulling her onto my lap, imagine feeling the weight of her pressing on top of me, imagine burying my lips in her hair, losing myself in her, trying to forget everything. But the fact that I’d be using her to try to black out the memories makes me hold back. She deserves more than that. She deserves more than me.
‘Come on,’ she says, standing up. She takes my hand and pulls me to my feet, then leads me through to the bathroom. She shuts the door to give us more room and sits me down on the toilet seat. I hear her start to fill the basin with water.
I close my eyes. I’m still distracted – I can’t shake the image of the boot – but when Didi starts dabbing shaving foam onto my face and neck I find that my focus immediately switches to her. She works better than any drug or antidepressant at lifting me out of the dark.
Her touch is gentle but sure – surer than it was last time. She stands close, so close that I have to spread my legs so she can stand between them. At one point she kneels, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t having to force myself to think about my old sergeant major yelling at me during drills to try to rein in my body’s immediate reaction.
Her hand rests on my shoulder while she shaves my cheek, and I have to check myself again because now I’m imagining her holding onto my shoulders, gripping them tight while I make love to her.
‘Why are you smiling?’ she suddenly asks me.
‘No reason,’ I answer, trying to wipe the grin off my face.
‘Why are you smiling?’ I ask her, because I can tell she is.
‘No reason,’ she answers back, still smiling.
When she’s done, she stands up and dabs at my face with a warm towel to wipe off the remains of the shaving foam, then tosses the towel aside.
‘There you go. That’s better,’ she says, pressing her hand to my face. She rests it there, and without thinking I press my own hand over hers and hold it in place. Didi takes a long breath in. I turn my head so that her palm rests against my lips and kiss it. She doesn’t pull away.
Fuck. I know this isn’t what we agreed, but I think we crossed the line a while ago, and right now my brain might be wiring messages at me to stop but they’re not making it through.
Didi’s free hand slowly slides through my hair, sending a shiver down my spine. I drop her palm and take hold of her hips, drawing her closer and hearing a sharp intake of breath in response. Her hand falls to my shoulder, squeezes it tight, and I hear her murmur something. I think it’s my name.
I stroke my hands over the curve of her hips, loving the feel of them through her jeans, realizing simultaneously that she’s more petite than I imagined but curvier too, and the combination is a total turn-on. I have to fight the urge I have to explore the rest of her. I make do with stroking my thumbs over her hip bones and following the dip of her waist. She’s breathing faster now, matching my own heartbeat.
I press my lips to the flat of her stomach through her blouse. I’m content to stay like this, breathing deep, trying to control the rising heat in my body, but Didi wraps her arms around my shoulders and pushes her hips closer against me, and all my efforts to keep control fly out the window.
I lift the edge of her shirt, running my fingertips along the top of her jeans, feeling her skin – soft, smooth as silk – contract into a tight shiver. I follow my fingers with a trail of kisses and Didi lets out a small moan that takes my imagination to another level.
I tip back my head, trying to catch my breath, though I keep my hands on her hips, holding her in place, not wanting her to move away. I’m not ready to let her go. I’d be happy to stay like this for the rest of the day, in fact, but Didi suddenly shifts away from me. She’s backing off, and disappointment makes my shoulders slump, but the next thing I know she’s thrown her leg over mine and is lowering herself down onto my lap. Holy shit. She has to be feeling how turned on I am. There’s no disguising it now.
I wrap my arms around her waist, enjoying the weight of her, the feel of her, after so long just imagining it. My imagination failed. The real thing is infinitely better. I trace my fingers up her spine through her clothes. Her back arches in response and she lets out another groan, this one louder, and pushes closer against me. I wonder if she has any idea what she’s doing to me, and then wonder briefly what the hell will happen if her dad walks in again. We need to stop, but honestly my willpower is shot to pieces.
My lips are level with her collarbone and I can’t resist kissing her, tasting her skin. She smells of coconut and spice and something else too, not her normal perfume, but whatever it is it makes me want to pick her up and carry her over to the bed. It makes me want to strip her naked and inhale every inch of her. Fuck. I reach her shoulder and Didi dips her head. Her hair is tied back so it doesn’t tickle me, but her breath does, hot and feathery against my neck. I tense. Is she going to kiss me? Her cheek rests briefly against mine and I close my eyes and find myself holding her tight, like a man clinging to a buoy in a storm-swept ocean. She’s keeping me afloat. How do I let her go after this?
‘Walker?’ she murmurs into my ear, her voice shaky and uneven.
‘Mmmm,’ I answer.
‘I think I need to kiss you. Sooner rather than later.’
I nod. ‘Yeah.’ My body’s as taut as a guitar string.
Didi takes a big breath in and pulls away from me. I wait, on edge. She takes my face in her hands. She’s the one in control again.
I wait, but the kiss doesn’t come and for a second I’m confused, but then I realize that she’s doing it deliberately. She’s taking her time, teasing me, enjoying the way my breathing is hitching and my fingers have tightened around her hips.
I hear her lips part, can feel the heat of her, know she’s barely millimetres from me, and it’s pure torture, but it’s also the sweetest torture I’ve ever known. And then, after however many seconds it is, she finally presses her lips against mine, and any doubt that we might not fit, that we might not have chemistry, evaporates. Instantly I let go of her hips and take her face between my hands, hungry for more, tasting her, kissing her until she’s breathless, until she’s begging for more, until every thought and image in my head is erased for good. She responds as hungrily, her fingertips running along my jaw, her legs wrapping around my waist.
I knew from when I traced her face with my fingers that her lips were perfect – soft, heart-shaped, the bottom one slightly fuller than the top – but kissing her makes me appreciate them in a whole new way. She opens her mouth to me and I start to explore her with my tongue, and what started off as a gentle, almost tentative first kiss becomes a hungry, almost desperate attack. It’s as if all the pent-up energy of the last few weeks is tumbling out, and now that we’re finally touching, have done away with those flimsy, half-hearted barriers that separated us, we’re struggling to catch up. We could be up against the clock for how we’re acting.
Didi’s hands wander unhesitatingly over my stomach and chest, though on top of my T-shirt, and so I do the same, letting her set the pace and following her lead. I keep my hands above her clothes, though I’m burning to stroke more of her bare skin.
But it can wait. For now, this is enough. Having her in my arms, finally kissing her. It’s more than enough, more than I expected, and definitely more than I deserve.
And then there’s a bang on the door and both of us jump apart as if we’ve been electrocuted. Didi is off my lap in the next second.
‘Noel?’
My head is still spinning from that kiss, and it takes me two or three seconds to come back to the present and figure out that it’s Angela calling my name from the other side of the door. What the—
‘Noel?’ she calls again.
‘Um, yeah?’ I say, aware that my voice is h
oarse and unsteady. My whole body is actually shaking, now I focus on it. Blood roars in my head, adrenaline rips through my body. I can still feel Didi’s lips against mine, can still feel the perfect weight of her in my lap.
‘I just wondered if you’d like to try some of my tres leches cake? I made it especially for you.’
I close my eyes and shake my head, trying to get a handle on my breathing. It sounds like I’ve just run a five-minute mile. ‘I’m actually kind of busy,’ I say, grimacing to myself. There’s no way I can go outside in my present state. Angela might take it as a sign and offer me more than just her cake.
‘Oh,’ she says, sounding disappointed. ‘Well, I can wait!’
‘No,’ I say quickly. ‘I’m going to be a while.’
I grimace again. What will she think I’m doing I’m here? Actually, I don’t really care what she thinks I’m doing. Let her think I’m waxing my privates. Whatever gets her out the door so I can turn my attention back to Didi, who has taken my hand and is squeezing it hard.
I caress her palm with my thumb, trying to reassure her, because I can sense she’s in a panic and now I’m mad that Angela has ruined the moment. We could still be kissing.
‘Oh,’ says Angela, sounding disappointed. ‘Well, if you’re sure.’
‘Yep, I’m sure,’ I shout through the door. ‘I’m taking a shower. Thanks, though.’
‘I’ll just leave it on the side in your room, then, and I’ll come back later.’
‘OK,’ I say, my attention already back on Didi. I tug her towards me and my hands start exploring her stomach again, her thighs and her ass, which is probably the nicest ass I’ve ever come across. God, I could spend all day exploring her body with my hands, another whole day doing the same with my lips. I wish we could just lock ourselves in this room for a week, her dad and everyone else in the centre be damned.
We listen to Angela leave the room, closing the door behind her, and Didi lets out a long exhalation. ‘That was close,’ she whispers.
I stand up and pull Didi towards me. She has to go up on tiptoe and I have to bend my head to kiss her, but we fit, perfectly.
She pulls away within seconds, though. ‘I have to go, Walker,’ she says, and I hear the note of anxiety in her voice. Immediately I become anxious too. Does she regret what’s just happened? Is she having second thoughts already?
‘OK,’ I manage to say.
Her hand lingers on my cheek once more, just for a second, before she turns to the door. I hear her open it and my arms fall to my sides.
‘Bye,’ she says, and then she darts back and quickly presses her lips to mine.
Didi
I’m still shaking when I walk out of the bathroom. I take a few deep breaths, smooth down my hair and press my fingers to my lips, which, like every other part of me, throb with heat. I’m in danger of weaving into a wall, my legs are so weak, and my heart is beating so erratically that I can feel it leaping around in my chest like a ping-pong ball.
When Zac kissed me, my brain wouldn’t shut up, posing questions about technique and worrying about whether he thought I was a good kisser. With Walker there was no thought whatsoever – my brain switched off completely. It was the most intense kiss, the best kiss, of my life. In fact, my brain still feels woozy and discombobulated. Electric shocks still resonate through my body in little jolts triggered by the memory of his hands exploring my body.
I open the door to the hallway, certain that if anyone sees me right now they’ll know without a shadow of a doubt what I’ve been up to. Guilt sends a new shock of heat to my face, which must already be flushed red. What did I just do?
‘Oh, hello.’
I come to an abrupt halt. Angela is standing right in front of me.
‘Hi,’ I say in an extra bright voice. Why is she hovering right outside Walker’s door?
Angela tips her head quizzically at me and then over my shoulder at the door to Walker’s room through which I’ve just walked. I swallow.
A question furrows her brow. The frown clears as understanding seeps its way in. She narrows her eyes at me. ‘Aren’t you his doctor?’
‘Um . . .’ I say.
‘Didi’s interning here for the summer.’
I turn around. José has walked up behind me, holding a tray of meds.
‘But she was just in the bathroom with Walker,’ Angela starts explaining to him.
My eyes go wide. Oh God. Now I’m in trouble.
‘Didi was helping Lieutenant Walker shave,’ José says. ‘He won’t let any of us do it. Girl’s got mad shaving skills.’
Angela’s mouth drops open. She shuts it. I force myself to smile at her while darting a glance in José’s direction. How did he know I was doing that?
He winks at me. My mouth falls open.
‘Right,’ says Angela. ‘Well, I’m going to pay a visit to Jesús.’
José smiles at her and she bustles off, but not before shooting a curious glance over her shoulder at me.
I stand there, biting my lip, too nervous to look at José. He leans in close.
‘Don’t worry,’ he whispers. ‘I won’t say a word. You guys want to hook up, that’s fine with me.’
I turn to him. ‘Really? You don’t think it crosses some kind of professional line?’
He shrugs. ‘Look, you’re not his doc.’ He grins now. ‘And whatever you’re doing, it sure as hell is working. He isn’t throwing yoghurt at anyone any more and the dude’s finally smiling. I even caught him singing in the shower the other day.’
‘Really?’ I ask.
‘Yeah. Sounded like Justin Bieber.’
‘How long have you known?’ I ask, shaking my head at him. I thought we were so good at hiding it.
José rolls his eyes at me. ‘Didi,’ he laughs, ‘pretty much the entire hospital barring your dad knows that you and Lieutenant Walker have been making googly eyes at each other. There’s even a little sweepstake running in the canteen on how long it will take you guys to finally get it together.’
My mouth falls open. ‘Are you serious?’
He nods, grinning, but suddenly his expression becomes serious. ‘Yeah. I think Sanchez might be the winner. Just don’t, you know, break his fucking heart, OK? That really wouldn’t be what he needs right now. What any of us needs.’
I nod, suddenly feeling more sober. José is right. Up until this moment I hadn’t fully absorbed the ramifications of being in a relationship with Walker – if that’s what this even is – but the mention of his heart being broken makes me realize that whatever’s happening between us isn’t just physical. Hearts are involved. My heart, at least, and from what José is saying, Walker’s too.
The last thing I want to do is break any more of him.
Walker
‘Where are we going?’ I ask.
‘It’s a surprise,’ Didi answers.
She leads me out of the building. I think we might be heading to our bench or to the lake, perhaps, but she takes us left down the path towards the parking lot. I’m holding on to her elbow. In spite of the fact that most of the centre seems to know about Didi and me, when we’re with people we put up a front of propriety. Behind closed doors, however . . . well, I’m not holding on to her elbow.
During this last week, pretty much every afternoon José has turned a blind eye as we shut the door to my room and undertake what Didi has termed a ‘physical exam’. I’m happy to submit to this kind of physical exam. It beats the one I get from my orthopaedic surgeon.
Things have stayed above board – to a degree. We’ve kissed. A lot. And I know every curve and contour of her body . . . through her clothes. We’ve agreed that we’ll take things slowly until I’m out of hospital. If she’s trying to dangle a carrot, it’s working. I’ve been hitting the gym every day for four or five hours, mainly because I need to find an outlet for all the pent-up energy in my body, and partly because I’m trying to convince the docs to sign me off. I figure that if they see me getting fit in my body, they m
ight not focus so much on what’s going on in my head.
What I’m not telling anyone is that the nightmares are still happening. Only José knows. I think I’m even man-aging to convince Doctor Monroe that I’m recovering because he hasn’t spoken again about going back over the event or recording a diary. However, he’s pushing me to attend art therapy classes. I hear they’re starting to work for Dodds, who spends a lot of his time down there in the art studio, but it’s just not my thing. The only therapy I need is Didi, though if I’m completely honest there’s a part of me – a small, hissing voice in my head – that whispers to me in the darkness, questioning the justness of what I’m doing. It’s the same voice that questions the fairness of me being happy every time I think of Didi and feel an answering fluttering in my chest. What right do I have? I try to quiet the voice, but it’s refusing to go away. Then there are the possible ramifications for Didi and her career.
‘Here,’ Didi says, stopping.
I hear the sound of a car door opening.
‘We’re going off the base?’ I ask her, surprised.
‘Yes,’ she answers. ‘I got permission, don’t worry.’
I get into the car and she shuts the door behind me and gets in on the driver’s side.
I’m not used to being a passenger. Miranda never drove; I drove her. My dad used to joke that I was her chauffeur. The roles are constantly flipping with Didi, and I find I quite like it. To a degree. I still hate the feeling of helplessness that comes from being blind, but Didi never makes me feel helpless, and when we’re making out I’m able to flip the tables a lot, something she seems to enjoy too.
I wind down the windows as Didi drives, breathing in the ocean. God, I’ve missed this, missed the feeling of freedom that being in a car brings. I hope we’re in for a long drive.
Didi puts the radio on, and for a moment, with my eyes closed and my head turned towards the sun, it feels as if we’re a normal couple heading to the beach and I’m not a patient on day release from a mental hospital.
