Razorblade Kisses

by R. L. Griffin

  “Emma, good to see you again,” Chris yelled over the guitar solo and that’s when she figured out who he was—Lucas’s occupational therapist.

  Tim and Katie looked at them both, questions in their eyes.

  Emma leaned into Tim. “He’s Lucas’s therapist.”

  Tim nodded.

  “I knew you looked familiar,” Chris said, pointing at her. “You’re Dance Club Girl.”

  “Wait...is this the green dress?” Katie stage-whispered to Chris, who nodded. Katie’s mouth made an O and she smiled at Tim.

  Tim grinned as if they were sharing a secret and squeezed Emery’s hand. When a raspy voice began to sing again, she faced the stage still clutching Tim’s hand. They were at a Brantley Gilbert concert. She’d never heard of him.

  She felt Tim let go of her hand and then shivered as he pressed a cold beer to her neck. Still nervous about the crowd and meeting Tim’s friends, she plastered on a fake smile and took the beer from him. The uneasiness began to dissipate when he wrapped his arms around her and Emery closed her eyes and felt his nearness; she simmered in it and could almost believe that her biggest fear vanished with him. He calmed her. It was surprising and she felt herself wanting to be with him for that purpose alone.

  The concert was fun and loud. As she helped clean up their area after the music ended, she couldn’t contain the smile on her lips.

  “What are you smiling about?” Tim asked, bending over to pick up a few beer bottles at the edge of the blanket.

  “I had fun.”

  “I like seeing you smile, Em.” Tim leaned in and gave her a chaste kiss. She couldn’t help, but want more.

  “Hey, you guys want to go grab something to eat?” Chris asked, holding open the trash bag.

  Emery sidestepped a pile of beer cans. “What’s open this late?”

  “Waffle House,” the three friends cried in unison.

  “I’ve never eaten there,” she commented.

  “What?” Tim asked, scandalized.

  She shook her head.

  “Well, this is a cultural experience everyone should try at least once,” Chris resolved.

  “We’ll meet you guys there. The one on Abercorn?” Tim asked, taking Emery’s hand possessively.

  “Yeah, it won’t be as busy,” Chris answered as the pair walked in the opposite direction in the parking lot.

  “Well, that was fun,” Emery said, looking up at Tim in his baseball cap and tight sweater. It was a very good look on him and she had enjoyed his touch all night.

  “Em, what do you do for fun?”

  Emery’s brow furrowed. “Well, I...”

  “Your smile tonight is going to be something I remember forever, because I don’t think I’ve ever seen something as exquisite. It’s a cautious, upturning of your lickable lips and a hesitant exposure of your teeth. It’s like you don’t know how to smile with abandon.”

  “That was very poetic. But I smile,” she said defensively.

  “I’m sure you do, Emma, but I mean the sort of smile that you can’t wipe off or that drops off your face when you think no one is looking.”

  “I—”

  “I want to make you smile even when you think I’m not looking. I want you to smile every time you see me. I want you to be incapable of anything other than smiling when I’m near you.”

  “Tim…” she started.

  “Emma.” He pushed her against the side of his truck and kissed her, filling her with such a burning sensation that she broke their connection and looked away, a smile playing on her lips.

  “Like that one,” he whispered into her ear. He opened the door and helped her in the truck.

  Emery closed her eyes and exhaled. Tim was a game changer. He wanted too much from her, made her feel too much. She bargained with herself to just enjoy him a few more times before making the break she knew was inevitable. She felt his fingertips on the inside of her thigh and her head automatically fell back at his touch.

  “We don’t have time for that right now, Em, but I plan on making you smile and come many times tonight.” His eyes showed determination. “You may want to order coffee.”

  She couldn’t take her eyes off his fingers as they played with the hem of her skirt. “Can we skip the Waffle House?” she asked, out of breath. His dirty mouth was so foreign to her, but she loved it.

  “Nope, it’s necessary. Need to fuel up.”

  “Oh shit,” she murmured.

  “Oh yeah, you’re going to be calling me all sorts of names later. That’s a promise.” He winked.

  She unconsciously closed her legs, trapping his hand. His laughter filled the truck and her face hurt from her smile, the same one she’d been wearing since the second his arms wrapped around her tonight.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Pretending

  To: Rachel Helms

  From: Romona Hicks

  I don’t even know who I am anymore. I’ve had orgasms that blew my mind. Like, seriously. Also, I’ve been to Waffle House and to a country music concert. The invasion of the body snatchers.

  To: Romona Hicks

  From: Rachel Helms

  Orgasms and Waffle House are good for the soul. You need more of those two things.

  A few weeks later, Emma was drafting a report in a case where a kid had missed over forty days of school and the parents were arrested for truancy. The kid hadn’t been taken from the family, but she had to monitor attendance and observe the home. She couldn’t focus. The report was taking forever. She’d just buckled down and began drafting the plan for the family when her phone vibrated on her desk and she smiled.

  Let me take you somewhere

  She and Tim had been texting regularly and getting together as much as they could, but because of their schedules didn’t have time to see each other on a consistent basis.

  Where

  His immediate response surprised her.

  To meet someone

  Who

  Fuck you ask a lot of questions

  I’m not going to just go off with some random guy somewhere I don’t know

  Um I’m not random

  Yeah…you are

  This hurts me

  She laughed out loud at his last message. She put her phone back on her desk and resumed the monotonous task of filling out paperwork. A few minutes later it vibrated again.

  Seriously, this weekend is the first weekend I’ve had off in a month. We need fuel and then I’m going to stay inside you for the entire weekend.

  Emery smiled and a rush of anticipation filled her body. Where did that come from?

  Okay, this person is not invited into the last part, right?

  She stared at the phone for a few minutes.

  Really…did you really think I would allow anyone else to see what I have? What I can’t wait to undress? I want you to scream my name so that only I hear. When your voice gets hoarse from moaning and yelling at me, it’s like I’ve done my job.

  Her entire face colored in embarrassment. She did yell his name on a regular basis and now she knew he liked it. Emery had to get the texts back on track.

  And the person is…

  His text came at the same time she sent hers.

  Good food

  Emery furiously tapped her answer on her phone and pressed send.

  You sold me at food and screaming

  I knew I’d get a sext from you one day. Saturday 5:00

  She smiled, knowing he was smiling. Puzzled at the early dinner time, though, she replied.

  What are we, 60?

  He replied.

  We aren’t

  The week flew by and Emery spent the entire day Saturday reading a love story about unthinkable hope and a happy ending she didn’t see coming. The story made her cry and long for a happy ending that she knew all too well wouldn’t be there. She’d changed clothes three times (ending up with a long-sleeved black wrap dress and wedges) and took a minute to look at the girl in the mirror with the wavy blond hair. She look
ed more like she did when she was in high school than she had in years.

  Her journal lay open to the page she wrote today.

  I

  Noah,

  I’ve had a rough week. I go through phases where my pretending to be okay actually convinces my brain that I am, in fact, okay. I’m not there this week—I’m where I remember everything. I remember his smell, his rough fingers, his demands that I comply with his requests. I want to forget the way the bed dipped with his weight. I want to forget the feel of his stubble on my neck as he did what he wanted to with me. I want to forget all the times I fell apart, all the times I was frozen by fear. I wish I was someone else. I wish I could pick the memories I want to remember. I would choose memories of you, my sister, and my dad. I wish I wasn’t so alone. I wish I could have the happy ending.

  E

  The buzz at the intercom shook her out of her fog and she closed the journal quickly, then opened the door to her apartment, locked it behind her, and made sure to pretend she was okay. Fake smile in place, she opened the main door and met Tim on the front porch.

  “Hi, you look beautiful.” Tim bent to kiss her cheek, his lips grazing her cheeks sending shockwaves through her body. She hadn’t seen him in a week and she craved his touch.

  “Thank you,” she whispered and followed him to his car. She couldn’t decide if she liked him better in his car or his truck. He opened the door for her and jogged around the other side.

  “We’re heading out to Tybee Island.” He took off abruptly and music filled the car. “You been?”

  She shook her head.

  “Oh good, I can be your first time.” He winked, his tone jovial, and Emery couldn’t help but feel some of the depression of the week lift. “I can tell you’ve missed me this week.”

  She shook her head at his antics. “Always so sure of yourself, Tim?”

  “Pretty much,” he joked.

  “Must be nice to be that sure of everything.”

  The light mood changed at that statement. “Emma, you okay?”

  He read her so easily.

  She looked down at her hands and urged the pretending to work. She begged herself to be okay. “Yes, just a rough day.”

  “You want to go back?” he asked sincerely.

  “No, I’m pretty sure if anyone can take my mind off things, you can.” Emery sat back and watched historic downtown Savannah turn into the rural stretch that lead to Tybee Island. “So what restaurant are we going to?”

  “I never said we were going to a restaurant.”

  “No?”

  Tim placed his hand on her thigh, which made all sorts of explosions go off in her body. Emery wanted to ask him to pull over so that he could touch her everywhere, which would quench a thirst for him she hadn’t allowed herself to think about. But she couldn’t.

  “No,” he answered.

  When they got to the island, she was feeling better. Tim had told her many stories of his work week and that eased the edginess she felt. His hand never left her thigh, but the small circles he’d started to rub with his thumb were causing a pulsing in her body. By the time they pulled into a driveway with a huge gate blocking the path, she was aching to take Tim back to her bed.

  Rolling down the window, Tim pushed the button.

  “Yeah,” a gruff voice broke through the sounds of crickets and other insects.

  “It’s me,” he answered.

  The gate opened immediately and Emery gasped at the Victorian manor in front of her. The driveway was a circle framing a fountain of an angel with water coming out of its mouth. It was grand and bizarre and she loved it. Also in the driveway were three beat up trucks and a camouflage golf cart. All different kind of little cherubs dotted the landscape.

  “What is this place?”

  Tim opened the door for her and she stepped out. He put his hand on her lower back, which started the pulsing again. “My grandparents’.”

  Emery stopped walking. “Wait, you grew up here?”

  “Yeah. Come on.” Tim applied pressure to her back with his fingertips inching her forward. Leaning down until his lips brushed her ear, Emery tensed at his touch. “Are you not wearing underwear?” His sexy whisper was full of desire.

  “Could you stop touching me?” she whispered back.

  This time he stopped and pulled her with him. “Why?”

  “Because every time you touch me it makes me wish we were in my bed, so stop it. We’re at your grandparents’ house.” She smiled and smoothed her dress down. “And no, I’m not wearing any underwear, so think about that as we sit and talk to your grandparents.”

  Tim visibly adjusted himself and muttered a few curse words, then grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the enormous front door.

  Emery laughed. At least he would be as uncomfortable as she was for the rest of dinner. The door swung open and a woman with silky white chin length hair, glasses, and an apron appraised them as they walked up the stairs.

  “Timmy!” She opened her arms and Tim enveloped her, lifting her up a little. “Oh!” She swatted him as he set her back on her two feet.

  “Hey, Meme, this is Emma.”

  Emery held out her hand to shake, but Meme just looked at it as if it were snake.

  “Baby girl, we don’t shake here, we hug,” Meme said as she pulled Emery into a hug. “It’s good to finally meet you. Tim has told me all about you.”

  “Oh really?” Emery raised her eyebrows at Tim.

  “Oh yes, honey, he told me all about taking some of my food to you when you had a rough day. I’m so amazed at the work you do. I’m sure you have so many heartbreaking stories about those little babies.” The entire time Meme was talking she was leading them to a formal dining room.

  “Wow,” Emery commented, gesturing to the table.

  “Don’t let all this fool you, we’re just plain old country folk, but I do like to entertain. I pulled out the good stuff when I heard you were coming.”

  “She sure did,” a man agreed coming in from the back door. “Been busting my ass all day to clean this and shine that…”

  “Hush it, Henry.” Meme waved him off.

  “Emma, this is my grandfather. I call him Papa.”

  Emery took a step toward the man clad in Wrangler jeans, a John Deere hat, and boots. She shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You too, I’m sure.” His eyes were kind and the same color as Tim’s. The bronze color of his face and hands evidenced his working outside most of his life.

  “Well, y’all sit down and we’ll get to eating.” Meme motioned for them to sit at the table. She pulled off her apron to reveal a beige blouse and black pants. Her ears were adorned with pearls that matched the strands hanging around her neck.

  Tim pulled the chair out for Emery and she sat down, taking it all in. There was a roast, potatoes and carrots, turnips, fried cornbread, and corn.

  “This looks amazing,” Emery said.

  “Thank you, dear. Daddy, want to say it?”

  Papa took off his hat and everyone lowered their heads. Emery looked down as well.

  “Thank you, Lord, for all of our blessings. Let this food nourish our bodies and I thank you for allowing Tim to bring Ms. Emma here to meet us before we died of old age. Amen.”

  “Papa!” Tim chastised.

  “Don’t you mind him, boy, you know he’s happy to see you.” Meme took Tim’s plate and began piling food on it. “Emma, you a Christian?”

  What, no small talk? “I was raised a Catholic, ma’am.” Truth.

  “Catholic, huh? We’re Baptist.”

  Emery focused on her filling her plate.

  “What church do you go to?” Meme asked.

  “I haven’t found a church in Savannah.” Truth.

  “Well, there are ton of Catholic churches. Tim, you should take her to your church, baby, get her in the rational denomination.”

  “Oh, here we go,” Papa muttered under his breath. Tim chuckled slightly.

  “We
ll, we can’t be having a Catholic wedding,” Meme remarked as she cut her roast.

  Emery choked on the carrot she was eating. Married!

  Tim laughed even louder, patting Emery on her back.

  “Excuse me, I need to go to the bathroom,” Emery said quickly, and pushed her chair out and rushed from the dining room. Then she realized she had no idea where the bathroom was and started turning in circles.

  Calm seeped into her body at his touch. His hand skated over hers and then down to her lower back. “Calm down. No one’s getting married. The bathroom is this way.”

  Emery didn’t say anything, just let him guide her, then shut the door. She stared at herself in the mirror for several minutes before she closed her eyes. The door opened slowly and he was there with her. He shut the door and kissed her.

  “Emma, please relax. They just want me to get married because they’re old. It’s no big deal. I’m not asking you for anything right now other than to make small talk with the two most important people in my life. That’s it.”

  She nodded.

  He kissed her again. “Okay?”

  “Okay,” she whispered, her heart rate slowing. “I can do that.”

  They walked back to the table hand in hand.

  Tim steered the rest of the conversation over dinner to hunting, his job, and politics. Emery stayed quiet, but noticed the kind eyes of the old woman on her most of the meal.

  “We’re going to walk on the beach for a while,” Tim called to the kitchen where Meme and Papa were putting up dishes.

  “Okay, we’ll have dessert when you get back,” Meme answered.

  “Come on.” Tim tugged Emery’s hand toward a wooded path.

  The sun was beginning to set and it looked as if it would drop into the ocean as they made their way to the beach.

  “Leave your shoes here. This is a private beach, so nobody will take them.”

  They shed their shoes and Tim pulled her down to the shoreline. “So Emma…you’re a non-practicing Catholic, huh?”