Watching Over Me: A Dreams Novel

by Kamery Solomon

  “Of course he’ll want all that,” Mom insisted, sniffling. “What nineteen year old boy wouldn’t want his life to go back to normal?”

  Turning away from the window, I frowned, grinding my teeth together. Across the table from me, a mirror hung on the wall. As I looked at my reflection, I knew that my life would never, ever be normal again.

  “You’re scarred.” It didn’t feel like so much of a revelation to me as I watched him, standing in front of the window with his hands grasping the edges. “That’s why you didn’t want me to see you?”

  Rolling his shoulders back, he turned and leaned against the wall, undoing the left button on the cuff of his white shirt. “They’re more than just scars, Scarlet,” he sighed. “I can’t go outside without someone screaming at me or pulling their child to the other side of the street. They don’t want to look at me, to explain that I’m a patchwork quilt of other people’s body parts.” Slowly, he crossed the room to me, undoing the button on his other sleeve. “About two years after the fire, I went out for pizza with my dad. That was when I realized I really couldn’t have everything back, no matter how good I felt physically.”

  “Mom wants some with the white sauce and chicken,” Dad said, putting his phone back in his pocket as we walked down the street.

  We were in the middle of moving, the lease on our last apartment having run out. It hadn’t been as nice as we’d hoped, though, so now we were trying out somewhere new. The neighborhood felt welcoming enough and was close to the physical therapist’s office. Not that I went very much now; they only needed to see me every other month to make sure I was still doing well. It was part of the deal I’d made with the doctor—if I kept coming to see them until he thought I didn’t need to, he’d sign off on letting me dance again. Maybe, if I worked hard enough, UD would consider letting me into the company still . . .

  “Mommy, look at that man’s face!”

  Stomach turning, I looked down at the little girl who was pointing right at me. She looked horrified, her mouth hanging open as she tugged on her mother’s hand, trying to get her attention.

  “Abigail, it’s not nice to point,” the woman said sternly.

  “Is he the Devil?” the girl asked loudly. “My teacher said the Devil is ugly.”

  “Abigail!” Swiftly, the woman reached down and spanked the child. “We don’t say things like that!” Looking up to apologize to me, she stopped, freezing as she looked at me. A glimpse of the horror that had been on her daughter’s face shone in her eyes. “I—I’m sorry,” she stuttered, gathering the child into her arms before hurriedly crossing the street.

  Swallowing hard, I glanced around, taking in the people that were now staring at me, their own expressions showing varying degrees of disgust and fear.

  “Eric,” Dad said, grabbing my arm roughly, pulling my thoughts back to what I’d been doing. “Don’t mind them, son.”

  “I think I’ll just go back to the house,” I answered weakly, detaching myself from him. Turning around, I bumped into another man. “Sorry,” I mumbled, dropping my head.

  “Shit man, what happened to your face?” he called as I hurried by him.

  “Hey,” Dad yelled at him.

  I started running, holding my arms over my head as I did. Leaving the apartment hadn’t been a big part of my life for the past year. I hadn’t wanted to, not while I was still recovering and learning basic things again. If I did leave, it was to go to physical therapy and that was it. Now I knew that it should have stayed that way—the world didn’t want to have to face the Devil in the street.

  “I’ll never forget the look on her face, when she saw me,” he mused, sliding out of his jacket, breathing deeply. “It was like a demon was there, breathing fire on her.”

  “I’m so sorry, Eric.” Wiping a tear from my cheek, I sat up straight on the bed, watching as he laid the coat across the back of the chair. “I can’t even imagine.”

  “I want to show you,” he said roughly. “My scars.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked, a little scared not just for myself, but for him. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. I don’t want you to feel like you have to show me and be uncomfortable.”

  “You couldn’t know who I was because of them,” he said painfully. “I knew that if you saw them, you would be afraid. You wouldn’t trust me to tutor you, to touch you, or to love you.” Looking at me seriously, he took a deep breath, steadying himself. “But I do love you, Scarlet. I want to be with you, but not if you can’t accept all of me.”

  Slowly, eyes never leaving mine, he reached up and slid the band holding his mask over his head, pulling the cover away from his face.

  Stifling a gasp, I took in his features, saying nothing. The scars stretched out of his hair line down around his eyes, still slightly red after all the years he’d had them. They shined slightly, looking off from the untouched skin of his cheeks and jaw. There were ridges where skin normally would have been flat, probably from where the skin grafts met his own flesh. The outside corner of one of his eyes seemed pinched, like it had been fused together. Burns faded up into his hair, a small bald spot on his left temple suggesting that he had received his hair implant in that area.

  Turning his head, he let me see where the marks came out from under his hair and onto his neck, traveling down under his shirt. He’d used makeup to cover them up for the party, wiping it away with his hand as he glanced at me again, his face blank.

  I knew he was trying to keep it together for me, not wanting to show any emotion as I saw him for the first time. Every fiber of my being ached to tell him to stop, that I didn’t need to see, but at the same time I knew I had to. This was who he was, who he wanted to share with me. I wasn’t going to take that from him, no matter how painful it was for the both of us.

  In slow, deliberate motions, he removed his gloves, the skin on his hands just as red and shiny as that on his face. It was smooth, though, normal even, besides the color.

  Trying to remain as neutral as possible in my expression, I watched as he fell still, his chest moving faster than normal as he breathed. He was scared, I could tell without a doubt. All I wanted to do was hold him and cry, for what had happened to him and how it tortured him even now. Something told me he needed me to stay strong for just a while longer, though, while he shared his secrets with me. Taking a deep breath, I rose to my feet and stood right in front of him, staring into his eyes.

  “Keep going.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “You’re not scared?” He asked me quietly, his face the mask now as he did his best to keep his emotions under control.

  “No,” I assured him. “Only sad.” Carefully, I reached out, slowly, to make sure it was okay with him. When my fingers lighted on the scars just above his left cheek, his eyes fluttered closed, a breath whooshing from him.

  “No one has ever touched them before,” he mumbled. “Not since the doctors last checked me.” His hand covered mine, fingers wrapping around my palm.

  “Is this okay?” Moving up, I caressed over his eyebrow, gently caressing the slight ridge in the middle of it.

  “I didn’t think . . .” A tear rolled out of the corner of his eye and he stared at me in surprise, his free hand hesitantly resting on my waist. “You aren’t disgusted with me? You don’t want to leave?”

  Leaning forward in response, I met his lips softly, my own tears mixing with his as I tried to show him that he was safe with me. “You are not your scars,” I whispered against him, placing kisses on the painful marks, as I brushed through his hair. “People are made up of more than just their looks. You know that better than anyone.”

  His palms pressed into my back as he held me to him, his heart beating heavily, his face buried in my shoulder as he cried again, this time out of what seemed to be relief.

  Overcome by the need to comfort him, I touched my lips to the top of his head, undoing the buttons on his shirt slowly. Feeling the uneven pattern of the scars hidden there, I did
my best not to fall apart from it all. I pushed the cloth from his shoulders, helping him remove the top, wanting to see everything. Pausing for a moment, I stepped back, studying the marks cascading over his chest, as they wrapped around his arms, and disappeared behind him. I felt the lines softly, tracing over his skin, as I imagined the pain he must have felt from them.

  Moving from his embrace, I stood behind him, tracing over the skin, rubbing, exploring. The scars continued on under his pants and I blushed, wondering if he intended to show me that area as well. As I took his hands in mine, I kissed them, coming back to stand in front of him.

  “I love you, Scarlet Redford,” he said sincerely, pulling me closer, his lips meeting mine.

  “And I love you, Eric Parish.” I meant every word of it, too. I knew him now. I’d spent time with him for months, falling for a man I knew nothing about. Everything he’d told me tonight filled in those gaps, making me even surer of my feelings for him. It wasn’t just the fire I felt whenever he touched me, or the way we danced. It was as if my soul recognized his and knew that we belonged together.

  His mouth claimed mine once more then, taking my face in his hands as his lips crushed mine, his tongue in my mouth, tasting me as I tasted him. Slowly, his fingers brushed across my neck and onto my shoulders, feeling their way over my arms until they found the hem of my gloves. Carefully, he slid the fabric down my skin, until it fell in a pile on the ground at our feet.

  The air in the room seemed to change as I let myself be devoured by him, the fire under my skin beginning to scorch me as I clung to him, raking my fingers on his back, pressing myself closer to him. Sympathetic and hurt feelings were being replaced with those of passion and longing the more we touched each other.

  Undoing the zipper in my dress, he slid his hands into the outfit with me, feeling the skin of my sides, brushing down my back, sliding over my underwear. His teeth captured my bottom lip and he sucked on it, pressing me against him as he held me.

  “Scarlet,” he said, releasing my mouth, his voice rough.

  “You don’t have to ask,” I muttered, leaning in and kissing his neck. “The answer is always yes.”

  Groaning, his mouth attacked mine once more as he grabbed the sides of my outfit and pull it off. Leaving it in a heap on the floor, he bent and swooped me into his arms, carrying me the few steps to the bed and placing me there gently.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” he said, staring at me in my lacy black underwear and bra. Lowering himself over the top of me, he kissed just under my breasts, trailing the caresses up to my neck as his weight settled on me, his hand stroking my thigh.

  Rubbing my hands down him, I tugged on the waist of his dress pants, smiling as he reached and undid the button for me, letting me push them away. Taking them off the rest of the way, he resumed his sensual attack, this time moving down my stomach, his tongue tracing the line of my underwear.

  Sitting up, he lifted one of my legs, licking my calf and then the inside of my thigh, one hand brushing all the way up to touch my underwear again. “Have you done this before?” he asked carefully.

  “On prom night.” I laughed, remembering the awkward experience. “With a friend who just wanted to get it over with. It wasn’t a fantastic experience.”

  “A prom night romance.” He laughed, his fingers slipping under the edge of my panties, causing me to sigh with longing. “It’s been a few years for me, as you can imagine.”

  “You don’t seem to have forgotten how to do it,” I muttered, trying not to squirm with delight as he inched closer to their prize.

  “No, I haven’t,” he agreed, suddenly touching the spot he’d been moving to.

  Gasping, I arched my back at the contact, the fire in me growing to an all new level.

  Sighing, Eric sat up, hooking his fingers under the edge of my lacy black panties and tugging them off. As he tossed the garment on the floor, he spread my legs again, dragging his palm over me lazily.

  Groaning, I pressed against him, his wrist. Slowly, he began rubbing, moving with determination as he leaned over and caressed my thigh again.

  “I like seeing you like this,” he stated, quickening his pace. “And knowing that I’m the one doing it to you.”

  Breathless, I arched again, my eyes shut as I drifted through a sea of heavenly feelings. I couldn’t even speak, I was so lost in what he was doing to me. My body demanded more, screamed to have him inside me right then, and I whimpered, so unexpected was the intensity of him touching me like this.

  “Open your eyes, Scarlet,” he ordered, in his stern teacher voice.

  Obeying, I looked at him, biting my lower lip.

  “Do you like that?” he asked, his eyes burning as he continued his task, even faster now.

  “Yes,” I moaned, fighting the urge to knock him away and roll him over, so I could have my way with him.

  “Yes what?” He was toying with me, ordering me around like he had so many times in class, and I wasn’t surprised to find it highly arousing.

  “Yes, Sir,” I growled, staring at him intently.

  “Do you want more?”

  “Yes, please,” I whimpered, rising to him again.

  He didn’t need any more invitation, bending and taking me with his mouth, his fingers entering me at the same time.

  Crying out, my hands twisted in his hair, holding him to me as his tongue worked miracles with me. My entire body was shaking, begging for a release that he didn’t seem to want me to have yet.

  Raising his head, he licked his lips, still working as he looked at me.

  “How about that, Scarlet?” he purred, a smoldering in his eyes. “Was that enough?”

  “No,” I ground out, my heart pounding.

  Holding my gaze, he stopped his teasing, leaving me quivering beneath him. Quickly, he stepped out of his boxers, running a hand down his length as he scooted closer to me on his knees. Reaching under the bed, he retrieved a small square package, raising an eyebrow at me as I opened my mouth in surprise. “I had hopes,” he explained shortly, smiling as he tore open the package and removed the contents. “It seemed better to be safe than sorry. Now, raise your hips.” It was another order, one he delivered while grabbing me with one hand and sliding the condom on with the other.

  Doing as he asked, I moaned as he touched me, my eyes closing of their own volition when he entered, slowly and carefully.

  A groan came from him as he started thrusting, holding my hips to him, nails digging into my skin.

  “Oh,” I whimpered, fisting the blanket under us, my lip caught between my teeth again.

  “How’s that?” he asked, going faster, harder.

  “I want more,” I said through clenched teeth. “Harder. Faster!”

  Doing as I asked, he sighed heavily, his grip tightening even more as he buried himself deeper in me.

  The movement overwhelmed me and I cried out, my climax so strong I felt as if I was going to stop breathing.

  “Yes!” He groaned, continuing to pump into me. “Keep going! Let it go!”

  Mouth open, a silent scream sat in my throat, as he rocked with me, my fingers aching, they were clenched so tight in the blanket. Another wave washed over me and I pushed against him, wanting more of the movement that was making it feel like fireworks were exploding all over me.

  “Keep going,” he ordered me again, shoving as deeply as he could.

  My body trembled under him, riding him as wave after wave washed over me, lighting me up like a fiery inferno that could never be put out.

  Moaning again, he shuddered in his movements, a cry of his own reaching my ears as he finished, thrusting for as long as he could continue.

  “Oh wow,” I said, chest heaving as I tried to get my breathing under control again while he slowed. “Wow.”

  Panting, he continued to move inside me, slowly, but with purpose. “You are mine now,” he sighed, shuddering with pleasure. “Fully.”

  “From the first night you kissed me,” I agreed. �
��Completely.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Good morning.”

  Smiling, my eyes still closed, I snuggled closer to Eric under the blankets, relishing in the feel of my bare skin against his. He kissed my forehead, his fingers lazily running circles on my hip as our feet brushed along each other.

  “Morning,” I replied, leaning in and pressing my lips to his collarbone. “How did you sleep?”

  “Like I had an angel in my arms all night.” Chuckling softly, he rolled onto his back, cradling me against his side. “You?”

  “Hmmm . . . probably about the same.”

  Silence stretched between us, but it was comfortable, happy even. I didn’t feel like I needed to keep the conversation going. It was enough to just be here with him, in his arms.

  The sun had risen outside, filling the room with golden light that warmed the atmosphere of the space considerably. Ominous clouds sat on the horizon, though; it seemed the city would be getting snowed in as planned. We’d left things where they were the night before—the chair at the foot of the bed, our clothes on the floor beside it—and I wasn’t in a big rush to put anything back the way it should go. With Christmas being days away, winter break had officially started at UD. I didn’t have anywhere I needed to be for two weeks.

  “Are you hungry?” Laughing as my stomach growled in response, he shifted away from me, sitting on the edge of the mattress. “What would you like?”

  “For you to come back to bed,” I said seductively, lifting a bare leg out from under the covers. Sex had been the furthest thing from my mind when I’d arrived the night before, but the sudden change in the mood hadn’t been all that surprising to me. I felt like we’d really made love to each other all night, showing our feelings through touch instead of just banging each other’s brains out.