by Alex Rosa
He shouts again, “Why won’t you love me? Is there another guy somewhere in that fancy house of yours? Huh?”
Instead of a hit, I feel a sharp, pointed finger jab me hard in the shoulder, and I stumble against the door. I know what is coming, and I have lost the capacity to fight. Confessing I still love the flawed man before me would be an unfortunate thing to admit, but it’s true. I have no desire to retaliate, and no desire to run away. My therapist would have a field day with this. I am so weak.
This achingly familiar feeling of self-loathing that I have worked hard to bury creeps up my spine, and I somehow think, I do deserve this.
A slight sob escapes my lips. How did he get here? How did he . . . ?
The door behind me springs open and I fall into Blake’s open arms. I’m beyond embarrassed as I frantically wipe away the tears that continue to fall. His arms tighten around me. I want to speak, but my trembling body says it all for me.
Blake’s face hardens with understanding of the situation.
“Skyler, go inside.”
I peer at him through blurry eyes as I try to strand straighter.
He leans in closer, as if to soften the interaction, and whispers in my ear, “I promise I’ll be inside in a moment.”
His sincerity convinces me. I nod and scurry inside. I run straight to the couch, burying my face in the blanket, and let the sobs I had been holding back wrack my body. I’m worried about Blake, and I debate whether or not I should call the police.
When I feel strong hands grab for my shoulders, I jolt at the contact, fearful that Jason has somehow made his way inside with his brimming rage. But when I look up, I see Blake, his eyes creased with worry.
I’m still a sniveling mess, and I try to gain some control over my breathing. My eyes dart over his body, not in appreciation, but looking for harm or damage. I was so sure that a fight was going to ensue.
He shakes his head, as if answering my unspoken question. “I’m fine, Skye. He’s gone.”
Doing something I don’t expect, he brings me close, grabbing for my legs, swinging them over his lap, and cradling me in a tight, warm embrace. I can’t remember the last time anyone has ever done this to me.
Finding a place in the crook of his neck, I cry. I cry my heart out, and his hands continue to stroke my back and arms, comforting me until I can’t cry any longer.
I close my eyes when I think the last sob has left my lips. I concentrate on my breathing and calming my shaking core.
When I inhale, I get the most calming and seductive smell that has ever greeted my senses. Blake. He smells of soap. A deep musk wraps around me, like his warm grasp, and I have to fight the urge to nuzzle into his chest.
It’s the smell that calms me—like lavender would—but this is much better. It makes my joints feel like jelly, and I desperately wish that I could bottle it.
“You’re safe,” he whispers.
And I believe him.
A gentle squeeze from his arms almost makes me want to cry again, but I hold off. It has been a long time since anyone has said that to me.
“I’m so sorry, Blake.”
He leans back, pulling away from me to get a look at my face. Embarrassment floods my body as he watches me, gently wiping at my damp cheeks.
“Why are you apologizing?”
I realize that I’m still sitting in his lap and his arm is wrapped around me.
When I look at him, I see sympathy in his eyes, and I worry that things will forever be different between us. It hurts to admit, but I don’t want our banter to go away. I don’t want his antagonizing to stop. It felt normal. His current expression is the same one my old friends on the other side of town used to give me.
“Please don’t look at me that way.”
His face empties of emotion, but he’s obviously confused.
“More apologies, and now this? Skye, talk to me.”
His tone is commanding, and I peek at him, debating if running to my room now would be acceptable.
I guess I owe him an explanation, but I have to do one thing first.
“Thank you for what you did.”
He shakes his head. “You’re all over the map right now. Why don’t we take this one moment at time?”
My lips twitch into a hesitant smile.
He lifts his hand to my face, his palm curling around my jaw as he rubs his thumb over my bottom lip, causing my body to spring to attention, awaiting direction like an orchestra waiting for its conductor’s instructions. “Now that’s better. I’m here for you, Okay? Now talk to me.”
I cannot wrap my head around what my night has become, and how I ended up in this position. I start from the beginning.
“I’m sorry for putting you through this, but I am thankful you’re here.”
He smiles fully. “I’m thankful I’m here, too. Let me guess—that’s the ex?”
I want to ask about how he got Jason to leave and what words were exchanged, but instead I nod, wiping at my eyes. I’m sure I am an unattractive, red, puffy mess.
“He hurt you, didn’t he?”
Unsure how to respond, I nod again.
“Physically?” he questions.
My body tenses, and his face hardens. Maybe someday I’ll tell him the story.
“And emotionally,” I add.
“Well then, I guess I should have nailed him one.”
“I wish you would have.”
I’m rewarded with his chuckle, and the corner of my mouth arches upward as I watch him relax.
“Are you going to treat me differently now?”
He wipes at my tearstained face, and I want so badly to lean into his touch.
“Why would I do that?”
I have to look away. I stare down at the damp portions of my blanket that are still soaked from my tears.
“Almost everyone I know looks at my differently once they find out. They see that the once strong, witty smart-ass got her ass handed to her by some woman-beating boyfriend, and then they treat me like a wounded dog. Everyone looks at me with weary eyes, wondering what the right thing to say is.”
Catching me off guard, Blake grabs for my chin, forcing me to look at him.
“I think you’re still a smart-ass.”
I find comfort in his eyes, their color reminding me of a dense forest of trees.
His eyes dart to my lips briefly, and my breath hitches.
“I’m never going to treat you differently. What that guy did is wrong, and I swear, if I ever see him again, or if he comes anywhere near you, I’ll be giving him more than just a piece of my mind. And as far as seeing you differently, that’s just ridiculous. Our scars make us who we are. Some scars are just deeper than others. I still see a strong, resilient girl in front of me.”
“I obviously give you far less credit than you deserve.”
He smiles, and I dart my eyes to his lips. When I look up, I know he’s noticed. It looks as if he’s chewing an idea over in the silence by his tentative brow twitch. I worry that this moment is getting dangerous, but my body does not want to go anywhere.
With my chin still firmly in his grasp, I chew on my bottom lip.
“See, I knew that smart-ass was right beneath the surface.”
I can’t tell if it’s me, but I worry his face is getting closer. I hold my breath.
Surprising me still, Blake lifts his thumb from my chin to stroke my bottom lip once more, releasing it from my teeth.
His dark, seductive tone startles me, but it commands my attention. “Your skin is so soft from crying.”
I allow a brief moment of leaning into his touch as I murmur, “I hate crying.” I don’t know why my voice is nearly a whisper, or what’s going on.
His eyes are now glued to my mouth, and I’m terrified of what’s coming. I should run.
He returns with a whisper, “I hate seeing you cry.”
Before I can find the words to respond, he wastes no time, as if sensing my internal debate. His lips press against min
e. My eyes close, savoring his sensual touch, and my blood flames as it courses through my body, igniting at my lips.
The kiss feels almost inappropriate post-abusive boyfriend crying fit. As much as I want to give in, my body is tense, but I still kiss him back. I have officially taken the forbidden fruit from the tree of knowledge, and I don’t know what to do with this newfound feeling of exhilaration that’s building inside me.
Knowing full well that this has wrong written all over it, the kiss only amplifies why it feels so good. To be honest, it’s innocent, as if his lips are testing mine, but neither of us wants to pull away. His lips are soft, too.
He cradles my jaw, and the moment becomes too much. He kisses me more passionately, his lips pressing hungrily into mine. My vision blurs as my body tailspins out of control, and I don’t know what to do with this foreign feeling. My heart pulses frantically in my chest as if trying to break free from its cage.
I’m about to lift my hands to touch his stubble, desperate to know what it feels like against my fingertips, when a car alarm goes off outside. It flings me back to the reality, and I pull away, not letting my hand finish its journey as I leap off the couch.
I point a shaky finger at him.
“You aren’t supposed to do things like that!”
“But you liked it?”
I go wide-eyed, flabbergasted, but I take note that his tone is shakier than I expected.
“Blake! Let me remind you that my abusive ex-boyfriend just showed up, against his restraining order, at our doorstep. I’m a bit shaken up!”
His face empties of emotion as he watches me. I don’t mean it the way it comes out, but he takes it at face value.
“I wasn’t taking advantage of you in a vulnerable state, if that’s what you mean.”
I shake my head, knowing full well it wasn’t. “Of course not.” I face-palm my forehead, confused as hell. “What I’m saying is that you had no right to do what you did, and you know why.”
His lips widen devilishly as he watches my panic. “Is your ex-boyfriend still on your mind?”
My face contorts in shock, dumbstruck by the question. “What? No. Of course not.”
“Then it’s fine.” His shrug after annoys me the most.
I let out an exasperated breath. “Are you bipolar or something? I don’t believe that’s why you kissed me. I thought you were being nice to me for once.”
He leans back into the couch, stretching his arms out nonchalantly behind him.
“You’re right. It isn’t the reason. However, if I at least accomplished that, it’s a win-win for me. And like I told you before, I’m only nice to you.”
I’m brimming with frustration. “You’re something else!”
He smirks and says nothing. It has me ready to throw another fit.
Tired of his smug expression, I know I have to get away. I stomp off in the direction of my bedroom, flustered by my evening and that overbearing asshole I call a roommate.
“Sweet dreams, Skyler,” he says from his seat on the couch.
Chapter 12
I woke up this morning, unsure of what was real or not. Had I dreamt last night, or should I call it a nightmare? I can’t decide which moment plagued me more.
I roll over on my side, still lying in bed. It’s early, and I know I have to get up for class eventually, but right now I’m fearful for . . . well, it’s hard to explain.
My gut is in knots. Painful knots.
I rub my stomach reflexively, thinking over last night. I figured that if I dissect each moment, it would give me some sense of understanding and I could move on.
On the contrary, it only made the knots tighter.
How can a night weaved with such wonderful moments be such a cause of pain?
Blake was the distraction my mind and body needed last night.
I grab for the small decorative pillow lying next to me and throw it across the room in a huff. It flies out of my hand and makes contact with my curtain wall before falling to the floor. It’s an actual worry of mine that Blake is smarter than I give him credit for, and that his lips were just another manipulation to distract me.
I let out a groan as my fingers come up to strum against my bottom lip, trying to remember the sizzling burn his lips left on mine.
It truly isn’t just his kiss or his attitude that consume me, but instead a bigger issue at hand, the more pressing issue that Blake was forced to diffuse.
Jason.
He knows where I live. He came looking for me.
Will he try again?
My body trembles, and like a bad habit, I wish Blake could kiss the feeling away.
“Skye?”
A gasp escapes my lips as I hear my brother’s voice downstairs. I worry for a split second that he could hear me wishing for the one thing I shouldn’t, even as insignificant as last night’s kiss was. The idea of Blake telling my brother about Jason shoots fear down my spine. He’ll go on a manhunt if he knows.
“Skyyyeee? You awake?”
“I’m awake. What’s up?”
Before he speaks, I can already hear him coming up the stairs.
“Mind if I come up and chat?”
I roll my eyes, knowing that my answer won’t matter, and I’m just thankful that I’m fully clothed. I didn’t sleep much last night and remained in my shorts and sweatshirt as I tossed and turned, thinking of blazing green eyes, and soft, tender lips among the horrible flashing memories of healing bruises.
I’m a mess this morning.
When Josh appears at the top of the staircase, I force a wide grin. My body is exhausted with lack of sleep and overworked brain cells, so I lie there.
I let my eyes peek over at the clock on the wall, seeing that it’s nearing ten.
“Josh, what are doing home? Shouldn’t you be at work?”
He looks freshly showered, hair still damp, and is dressed in a crisp linen shirt. He straightens his navy tie as he takes one more step inside, and his lips twist, trying to hold some unidentifiable emotion back. It has me worried, but then it hits me.
I knit my brows together, putting all the pieces together. I don’t remember hearing him come home.
“Where have you been? I didn’t see you Sunday. Are you just getting home this morning?”
I see his body tense. I press my head back into my pillow, close my eyes, and find the realization hard to believe. His silence gives him away.
“Please do not tell me you’ve been with Vanessa?”
Because my eyes are still closed, I hear his confirming exhale, and I mirror his reaction with a disapproving sigh. I am frustrated—not that it matters.
I’m in no mood to hear his oozing hypocrisy. I sit up and raise my hand to halt his fumbling excuse. I rub my eyes, amused that I have been the only one to speak so far. “I don’t want to hear it. I’m assuming you came up here for a different reason.”
When I finally turn to look at him, he’s smiling.
“What?”
“You really are the smarter child.”
“This isn’t news to me, but to be honest, it isn’t rocket science figuring you out.”
He lets out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re grumpy this morning.”
I don’t want to tackle that topic, either. Instead I stare back at him, waiting for the real reason he’s here to surface.
He raises his hands in defense, accompanied with a lingering grin. I hate when my brother finds it funny to see me angry.
“I came here with good news, actually. However, I do have to head off to a late meeting.”
“I’m always in the mood for good news.”
He runs a hand through his drying hair.
“Next weekend is kind of a big deal.”
“Next weekend? Something with work going on? Because I don’t think my liver could handle another night out on the town. The nerd in me isn’t used to so much social interaction.”
“You’re not a nerd.”
“Thank you
for being so kind, but spit it out.”
He raises a brow. “Maybe you aren’t the smarter child. It’s your birthday, remember?”
I freeze, thinking about it. What month is it? I’ve been so preoccupied that it never occurred to me. With my life being chaotic for months, I’ve been floating through it. I knew when school started, exam dates, and essay due dates, but I could barely tell you the day of the month.
“It is?”
He chuckles, leaning down to the floor to pick up the pillow I threw earlier. He tosses it at me, and it makes soft contact with my face.
“Yeah, it is, you dummy. You’re turning twenty-three.”
I groan, not at the age, but the event. My birthdays have never been anything special, and to be honest, no birthday since I was eighteen has been linked with happiness, but some stressful event instead. First my high school boyfriend dumped me before transferring out of state for college, then my best friend ended our childhood friendship over something trivial. And the next one—well, the next was when I received my first shiner from Jason.
Josh doesn’t know that one.
My stomach knots tighter at the thought, and I swear my insides are going to rip in two.
“Skye, you okay?”
I whip my head up to look at him. “What?”
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I shake my head, regaining my composure, thinking that maybe I will ditch class today.
“I’m fine.”
Lucky for me, he skips over the moment.
“Well, I thought I owed you a birthday to remember.”
My brother does not owe me anything. If anything, I owe him.
“Josh, that really isn’t necessary. There’s no debt to pay.”
He waves me off. “I want to throw you a party.”
I go wide-eyed. I forget that this is the life my brother leads. He doesn’t show it or flash it too much, but I should know better. His life is filled with pleasing clientele, going to lavish parties, enduring late nights, and flying to shows or premieres. All of it is out of my realm, and not that appealing.
