by Sabre, Mason
“I’m glad you found somebody Rosie,” he said, making her heart jerk in her chest. “I think he’s stupid for not kissing you, though.”
She toyed with the covers, suddenly feeling bad to talk about her great new developments, or think about the conviction in his tone. That he would. He would kiss her. Hadn’t she thought of that very thing before? Wondered if he felt that way? At first she’d worried he did. When did that change from worrying he might to feeling flattered and happy that he did?
“You deserve to be kissed properly, every day. All day even,” He said with such casual calm while her heart raced at what he was telling her again. He would kiss her every day. All day.
“I … I don’t know,” she said, clenching her eyes tight. She waited for him to respond. “William?”
“What?”
His sudden sad tone made her stomach jolt. “What’s wrong?” A long span of silence made her sit up. “William, what’s wrong?”
“I …”
“Okay, just take a breath.”
“I don’t want you to be angry with me Rosie or disappointed, that’s the last thing I ever wanted with you.”
“Why would I be angry?” She crossed her legs under herself on the bed. “You’d never disappoint me, William. Talk to me.”
More dead air before he finally said, “Remember how I said … that you didn’t have to worry about me … having feelings for you?”
Rosie waited in the quiet, her heart hammering. “Yes,” she heard herself say.”
“Okay, look,” he said, sounding like he moved to another position, making her wonder where he was and what he was doing. “Can I retract? I really don’t want to talk about this.”
“William, it’s too late,” she cried quietly. “We can’t just … pretend it’s not there.”
“I can’t Rosie, please,” he begged quietly. “Tell me what you look like Rosie. I’ve never seen you before.”
Subject change. Kind of. Redirection. “I’m …”
“Don’t’ answer that. It was inappropriate.”
“Right now, I’m frumpy,” she smiled.
“Frumpy,” he said, sounding curious about the term.
“Means I’m as plain as they come.”
“Oh God, Rosie,” he said, sounding fascinated. “You’re very clueless about yourself, aren’t you?”
Her starved ego bloomed under his warm affections, wanting more.
“Tell me what you’re wearing.”
Her stomach tensed with the surge of her pulse. This was a bad direction to go in. “A shirt,” she said. “And …” Shit. “Undergarments.”
“I’m sorry, Rosie, see?”
“See what?” She hated when he sounded so defeated. “I’m dressed for bed, shirt and underpants.” Underpants, good one. “And you?” she asked, ready to get herself out of the awkward wardrobe spotlight.
“I’m in bed,” he said.
“I gathered that much, silly,” she smiled.
“Did you,” he said, his voice lower.
“I’m guessing you wear pyjamas.”
“You think?” he asked, laughter in his voice.
“With cartoon characters.”
“Sure, Rosie.”
She snickered. “Sure, Rosie? Is it Batman? Spiderman?”
“How about Invisible Man?”
“Ha. I don’t even really know that one. Was he your favorite?”
“I guess his clothes were.”
“What did he wear?”
“Nothing Rosie.”
“Come on, tell me.”
“I am,” he chuckled sounding tickled. “He wore nothing.”
The sudden silence was deafening as she finally figured it out.
“You made me,” he said softly as her brain began automatically drawing pictures and making her cheeks go up in flames.
“I’m sorry,” she gushed.
“I should be the one apologizing.”
“You did try to stop me.”
“I should have tried harder. Now I’ve made everything weird.”
“Pfft,” she waved a hand. “Everybody sleeps in the nude at one time or another in life,” she said, fanning her cheeks.
“Except you, I’m sure.”
“Well, I … I may have once or twice back at home when I was younger. Summer times were hotter than the devil’s pie hole. Once, I slept in a sheet with a water bottle and a box fan. We didn’t have air conditioner.”
He laughed softly. “So you slept in wet sheets?”
She had to laugh to hide her embarrassment. “Sleeping nude wasn’t enough, it was like having the devil breathing on me all night with just the box fan. God, I’m sorry, there’s a devil in all my stories, it seems.”
“Well, not if you count the angel in wet sheets ...” She heard rustling and fought to dispel the naked limbs in her mind. “Dirty bastard must’ve been panting all over you.”
She couldn’t stop her snickers, so glad for his sense of humor with the awkward turn of subject. “You’re funny,” she whispered, holding down her laughter.
“It was smart.”
“What was?”
“Wetting your sheets. Did it help?”
“It did,” she said, thinking it was time to change the subject.
“How old were you?”
She cleared her throat. “Fourteen.” He gave a light chuckle. “What?” she wondered.
“Just at that age, I actually did wear character pyjamas. I wanted to be Wolverine. Probably because I had zero hair on my body yet.”
“That’s not a bad thing,” she said smiling.
“Oh it was to me. I was watching for my pubes daily in the mirror.”
“Your pubes?” she laughed. “Ew. I on the other hand got mine at twelve.”
“Lucky you. Even nature hated me.”
Her heart tugged at remembering how she’d met him. “Well, it loves you now?”
He chuckled once. “Yes, now I’m a full blooded wolf.”
God, it was definitely time to change the subject. Naked, wolf man in sheets was definitely a wrong turn topic.
“When else?”
“When else?” she asked.
“You said you slept naked a couple of times.”
Ah geeze. “I forget,” she said.
“You lie,” he said, amused.
She busted out laughing. “It’s embarrassing, William, don’t make me tell you.”
“Tell me. I like hearing about your life. Mostly just like hearing your voice.”
She took a deep breath, shaking her head. “This is way inappropriate,” she finally said.
“I’m sure it’s not,” he said, like she was too cute and silly for anything to be inappropriate. “Tell me, Rosie. I’m getting sleepy finally.”
That’s right, he’d called because he couldn’t sleep. “Glad to know these stories are putting you right to sleep,” she couldn’t help say. When he didn’t answer, she said, “Sorry.”
“What are you sorry for, Rosie?” he whispered.
His curious tone made her stomach tighten in wonder. “Sorry for saying that.”
“You’re sorry for saying your stories put me to sleep? Or sorry for even thinking it?
Her mind raced to unravel the puzzle he’d presented. “Sorry that I … both.”
“I don’t believe you, Rosie,” he said. “I usually dream about the last thing I’m thinking about.”
“Great, you’ll be dreaming of me in wet sheets,” She said. In her attempt to fix her screw up, she made it worse.
“Yes,” he said with a simplicity that stole her breath. Like she finally got it. Slow Rosie.
“Okay,” she gasped, speechless and gripped in strange emotions. He wanted to hear her voice because he would dream of her. He wanted to dream of her, how did that make her feel? Why did she have to know why for everything she felt? It seemed important with William. She’d wondered countless times, worried he’d had the wrong feelings for her and right now, he was telling h
er in ten different ways that she had every reason to worry. And yet … the excitement racing through her body and making her breathless wasn’t worry. It was, excitement.
“Tell me,” he said, his voice deeper, sleepier sounding.
Shit. “W-what am I telling you?”
“I don’t want you to violate your sweet conscience Rosie. So tell me something else. Why you’re so beautiful maybe.”
She reeled with crazy emotions. “You’ve never even seen me,” she said, not knowing what else to say.
“I see you perfectly. You are very beautiful. But most importantly, inside, Rosie.”
Nobody had ever told her that. Nobody. She laid down on the bed and curled up on her side, his words dragging up lifelong old longings and pain. Thoughts of her failures as a woman, a daughter, as a person. “I’m scared, William,” she whispered.
“Oh, Rosie,” he said with so much tenderness, so much love. “Talk to me. What are you scared of?”
She strained to hold back the sob. “My mom’s coming? And sister? And Josh?”
“What about him, are you worried about something?”
“Maybe? My sister is way more pretty than me. She always takes my boyfriends,” she gasped in between stifled sobs.
“Rosie. Listen to me. Are you listening?”
“Yes,” she quipped, nodding.
“Josh sounds like he really cares about you.”
“He’s hiding things,” she said. “I can feel it,” she strained.
“If he is, I’m sure it’s not what you’re thinking.”
Rosie suddenly felt the thousand-mile distance, both literal and emotional between her and her family. Josh felt miles away. Everybody felt miles away. She closed her eyes and curled up. “Tell me about you, William,” she whispered.
“Okay, beautiful Rosie.” She smiled, wiping her nose, waiting. “What would you like me to tell you?”
“Something interesting.”
“Interesting,” he said, sounding slightly challenged. ““Interesting to me or to you?”
“You.” She snuggled in the covers with the phone pressed to her ear.
“Me. Hmm,” he muttered sounding even more challenged. “I think it’s interesting that I’m still breathing.”
Her heart ached in her chest like it had done that night when she’d first talked to him. Tears fell silently. “I think that’s beautiful,” she whispered.
She waited, needing to hear him living and breathing. “I think it’s interesting … you would find that beautiful.”
“I’m so happy you’re alive. Very,” she said, swallowing. “So no dying, okay?” More tears fell as she nodded, wiping them.
“Okay Rosie,” he soothed. “I find it most interesting how you cry for me,” he said now, his tone full of awe. “Nobody has ever done that.”
“I’m sorry,” she gasped.
“Don’t be,” he said lightly. “It’s interesting too that since I’ve met you, I’ve never once been lonely.”
She let out a light snort. “Tell me how old you were when you had your first girlfriend.”
“I don’t know, Rosie.”
“You can tell me,” she sniffled. “Be our secret.”
“I would,” he assured. “I just … I’ve never really had one. I’m not a virgin,” he hurried, like she might think that bad or strange. I gave my virginity at twenty-three. I don’t count the times before that when I was forced. But the first time wasn’t a girlfriend. More of a job.”
Rosie’s heart froze in her chest and her mouth dropped open.
“I find it interesting,” he went on, as though his horror story life were all boring news. “How you make me feel normal. Alive. All without actually meeting you,” he said, like that was the greatest magic trick ever.
She closed her eyes, the longing to help him stealing her breath.
“Tell me more about you, Rosie,” he whispered now.
She turned on her back with her eyes closed. “What do you want to know?” she asked.
“Whatever you want to tell me.”
It was a simple suggestion, but Rosie sensed it was more a test. To see what she’d share. Somehow that meant things to him. She fingered the covers, suddenly back in her office that first night, on the call with him. Fighting for his life. “I like to read,” she whispered.
Her heart hammered as she waited for his response, see what her efforts earned. “What do you like, Rosie?”
She bit her lower lip, blurting before she thought too long. “Romance.”
“Romance.” The whisper was almost reverent. “What kind?”
Her pulse sped up with his simple question. It wasn’t simple, really. There were many kinds, and all of them led to things she knew he needed but knew she should never consider as a helpline volunteer. But that’s not what she was tonight. Tonight she was just Rosie. And he was William. Her friend. “I read this one story … about a woman who falls in love with a blind man.”
“A blind man,” he whispered, sounding hungry to hear.
“She … was his nurse. He wasn’t always blind; he’d been in an accident. He woke up blind. And angry. She was hired to take care of him and he was completely dependent on her, which he hated. At first.”
“Did he fall in love with her?” he asked.
“Yes. He did. He was in love with her from the first day. He just didn’t realize it.”
“But she taught him, Rosie?”
She smiled at his child-like eagerness. “She did, yes.”
“Tell me how. What did she do?”
“Well … at first she was always very helpful. Very nice. Very accommodating. And then she realized it wasn’t doing him any good. He was mean and cruel. He made her do everything, even things he could do. He called her names, he pinched her, pulled her hair.”
“That’s not nice,” William said, like he knew what it would get him.
“Yep,” Rosie laughed. “Not nice at all.”
“What did she do?”
“Well, she became what he needed.”
“And what was that?” She heard the rustling of covers.
“A very mean and bossy person.”
“Rosie,” he cut in excited. “This reminds me of that book I read when I was younger. The one with the nice teacher and the classroom full of naughty children. She leaves for a week and a substitute comes?”
“Oh my God, yes,” Rosie laughed. “I don’t remember the name.”
“Me either, but she comes dressed as a mean teacher and the kids hated her. And when she returned they were grateful for the good teacher.”
“Yep. Exactly.”
“So, what did she do?” he hurried.
“Well, when she came in as the new nurse, oh she was very mean. At first he fought her, demanded his other nurse. Well she told him that’s too bad, get used to it. And if he wasn’t respectful, grateful, kind, and helpful, then she would teach him a lesson.”
“Helpful?”
“Yep, he was blind but the nurse wanted to teach him how to be independent. That life wasn’t over and he wasn’t allowed to make everybody around him pay for his misfortunes. You can’t see with your eyes, so you must learn to see with your ears, your touch, your taste, your smell.”
“She told him that?”
“Yes, she did.”
“And what did he say?”
“Go to hell,” Rosie shouted, making William laugh. “Which cost him his speaking privileges.”
“How?”
“She duct taped his mouth shut.”
“He let her do that?”
“He had no choice. She strapped his hands.”
“Oh, I like her,” he said, sounding tickled. “Then what happened?”
“Well, in a matter of weeks she’d tamed the beast.”
“Wow,” William whispered. “Then he fell in love?”
“Not quite,” she said, giggling.
“Uh, oh,” William whispered.
“Right. He’d learned to be r
espectful. He asked please, he said thank you. But he was merely hiding his anger. He found clever ways to be mean. He called her my queen.”
“Was she on to him?”
“Oh she was, very much so,” Rosie said, grinning. “Since you consider me royalty, then you must now kiss my hand every time you address me as such.”
“Ohhh,” William snickered. “I really like her.”
“Yes, me too,” Rosie said. “At first he quit saying it, but when he figured out she’d won, he began calling her his queen again and kissing her hand. And then,” Rosie said. “It happened.”
“What happened?”
“Their game,” Rosie whispered.
“What game?”
“Well, it was a game of sorts, not discussed openly.”
“A secret game.”
“Yes,” Rosie said. “Sasha began to notice things.”
“Sasha,” he whispered, weighing the name. “What things?”
“Like … the way his lips felt on her skin. The way they lingered. She soon began to have fantasies about him. Then one day, he was very bad. And she knew he was being bad for a reason.”
“What did she do?” he asked, the words soft and breathy, making Rosie’s pulse speed up.
“If you don’t cooperate with the bath nurse, she said, then I will bathe you myself. Of course he cooperated like a mindless mule.”
“Of course,” William said, desire in his voice.
“And of course when she bathed him, she saw how very much he liked that. Of course, she continued setting up these games.”
“Like what?”
She licked her lips at hearing the heat in his curiosity. “She said if he didn’t start asking nicely for things, she would be forced to make him beg.”
“Beg? For what?”
Several breaths escaped her and she closed her eyes tighter at feeling his arousal through the line, touching between her legs. “She … tied him. And then she … teased him until he begged.”
“What … did she do, Rosie? Tell me.”
“Very naughty things.”
“God,” he whispered. She heard his breaths, unsteady and trembling. “Keep going,” he said.
His excitement burned through her. She burned to make him feel good. “She tasted him ... while she made him taste her.” He gave several harsh breaths, telling her he was touching himself. She imagined him, what he looked like. “She tasted him, she brought him to the brink and denied him. Over and over. Until he begged for it. Then she rewarded him. She’d taste every bit of him, fast and deep.”
