by Adriana Law
She finishes. We’re both silent while I digest what she read. My head is spinning.
“I have some questions, but they’re stupid,” I finally admit.
“No question is stupid, Tori.”
“What is the word?” I ask.
“Christ.”
“That’s what I thought, but I wanted to make sure. What is the darkness?”
“Our separation from God.”
“Well, what is the light?”
“Christ,” she smiles. “He says I am the light. It’s the love he has for us … the healing and acceptance. Right now Sterling is in the darkness. He is being hammered by the storm. The light is the only way he is going to see all that is wrong. Without out it he sees nothing. Does that make sense?”
“It makes perfect sense. Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
I hesitate, retrieving my memory. “After my grandmother died the things she’d always said about God stayed with me.” I focus on the table, ashamed it took me so long to really understand what my grandmother had been trying to tell me. “I didn’t fully get it until I was fourteen. One day, when I was carving I sliced my finger open with my carving knife. It was overwhelming. Not the pain, but all the memories and scripture I’d heard piling in on me. I couldn’t breathe. My mother and I had gotten into a horrible fight earlier that day. Looking back now I’m positive I was having a panic attack. So I prayed. I prayed for God’s forgiveness. I accepted Jesus into my heart. And all that fear went away.” My eyes lift to Charlotte’s. “I am one hundred percent sure I trusted Jesus as my savior that day. I believed he died on the cross for my sins. I know that was the day I was saved, but I expected ….”
“What did you expect? A mighty wind storm? Flashes of intense lighting?”
“No.” I laugh. “I know it’s not like that. But I thought it would be easier after that. I thought my mother and I would become closer, that our problems would disappear. I thought I wouldn’t long to fit it like before. I thought I would … I don’t know … I thought I would find instant peace.” I straighten in my chair, my hands flat on the table top. “I felt something change inside me that day but at the same time I was still the same. Does that mean I’m not saved … because I’m still me? The old me?”
“Here, give me your hand,” Charlotte says reaching across the table. Her hand is steady, yet gentle in mine. She stares deep into my eyes, her expression soft and serious at the same time. “Remember I mentioned soul wounds?”
I nod.
“We all have them. When a baby cries and its mother doesn’t come to pick it up, comfort it, that’s a soul wound. It’s the love and acceptance we missed out on in our childhood. Scars. These hurts we experience accumulate, piling onto one another. These hurts shape us and condition us to how we think we should respond to the hurt. Take Sterling for instance … I don’t know him from Adam, but I’ll bet he felt unloved as a child. Those walls I mentioned Sterling has surrounded himself with are there to protect him from ever feeling unloved again, although he continues to feel that way. Now listen very closely. That’s the devil’s way of keeping us in the dark. Were you saved that day? If you fully believed and accepted Jesus died on the cross for you, then yes. But your deep soul wounds speak louder than the spirit. You still long for the same healing and this keeps you in a constant tailspin.” She chuckles. “The devil’s clever isn’t he? Think of it like this … If I would have stayed where I was ‘chasing my own tail’ still consumed by my hurt and failures would I be sitting here talking to you right now? The devil doesn’t want you to mature as a Christian, Tori. Yes. You can be saved and still be so preoccupied with the past that the people lives you should be affecting never see God’s gift.”
A rush of emotion pours out of me. I can’t hold back the sobs. My shoulders shake. “I’m sorry,” I sniff.
Her hand squeezes mine. “Don’t be. I completely understand. I still cry. I still struggle with my past but I don’t let it consume me: hatred, anger, spite, resentment…. I don’t want to give the devil the power to control me and those are things he uses to do just that.”
“I should probably be heading out so I don’t miss my flight,” Charlotte says with a spark of an apology in her eyes. She lets go of my hands. Her chair creaks as she goes to get up and I panic. I have so many questions I want to ask her: about my grandmother’s suicide. About what I should do about Sterling. I need some motherly advice. Some guidance. I only have enough time to ask one last question. Will it be the past or present? Past? Or Present?
I glance over my shoulder at where Sterling is passed out in the bed.
“One last question?”
Charlotte nods.
“What happened to your husband?”
She gives it a moment’s thought, settling back into her chair, laying on hand over her chest. “Well technically—on paper—he was never my husband, but in my heart he was.” She shakes her head, swallowing hard. “James didn’t want to change, even after Jonah was born. He enjoyed his life even though it was killing him … us.” Tears well in her eyes now; I can tell it’s painful for her to talk about. “He wanted us to continue living the same lifestyle we were living. One night, when it had gotten really bad—like Sterling, I was covered in my own puke and shame—I hit my knees and submitted to God’s plan for me. I didn’t care what that meant—what I would be giving up—anything was better than how I’d been living. I was hoping that plan would include Jonah’s father, but obviously it didn’t.” She exhales a long breath. “I don’t know where James is now. Probably in prison or dead unless he came to some realization that what he was doing was headed nowhere.” She shrugs a shoulder, pretending it doesn’t still hurt. “Who knows…?”
“God,” I say, wincing in case it is bad humor.
She throws back her head and laughs. “You are right. Only God knows what my ex-husband is doing.”
“I’m sorry though … about Jonah’s dad. I can only imagine how painful that is; having a child with someone and then them not wanting to be a part of it.”
“It’s okay. I came to terms with what is within my control and what’s not a long time ago. You may be forced to come to the same conclusion. I can tell you Sterling is beyond your control. You can’t fix him. Sometimes the most selfless act we can do is walk away giving the person we love a chance to figure it out on their own. Sometimes all we are is a hindrance. Sometimes they never get it.” She glances at her watch and grimaces. “I’m going to miss my flight if I don’t go now.”
We both stand. I walk her to the door, nauseated over what she said about walking away.
“Are you going to be okay?” She asks, pulling me in for a hug.
“Yeah. I’ll be fine.” I almost say the worst is over, but I stop myself. “Thanks for coming to check on him.”
She pulls back, searching my face. “You sure you’re okay?”
I force a smile. “I’m sure.”
Other than a broken heart ….
Dangerous to Love
Victoria
Easing down on the side of the bed I stare at him. My chest tightens. How can I feel so deeply for someone I just met? I can’t imagine leaving him, not now. It’s terrifying. Needing him. Wanting him.
He is breathtaking; all muscle and sin. It’s intoxicating, so much that I sometimes feel drunk when I’m around him.
I’ve heard somewhere the most desired face shape is square. I believe it now. Sterling is proof. I reach out, my fingertips enjoying the coarse stubble along his strong jawline, the slant of his nose, and the full dark eyebrows above eyes that speak into the very depths of my heart. I could sit here and stare at him for hours, days, weeks—fantasizing that this beautiful guy is in love with me.
But that wouldn’t make it so.
I lay down, stretched out beside him, my head resting on his arm, breathing in his breaths.
The evening sun spills through the row of floor length windows along the outside wall of the apartment, gl
eaming off the glossy black paint of the Baby Grand piano. I’m drawn to it, feeling that same tug toward it that I feel toward Sterling. Even with all the clothes sterling bought me I still prefer wearing his T-shirt’s and boxers. I like being clothed in his scent. It’s not an overwhelming cologne smell, but more of a clean smell, soap and downy fabric softener.
I linger next to the piano, his shirt tickling my bare thighs. The hardwood is cool under my bare feet. Sterling’s apartment is so high up no one can see in the windows even if they wanted to. My index finger grazes one of the ivory keys, the sound slicing through the silence in the apartment. I glance over my shoulder at where Sterling is asleep in the bed before dropping onto the bench. Again, my fingers slide over the keys: one at a time, black then ivory, ivory then black, admiring each ones unique sound.
The only song I know how to play is Mary Had a Little Lamb. I know, not impressive, but I thought it was impressive when I was younger. Stoking the slender black keys once more I decide what-the-hell and position my fingers. Mary Had a Little Lamb rings out into the quiet. I play through it once, and then the next time I change it up a bit, feeling more confident.
I’m certain my passing the time with something other than watching Sterling sleep is a good thing. Sterling sleeps so deeply now, peaceful, since the vomiting has let up and the aches have subsided. A smile curves my lips. He’s getting better every day, stronger.
My heart begins to thump wildly when I feel his unmistakable heat against my back. I gasp as his fingers slip tenderly under the collar of the T shirt touching bare skin. I close my eyes for a second, memorizing this moment.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” I mutter, my hands still over the keys.
Without thinking I rest my weight back on him, trusting him to not let me fall. Can I? Trust this beautiful man to not shatter my heart into a billion pieces. He gently brushes the hair off my shoulder and my eyes close again, a tiny moan escaping when his lips follow the same path as his fingers. I’ve slept beside the man, longing to have him doing exactly this … reaching out.
Oh God, this guy is dangerous to love.
I can’t not respond to him; it would be like trying to not respond to hunger, the desire to have him is too strong. That’s why I really came here, isn’t it. To finally voice what I want?
And I want him.
“Waking up and seeing you sitting at my piano in one of my T-shirts,” his teeth graze my shoulder his warm tongue soothing the sting, “that could never be a disruption.” He smiles against my skin. “At first I thought I was dreaming but then I realized you’re definitely real. I can smell you on my sheets.”
He slides in behind me on the bench so I’m caught in-between his legs, his hands covering mine on the keys. His bare chest is warm against my back. My eyes shut at the feel of his lips on the curve of my neck.
“Go ahead. Keep playing, he says over my skin.
“Twinkle, twinkle, Little Star?”
“Sure.”
I focus on playing until I can no longer take him nipping and sucking at my neck. I turn in his arms. “How am I supposed to focus with you doing that?”
He doesn’t answer, just stares at my mouth and I wait for him to do something. Moving from behind me he stands up and spins me on the bench so I’m facing him. My stomach drops at the sight of him. There is nothing sexier than a guy in nothing but a pair of faded jeans. My eyes lift to the piercings in his nipples and I notice the tips harden, either from a chill or he can sense I’d like to have my mouth there. My gaze rises higher to the tattoo on his neck before meeting his to find him watching me with the same intent.
“See something you like?” He grins.
“This.” I reach up, a fingertip tracing the outline of the swallow on the side of his neck.
He swallows hard. “I like when you touch me,” his voice comes out hoarse. “You should do it more often. It gives me chills.”
He uses a knee to nudge my legs apart and then he kneels, fitting his body between my legs as his hands cup the sides of my face, a thumb brushing over my bottom lip. He tilts my head back. I take a deep breath knowing what’s coming. We haven’t kissed since the hot air balloon. My entire body blazes with interest.
I angle my head; my eyelashes lowered staring at the silver in his bottom lip. My hands go to the nape of his neck, pulling him down to me. “Sterling, I ….”
“Shh.” His mouth covers mine, his warm tongue sliding inside. He kisses me deep, his tongue getting familiar with my mouth.
My fingers slip around his waist. He smells like the many days he’s spent in bed, sweating one minute and then freezing the next.
Something about seeing Sterling at his worst: his unwashed wild hair and the sleepy daze in his eyes cause me to clutch at him, trying to get as close as I can to him. Something about watching him lose all of his arrogance and swagger while he fought his cravings, becoming vulnerable and real melted my heart in ways I never thought possible.
My body hums with anticipation.
He pulls back and I see the flash of his dimples as his fingers work the boxers down over my thighs. As the cotton passes over my ankles Sterling looks up at me, checking to see if I’m okay with this. I hold on to his shoulders, stepping out of them, the muscles along the inside of my thighs jumping under the skin.
“Put this leg up on the bench,” he orders, touching my good leg.
I do as I’m told and lift my left leg, propping my foot on the bench, my eyes never straying from his. I need to see him. I need to know I’m with the one I’ve waited for. His lashes lower. His thumb gently brushes over the scar on my right knee. I tense, until his eyes find mine again, no longer on the scar.
“Now, lean back,” he gently commands.
My elbows slam down too hard on the piano keys. He chuckles low when my body tenses, startled by the loud sound.
“Relax,” he says.
Sterling’s hands slide down to my hips, stilling them. He yanks me down a little further to the edge of the bench. I gasp, my heart hammering inside my chest. The daylight streaming in the windows does nothing to help hide that I’m now sprawled out for him to see, but there is an ache, a throbbing that makes any shame and embarrassment I would normally feel take a backseat. I stare down at him. Feel his fingers graze my inner thighs. Watch as his thumb rubs where I’m wet for him. I don’t know what I was expecting. Colton and I had experimented. No sex, but there had been a lot of touching. But it had never felt like this with Colton.
I want this.
I need this.
I need Sterling. I could live off the rush he gives me happily until the day I starved from malnutrition. At least I would die knowing what true undeniable passion feels like.
His eyes rise to mine, heavy-lidded and suggestive. My fingers rake through his messy hair, my nails scraping his scalp.
“I want to taste you,” he growls and chills crawl up my spine. It is five words. Five words when strung together they’re the dirtiest thing a guy has ever said to me.
His head dips and his tongue follows his fingers. I squirm on the bench, whimpering.
One of his hands moves to my waist to hold my hips still. I adjust my elbows on the piano feeling the wood mar my skin. My head lulls back and I shut my eyes being sweep up by the moment.
The sensations build.
Sounds I never thought would ever come out of my body pass over my parted lips. I clutch the edge of the piano and shatter.
I collapse back onto the piano laughing at how insanely wonderful that felt. I struggle to catch my breath. I’m vaguely aware of him walking over to the dresser and opening the drawer. And then he is back. It happens quickly. One minute I’m still recovering from what just happened, the next Sterling lifts my arms sliding the T-shirt up and over my head. He takes hold of my waist on both sides and he lifts me from the bench, plunking me down on the top of the piano, the keys no longer digging into my spine but the fleshy part of my bottom. Sounds from the piano go out
into the apartment. I am completely nude now. He drags his gaze over my body. I arch my spine loving his gaze on me. His mouth makes a path down my jaw, my throat, stopping at my breast. He presses a kiss to the swell of it.
“Sterling, I …”
His mouth swallows my words, his tongue seeking entry. It’s a deep wet kiss that says ‘I want you. I want all of you’.
He kicks the bench out of the way, stands up his eyes never leaving mine. His jeans hang low on his hips, showing off a flat stomach. My gaze takes in his impressive six pack, his strong chest, all mine to devour with my eyes. I reach for the button and zipper of his jeans, frantically undoing them. My mouth goes dry as I stare at his naked body. I watch as he rolls on a condom and moves over me.
It’s not something we discussed, having sex.
“You are so beautiful,” his voice breaks through the haze of need surrounding us and I lift my head, our eyes connecting. Sterling’s other hand grabs hold of my hip, his fingers curling into the bone and without warning he trust hard. The burning sensation is sudden. It feels like I am being split in two, and instead of arching into him like I was; now I’m trying to scramble away from it. Sterling makes a deep throaty sound and collapses down onto me. His body tenses as he gathers me close to him. He presses several tender kisses into my shoulder.
“Shh, it’s okay,” he says. He grits his teeth. “Be still.”
Tears roll from the corners of my eyes. My knees press into his sides.
He grips my hip, pinning it down. “I’m serious, baby. If you don’t stop moving I’m going to lose it. I won’t be able to stop.”
“I don’t care just get it over with,” I plead. My legs wrap around his waist and my hold on him tightens.
He pulls back, our eyes connecting, both of his hands going to the sides of my face. Using the pads of his thumbs he gently wipes away the tears wetting my cheeks. He suddenly looks very serious. “If you want to hit me you have my permission. I deserve it.”
