I can’t remember the last time I actually slept. If the bags under my eyes are any indication, then I think it’s safe to say it’s been a while ago. When I shut my eyes I’m back on Luke’s doorstep trying to reach for him, trying to pull him back and away from his open door, but I can’t keep hold of him and I lose him all over again.
I paint on a smile and try again. “I’m sorry, baby. I know you’ve been working hard on this surprise and I really am excited. I swear.” His face brightens slightly, and I can’t help the genuine smile that spreads across my face. Though it fades as quickly as it came, it doesn’t feel right to smile. I’m close to falling back into that black hole, but I at least need to get through tonight. Rogan deserves that.
He reaches for my hand, and the warmth of his skin warms more than just my body. It spreads through every organ, every cell, every platelet, and every shred of my soul. I close my eyes and breathe in the first deep breath I can remember taking in what feels like years. It’s just one breath, but it’s the first real breath I’ve taken since I found out Luke was dead. Just hearing me admit that he’s dead makes the tears flow.
Luke is dead. He’s really dead.
I’m feeling lightheaded when I look back into the beautiful brown eyes of the one person I love more than anyone, the one person who’s been willing to endure my tantrums, my heartbreak, my anger; the one person who never tries to tell me all the trite things others have said. He just lets me feel and never admonishes me for feeling too much or feeling the wrong things. He never tells me I should be over it.
I’m so overwhelmed. Tears keep streaming down my face, and I let them without any shame. They’re releasing something I can’t name and I don’t care that I can’t. My head is spinning, thoughts are running rampant, and it feels good, it feels real. Rogan reaches with his free hand and attempts to dry my face, but it’s useless; the tears may never stop. Instead, he pulls me into an embrace that makes me feel like we’re our own world, a world without pain, a world without death; a world without anything other than love.
It’s the morning of our anniversary. This wasn’t what Rogan had planned for me for today, but no matter what comes later, nothing will be able to beat this. Tonight will be wonderful no doubt, but what he’s just given me isn’t something that can be bought in any store. It’s irreplaceable and as beautiful as he is.
He’s chipped away a huge part of the darkness that was swallowing me whole, and I don’t even know what he did. Maybe I just needed to allow myself one moment, just one moment to breathe. I haven’t taken any time lately to feel anything but hurt and anger, but I feel like for the first time I’m feeling something much like hope. I don’t know what I’m hoping for, but the feeling alone is nice, and I’m going to relish in it.
I love him more than life, and I intend to make up for the hate I’ve directed toward him over Luke. He hasn’t been trying to hurt me; I have managed that on my own, and he doesn’t deserve it.
I throw my arms around his neck and pull him in for a kiss that I hope says that I’m sorry, that I love him, and that I don’t hate him. He has to know I love him, and this is the only way I know how to prove that. He deepens the kiss, but then pulls away long enough to say he loves me and that he’s sorry and something else I can’t make out, but I don’t care, it’s just him and me against the world, just as it used to be. Today is our day and will always be our day. Things are already looking brighter, and while I’m not so naïve to think I’m cured, I will take this for what it is, a start in that direction.
We pull away after a few more much needed minutes so we can both get ready. He promises, with a huge smile, that he’ll be back to pick me up at exactly six o’clock this evening. He says he can’t wait a minute longer being without me.
I run back into the house with a smile and up to my room. I shower, then Cass and mom help me pick the right outfit from all the clothes I’ve piled onto my bed in a fit of nerves when I couldn’t decide. They help me do my hair, since I’ve never done more than put it up in a ponytail or loose bun, and my makeup, since I so rarely wear any and suck at applying it without making myself look like a prostitute.
I’m ready and waiting by the door when the bell rings at exactly six o’clock. I smile and open the door to see Rogan standing under the porch light—which is accentuating his golden brown hair and green eyes—in black dress pants, a light blue button up dress shirt, and a dark blue tie, holding pink carnations, my favorite.
I’ve never seen him dressed up like this before, and it takes me a moment to process it, but when a sexy smile stretches across his face, I’m back to reality and the sudden need to drag him to his car, rip his clothes off, and christen the back seat. He looks yummy.
I hear a throat clearing behind me, and I’m reminded we’re not alone and that I’ve been caught staring unabashedly at the gorgeous boy in front of me. I smile proudly, rest my hand in the crook of his elbow, and tug him just over the threshold to face a proud looking mother who for whatever reason looks like she might cry. It’s not as if this is the prom or anything, so I have no idea why she’s reacting like this, but, hey, who understands parents? Maybe she’s just happy to see me out of my room, minus the scowl I’ve been catering to these past two weeks.
Through misty eyes, mom tells us not to move. I grimace when I look at Rogan and mouth, Sorry. This is so embarrassing. What could she be doing? Oh my God, she better not be getting the camera!
“Smile!” I’m nearly blinded by the unexpected flash from the ancient camera she only pulls out for special occasions.
Damn it, mom! I inwardly chastise her.
After forever of posing in front of the stairwell, the fireplace in the living room no one uses, then what feels like a dozen more of us back at the stairwell, I point out to her that we have to go. Rogan just keeps smiling like a fool, not helping me out at all. Finally, she relents and hugs us both, telling us how proud she is of us, how happy she is for us, then tells me to have fun and that she extended my curfew from eleven o’clock to midnight. I squeeze her in a hug and whisper, “Thank you” and “I love you” into her ear, which she responds with a “You’re welcome” and “I love you, too” back into mine.
I wave goodbye as Rogan and I walk down the walkway to his car. He places his hand on top of mine, which is on the car door handle, pulls it away, and says, “Let me.” I smile, putting my head down and sliding into the seat.
After driving for over half an hour I can’t take it anymore. I keep asking him where he’s taking me and what we’re doing. He just smiles and patiently tells me to relax and trust him. It’s not that I don’t trust him; it’s that I’m going crazy with anticipation. I never expected to have to wait this long to know what we were doing. Another fifteen minutes and he pulls into the parking lot of a fancy looking French restaurant.
I stare like a fool out of my window and keep staring even when there’s no window and the door is wide open with an outstretched hand in front of me. I turn my gaze, and with a huge smile, place my hand in his and step out of the car next to the most amazing person I know.
I straighten my deep blue, mid-thigh, strapless dress, which unintentionally complements his outfit, and silently thank the Cosmos that this was what I decided to wear tonight, although I still feel like a pauper compared to some of those around me, but it’s better than jeans. I look to Rogan, who’s beaming, and it’s so contagious we must look like two fools when we walk in.
Rogan tells the hostess that we have a reservation for two, and we’re led to a cozy table in a far corner. The restaurant is busy, but somehow it feels like we’re the only two people here. Rogan holds my hand across the table and refuses to let go even when the waiter comes to take our drink order. The waiter smiles at us and turns to get our drinks.
“Rogan, this is wonderful. You didn’t have to do something so extravagant, but I’ve gotta say, I’m happy you did.” I can’t lie and say otherwise because this really is magical. I feel so grown up and important. “
I can see us doing this every year,” I tell him, then realize what I just said. I try to cover by saying I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.
He looks confused and hurt when he says, “You wouldn’t want to come here again next year?”
I can’t help but smile and instinctually lower my chin toward my chest. I feel his hand coaxing me to look at him. He’s silent, but imploring me to explain what I meant. “I’d love to come back here; I just didn’t mean to imply that we would be together another year. I didn’t want to freak you out.”
His face relaxes and he softly chuckles. “You think I plan on not being with you next year? Or the next? Or the next? Or t—?”
“I get it!” I laugh and interject before we spend all night going through every year he plans on being with me.
“I don’t ever want to be without you,” he continues. “And as long as you’ll have me, I’ll be here. They aren’t just words I say when I say I love you. I love you so much, and one day I plan to marry you and have lots of babies with you.” He’s smiling, and while a small lump just formed in my throat over his confession, I’m thrilled to hear him say all of the things I’m always thinking about him.
“So, you want to be with me forever, huh?” I tease him.
He smiles back at me and says, “Until I die, I’ll want to always be with you, and even when I’m dead I plan on hanging around you. I’ll have to keep an eye on anyone who plots to take you away from me.”
“Since I’ll be old and decrepit, I doubt you’ll have to worry about that.”
“Hey, speaking as a man, I don’t think anything, even age, would stop a man from coming after you. You’re gorgeous, smart, funny, caring, and just an amazing person. Anyone who gets to know you is luckier for it, and I know that isn’t going to change with age so, dead or alive, I’m going to have my work cut out for me.”
I don’t like talking about him dying; I can’t stomach the thought of being without him even for a minute. The events of these past couple of weeks make the thought even more crippling. I’m on the verge of tears, and Rogan notices, even though I try discreetly wiping away the few rebel tears that won’t stay in my sockets.
He stands and walks the couple of steps to me, pulls my chair around so I’m facing him, and wipes away the tears. “Baby, I didn’t mean to upset you. I was being an ass and I’m sorry. You’ve been through so much lately, and I didn’t mean to talk about death in any capacity, even though I meant for it to be sweet, not tragic. I’m so sorry. Can you forgive me? Can we just have a do over and go back to the image of you naked and pregnant, I mean barefoot and pregnant!” He shakes his head as if he’s upset by his accidental slip, even though we both know it was no accident.
“You’re such a perv! Now sit down before people start thinking we’re breaking up. Or that you’re proposing. Either would be kind of embarrassing.” I scold him and shove him in the chest to get him to move back to his seat. He grabs my face between his hands and places one of our gentle kisses on my lips. I’m about halfway melted into goo when a man clears his throat. Cracking my eyes, I see our waiter standing behind Rogan with our drinks. Oops!
I hide my smile behind the napkin I cover my mouth with, pretending to wipe something from my lips. I realize it must look like I’m wiping the kiss away, and when I look up at Rogan he’s grinning like a fool, probably thinking the same thing. So much for trying to move discreetly past that awkward moment.
The dinner goes by without any more tears or embarrassing moments between our waiter and us, and when we’re so stuffed from dinner and dessert, Rogan pays the bill and walks me to the car, never letting my hand go.
Before he opens my door he pulls me close to him and kisses me unlike he’s ever kissed me before. Something is different, and when our eyes meet, I think we both felt it and both know what it is. My stomach does a summersault, and I nearly lose my dinner. I’m beyond ready, but tonight?
He steps back and helps me into the car. When he’s in and the car is started, we pull out of the lot and back onto the road, but we aren’t heading toward home. “Where are we going?” I wonder aloud.
“You’ll see. This night isn’t over yet.” He smiles at me and grabs my now clammy hand.
With a shaky smile and an even shakier voice I say, “Oh.” I’m too nervous right now to come up with anything more.
The drive isn’t as long this time, maybe twenty minutes, but I don’t know why we’ve stopped, there’s nothing here. “Um, babe, what are we doing here? There’s nothing here?”
“Sure there is. We are here, aren’t we?”
“You know that’s not what I meant.” I groan, waiting for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t.
I turn in my seat to confront him just as he gets out of the car. My door opens and I’m pulled into his arms and hugged close to his chest. I breathe in his scent, fully aware that there’s no other scent out there that could compare to him. He smells like home; my sanctuary, my everywhere.
“Come with me. Do you trust me?”
I stare into his eyes and nod. Of course I trust him, but what is he planning?
“Good!” he says while pulling me along through the field we’re in.
I yell to him that he has to slow down because I’m in heels, and either a heel or my ankle is going to break, probably both at this rate. He chuckles, but slows his pace. He’s like a boy with a new video game, and I’m anxiously waiting to know what’s making him so excited, then I see it, and wow!
“Oh my God! Rogan, this is . . . there are no words.” There really are no words for what I’m seeing. We’ve walked through a field of grass, but are now in a clearing and, as if it’s lying on the earth for us, is the biggest moon I’ve ever seen. It looks like if I walked a little farther, I could reach out and touch it.
I’m so mesmerized it takes me a moment to see the blanket and wine glasses set up on the ground ahead of me. I turn my attention to Rogan, who’s gaging my emotions and waiting for my reaction. I throw my arms around him and jump up, wrapping my legs around his waist. He clasps his hands together, so he’s carrying me and while walking us to the blanket never takes his lips off mine.
I moan ridiculously loud, but my body is burning from his touch, his scent, and the feel of his lips. He trails kisses across my jaw, down my neck, and up to the tender spot just under my ear. His voice softly murmurs in my ear about loving me forever and never wanting to be without me.
Somehow, he lays us both down on top of the blanket without slamming us hard into the ground or breaking our contact. We never stop kissing, and now that we’re lying down, our hands have the opportunity to explore each other’s bodies as we never have before.
I roam over his muscular chest, trailing down his taut abs before moving back up and over his neck, feeling his heart beating rapidly against his skin, then down his arms, holding his free hand briefly before continuing my slow, leisurely trip across his body once more.
He does the same to me, lifting the hem of my dress slightly to touch more of my bare leg. I squeeze my eyes shut at the sensation, then moan loudly when his hands find my breasts, skimming over them softly. I’m burning with a need I didn’t know was possible. I need him closer to me. I need to feel him everywhere before I combust. “Rogan . . .” I moan. “I need you. Now. Please.” I beg.
He pulls back enough to look into my eyes. I try to pull him back to me. I feel lost; he feels so far away, and I can’t take it. I pull at the back of his neck in vain to get him closer to me. “Listen, babe, trust me, I want this as much as you, but I didn’t bring you here for this, and I don’t want you to think I did or that we have to just because we’re here.”
I can feel his heart beating just as fast as before, and that, combined with the smoldering look in his eyes, is telling me he’s using every bit of restraint he has to make sure I’m ready, but I’ll die right now if he doesn’t do what we both so desperately want to do, what we’ve waited a year to do. I love him. He loves me and there will never be any
one else for me. Ever!
I take a calming breath and pull him in for a quick kiss, which he allows before resuming his distance above me. “I love you. You love me. There will never be another person for me as long as I live, and I’ve never wanted anything more than I want this right now. I trust you that you didn’t bring me here for this, but this is too perfect to let go. Please don’t make me beg.”
There’s silence between us, but I hear everything around us. I hear the cicadas, the wind rustling the grass, but above all that, I hear our hearts beating in tandem, so in harmony with one another that I think it would be a crime not to listen to their desires.
There’s no going back. There can’t be any going back. We were made for each other, and everything has been leading up to this from the moment we met. This is perfect. We are perfect together.
His lips crash into mine, and there are no more spoken words between us, just the night and our love to remind us that this is real.
It feels like mere moments for our clothes to be shed and our bodies to be tangled into a human origami masterpiece, but those are the longest moments I’ve ever experienced.
Rogan’s fingertips trace around my naval and a tingly feeling stirs low within me. My eyes roll back and a contented sigh escapes my lips. I feel his fingers make soft circles all over my belly and from side to side over my hips, and when one finger, followed by another, slide into my wet folds an unabashed moan is unleashed like a primal being having been imprisoned somewhere deep within me. The movements his fingers are making are starting to unravel me at my very core. Nothing has ever felt like this, but I need more.
I cry out, gripping his shoulders, pulling his lips to mine—I need to feel him, all of him. I’m starting to spiral out of control, but I need him closer. I may drown in my own desire if I can’t have him now, and I want him . . . now!
As if sensing what I want, what I need, Rogan pulls his fingers slowly out of me. I feel empty, but when he prepares to enter me, I welcome the full feeling I’m about to experience.
Stolen Page 4
