The Stories We Whisper at Night

by Sky Corgan

  My parents expect me to go to medical school. They say that medicine is in my blood, and maybe they're right. My mother is a pediatrician, and my father is a plastic surgeon. I'm not really sure what area of medicine I want to go into, though. My mom says that it will be easier to decide once my clinicals begin. I don't really like the idea of starting college with no clear path.

  Kit groans behind me, and I glance over my shoulder to see him blinking into consciousness.

  “Good morning,” I tell him, pulling the blanket tighter around me to shield my near nakedness.

  “Good morning.” He rubs his eyes and sits up.

  “How did you sleep last night?”

  For a moment, Kit doesn't answer, staring out into space. “How are you feeling?”

  I take a deep breath, a bit thrown off by the fact that he ignored my question. “I'm not dead.” That's always a good thing.

  “No. You're not dead.” Kit sounds relieved, but his expression is unreadable. “Are you hungry?”

  “I could eat,” I confess, though I'm admittedly not looking forward to having another MRE. That's the only food I saw in his backpack. Hopefully, we won't be stuck in this cabin for long. I would kill for a cheeseburger. Or just...real food in general. On the trail, it was all beef jerky and trail mix. MREs should feel like a step up, but I really want something that doesn't come out of a bag or package.

  Breakfast is meatballs in marinara. It's not good, but the potatoes au gratin that comes with it borders on terrible. I mainly make my meal out of the sides: a beef snack strip, a First Strike bar, and some tortillas with jalapeno cheese spread. By the time we're done eating, I'm stuffed. My stomach has shrunk a lot since going out on the trail. I honestly haven't been eating as much as I should for the number of calories I've been burning. Before I even left, I was considered skinny. Now, I'm practically a stick figure. No doubt, my mother will fret over my lost weight when I return home.

  “It's starting to let up,” Kit informs me as he stands at the door, peeking outside. Chunks of snow fall into the cabin from being stacked against it. A cold breeze cuts through the small opening and gives me a chill. I shiver, thinking about how different it felt to be outside in it.

  “Do you think we'll be able to get out today?” I ask, hopeful. At this point, I just want to go home.

  “No.” He shakes his head. “Tomorrow, maybe.” He doesn't sound too sure.

  Kit walks over to his backpack and kneels in front of it. For a few seconds, he's still, and I realize that he probably knows I went through it.

  “How do you feel?” He glances at me over his shoulder.

  “Fine. I took care of the wound this morning. And, I hope you don't mind, but I got some hydrocodone out of your bag.” I look down at the fresh dressing on my leg.

  He grunts in reply, rummaging around in his bag for a while before returning to me. He sits in front of me cross-legged and opens up a deck of playing cards, tapping them out into his palm. “It's going to be a long day.”

  That's not an exaggeration. Never has a day seemed longer, but it's not unpleasant. We play every card game under the sun. Speed. Old Maid. Go fish. Poker. The games I don't know, he takes the time to teach me. Conversation is sparse. He continues to be a man of few words, constantly seeming lost in thought.

  “Are you all right?” I ask after a bathroom break, envious of his penis and his clothes. Having to put on my tattered garments and go outside to use the restroom is a reminder of the horrible predicament I was in yesterday. If not for Kit, I wouldn't have survived. I'm not sure if he'll ever understand how grateful I am. “I can't repay you with much right now, but if you need to talk...”

  “I'm fine,” he replies absentmindedly. “You don't need to repay me for anything.”

  “I owe you my life. If you hadn't come along...” I don't even want to think about that.

  “Don't worry about it. Saving people used to be my job.” Kit takes a deep breath before settling back on the floor.

  “It's not anymore?” I pick up the deck of cards and begin to shuffle.

  “No.” He shakes his head.

  “Medical retirement?” I probe.

  “What do you want to play next?” Kit stares at the cards in my hand.

  “I want to play let's get to know each other better.” I set the deck on the floor.

  “There's not much to know about me.” He avoids my gaze.

  “I highly doubt that. You seem like an interesting man. Do you have a family? Maybe a wife or girlfriend? A job to go back to after all of this? Things you enjoy doing?” I cast a net of questions, hoping he'll want to talk about something.

  His jaw clenches, and I worry that I might have upset him. But then the muscles in his face relax. “I have an apartment in town. I live alone.”

  “That's a start.” I smirk at him.

  “What do you want to play next?” He asks again, shutting the conversation down.

  It's obvious he doesn't want to talk. The least I can do to repay him for saving me is not pressure him into anything he doesn't want to do. Still, the silence makes me a little sad. It's as if he's not interested in getting to know me at all. As if I'm a burden.

  Of course, I probably am. I'm sure he never planned to have to take care of someone while he was on vacation. At least, I assume this is a vacation for him. But if so, then why would he knowingly come during a snowstorm.

  “Do you like snowstorms?” I question.

  “Not particularly.” He deals me a hand for seven-card stud.

  Well, that answers that. This doesn't seem like a very fun vacation. Maybe he just wanted the silence so he could think. Even with me here, he seems to be doing a lot of that. Lost somewhere. Not really with me.

  When the sun finally sets, Kit makes me a pallet in front of the fire. He gives me the good blanket and his pillow, the same as he did last night. The blanket he keeps for himself is worn and full of holes. For a seemingly hard man, he's very caring, putting my needs first. He's been attentive to me all day, making sure that I have enough food and water and pain medicine. It's the closest thing to home that I've felt since being out on the trail. He's a good caregiver. I can definitely picture him being a medical professional.

  “Are you sure you're going to be warm enough?” I ask as he crawls under the blanket several feet away from me. The fact that he seems to want to keep his distance hurts me for some reason. I definitely wouldn't mind sharing body heat again.

  “I'll be fine. Are you going to be warm enough?” He looks me over.

  I nod, trying to hide the sadness that's suddenly swept over me by turning onto my side facing away from him. My body is blocking the fire from him, absorbing most of the heat. He has to be cold, but I'm not going to argue with him.

  I close my eyes, fantasizing about returning to civilization tomorrow. I had hoped that Kit would want to stay in touch after this, but judging by how coldly he's treated me all day, I highly doubt that. Maybe I'm over-thinking things. He hasn't really been cold. Just distant. I wish he'd talk to me. I want to help him. But you can't squeeze water from a stone.

  I'm almost asleep when I hear murmuring behind me. There's an intense rustling, a sound that makes me turn around.

  Kit's eyes are closed, but he's jerking in his sleep. His brow is furrowed, his eyelids fluttering. His lips are moving, but I can't read them. Then he becomes more vocal.

  “No,” he says, his head tossing to the side. “Rob run. Rob, they're coming. Get back. Can't save you. Couldn't.” The words come in broken sentences. And for the first time, I realize that something really bad has happened to him.

  My heart breaks as I watch him struggle in his sleep. This must be what post-traumatic stress disorder looks like. What it really looks like. He's off somewhere inside his head fighting some battle. I don't know who this Rob guy is, but I'm pretty sure that he was someone important to Kit. And that he died.

  “Get down!” he yells, causing me to jump. “Rob! Rob! Jesus, Rob! I can't.
I can't,” pain courses through his voice. He sounds like a wounded animal about to be killed. I can't watch anymore. It's just too much.

  I know I shouldn't wake him—that waking him is dangerous. He won't be in his right mind. But I can't stop myself. I can't stand to see someone so kind endure so much pain.

  I throw the blanket off of me and crawl over to him, placing my hands on his shoulders to shake him. “Kit,” I say his name gently.

  The air leaves my lungs in a whoosh as I'm flung onto my back. Kit is on top of me. He's awake, and the look in his eyes is wild and full of terror. A tremor of fear rushes through me, but I steel my nerves. He's pressing his fingers so firmly into my shoulders that I know I'm going to have bruises. I reach for his face, taking it into my hands. “Shh. You're all right. I'm here,” I tell him. “It was just a dream.”

  The panic in his expression begins to fade like smoke sailing away on a breeze. It's as if a cloudiness is lifted from him, and he returns to reality. His grip on me softens, and he crawls off of me before tearing his fingers through his hair.

  “I'm sorry,” he says, turning his face away from me, ashamed.

  “No.” I shake my head, moving over to rub his back. “You're fine. It was just a bad dream.”

  “I shouldn't have... You shouldn't have.” He gives me a warning look. “It's PTSD. Every night, I watch my brother...” His jaw clenches.

  There's a tightness in my chest from his story. “That's so horrible.”

  “You have no idea,” his voice is filled with sorrow.

  We sit in silence for several seconds, perhaps both marinating on his loss. Everything inside of me wants to comfort him. Makes me want to take his pain away. He's too good of a man to be suffering like this.

  “Let me sing for you,” I offer. He gives me a queer look. “It used to help me sleep when I was a child for my mother to sing to me,” I tell him. “It's the least I can do.”

  He contemplates the idea for a moment before nodding and lying back down. Before he has a chance to argue with me, I slip beneath the blanket beside him, pulling him into my arms and cradling him against me, his head resting on my chest. I know it must be odd for him. This is totally outside of my nature, too. To so desperately want to bring someone else peace. To want to protect them from all the bad in the world. To touch them like this without consent. But I know that if I asked him to let me hold him, he would say no. In this situation, it's better to do than to ask.

  His body is full of tension. All hard muscle and stress. I can feel his discomfort, but I start my song anyway. It's a melody without words. Not because the song doesn't have words, but because I forgot them long ago. I hum, hoping that I'm making things better for him instead of worse. I'm unsure of myself until I feel him begin to relax, steel turning to putty in my embrace. As I sing, I feel connected to him. As he molds against me. As he lets me soothe the nightmare away.

  I stroke his hair, and I feel something warm swirling inside of me. My desire for him is still there, but this goes beyond primal need. A new need. Something I've never felt before.

  I want to be this man's everything. I want to take away his pain. I know that feeling these things is probably a mistake, but I can't help what's growing inside of my heart. I've just seen a very personal side of him—a side that I'm convinced he had no intention of sharing with me.

  I glance up at the IV bag still hanging on its stand. I think about all of the pills in his bag. I'm starting to put the pieces together. Why he's here. Maybe this place holds some special memories for him. He must be here to try to find some sort of peace. And I ruined it by showing up. I'm a distraction from whatever he was trying to accomplish. So I'll do what I can while I am here. I'll try to help how I can, and I won't ask anything of him.

  I clutch onto him tighter out of affection. His breathing has changed. I think he's asleep. I hum until I forget what I'm doing—until sleep takes me under as well.

  CHAPTER NINE

  KIT

  It's like the blink of an eye. One minute I'm awake, pressed against Ivy's bosom. The way she held me felt both wrong and right. I wasn't violating her. I know that. This was all her.

  I'm not used to being comforted like this. Not used to someone caring so much.

  Waking me from my nightmare was dangerous. Surely, she should have known that. I've heard more than a handful of horror stories of soldiers attacking their wives after returning from war because they weren't in their right minds. I could have hurt her. Thankfully, I didn't.

  After Ivy sang me to sleep, there was nothing but darkness. I remember drifting away to the sound of her voice, to the warmth of being in her arms. I do pretty well to mentally block out the cold. Mind over matter, as they say. I never realized how cold I was until she crawled into bed beside me. Her tiny body puts off a lot of heat. Lying with her is definitely much more comfortable than lying alone.

  It's morning now. Our bodies have shifted. Somehow, in our sleep, we traded places. Now she's draped over me like a rag doll, her arm lazily resting on my chest, her leg hooked around my waist. I'm comfortably trapped, if there is such a thing.

  Comfortable except for my raging hard-on.

  I stifle a groan as she shifts, her thigh rubbing against my junk. It's been a long time since I've felt desire. I had forgotten how demanding the need to fuck could get.

  I lie there on my back staring up at the ceiling, once against trying to think of anything that will distract me from wanting to touch her. The fact that she's all over me is practically an invitation. But I don't want to misread things.

  The song worked last night. There were no nightmares once Ivy was in bed beside me. I wonder why that was. Nothing has ever worked before.

  I glance down at the top of her head. She looks like an angel, her hair swept all around in waves and curls. I knew I was attracted to her when I first laid eyes on her, but I haven't really allowed myself to appreciate that attraction until now. Every moment I spend with her, every kind thing that she does, seems to make her more beautiful to me. I could love this girl, I realize with a heavy sadness in my heart. Now I want to touch her for a different reason. To soak these moments in for as long as they last.

  If I'm not long for this world, then why should I deny myself. Not taking things too far. Just a touch.

  I carefully brush her hair away from her face. Her skin feels like satin beneath my fingertips. She makes a small noise and then stirs, and I curse myself for having woken her. It seems like even the universe is trying to deny me a few seconds of happiness. Everything I touch, I break. This moment was no exception.

  She turns her head to look at me, and her face lights up with a smile that fills my heart with warmth. “Good morning,” she says sweetly.

  “Good morning,” I reply, longing to touch her again. Just once more.

  “You're very comfortable.” She cuddles against me, making my cock surge with blood.

  “You're very comfortable, too.” I practically choke on my own words.

  “I don't think you had any more nightmares.” Ivy rests her head on my chest again.

  “I didn't.”

  The urge is too great. My hand moves without permission, reaching up to comb through her hair. She moans softly, making my stomach tighten and my dick jerk. Come is already leaking from my tip. Fuck, it's been so long since I've felt anything like this.

  “That feels good. Don't stop,” she tells me in a voice that's way too sultry.

  I don't stop, lying there stroking her silky strands of hair, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about how I'm torturing myself. This is as close to this angel as I'm ever going to get to fucking her.

  But when she looks at me, her eyes are hooded. I've seen that look before from other women. It's an invitation, and I'm not about to reject it.

  I cup her face in my hands, drawing her to me. Our lips meet in a tender kiss. Her mouth is soft against mine.

  Something within me awakens. Something primal and dangerous. Something that I've u
nknowingly wanted for so long that it won't be denied.

  I cup her jaw, and she makes a small startled sound as I push her away just enough to get a good look at her face. My eyes rove over her, taking everything in. Her pink parted lips. The pale blue of her irises. The rose of her cheeks.

  My mouth is on her again, and this time I'm not gentle.

  I worry I might frighten her, that I'm being too intense. But she matches my hunger. Her mouth moves on top of mine, our tongues dancing as we devour each other whole.

  I slip my hands beneath her shirt, my fingertips traveling up her ribcage to the curve of her breasts. I grab two handfuls, squeezing and kneading as I continue to violate her mouth over and over again. My cock is so hard that it's painful. My greatest fear right now is that she'll tell me to stop.

  Ivy pulls away from the kiss. My eyes follow her as she crawls on top of me, then shrugs off her jacket and takes off her shirt. Her hands go to her breasts, and she presses them together, making her cleavage travel farther up her chest as she begins to writhe on me.

  I blow out a shaky breath, worried I'm going to lose my shit just watching her. “Please, baby,” I beg for mercy. This will be the first time I've had sex in years, and I don't want to embarrass myself by coming prematurely.

  “Come here.” She wiggles her finger at me in a come hither motion.

  I sit up, burying my face between her breasts as I wrap my arms around her and hold her to me. Nothing has ever felt more good or right than this. It's like she can take all of the darkness out of the world with just a touch.

  I reach around her and unclasp her bra, pulling the straps over her shoulders to reveal her perky tits. I waste no time taking them into my hands, pinching and tweaking her already beaded nipples. She tosses her head back and groans, and I take the opportunity to kiss her neck. My kisses are deep and bruising, but she doesn't tell me to stop. Everything in me wants to mark her as mine. Wants to claim her forever.