by Haley Jenner
“Archer,” a soft hesitant voice comes up beside me and startles me from my Belle trance. Not that I let it show, instead, I slowly turn my head to see the dark hair of Belle’s friend…. I can’t think of her name, the one with the glasses. I’m pissed off I can’t recall her name; Jesus, Bennett talks about her incessantly, ogles after her whenever she’s in the vicinity.
“Darci,” she prompts and I lift my chin slightly in recollection.
“I was supposed to meet her for a coffee over lunch, but, if you were planning on,” she starts but I cut her off.
“No,” my voice cracks on the word, so I clear my throat and try again. “No, I’m not going in. Just wanted to see if she was here, wasn’t sure where….” I trail off.
“She’s been staying with me,” she offers kindly. I don’t get it. She should hate me for the way I treat Belle. Darci would be aware of the piece of shit I am, but she seems genuinely invested in wanting better for the both of us.
I pause to look at her properly. She’s cute; her dark hair cut short, angled around her face, a fringe touching the top of her wide-rimmed glasses. Her eyes are a strange color, amber almost. She’s short, small and curvy. Not like Belle, a little rounder maybe. I see the appeal, understand Bennett’s attraction. My eyes scan back up her body and I see the bright red flush of her cheeks. She’s shy. Painfully so, giving reason to Bennett’s hesitance.
“She planning on heading back to the house anytime soon?” I question, my eyes turning back to watch Belle.
“I don’t know, she hasn’t really spoken much over the past few days,” Darci replies honestly, a sad smile touching her brightly colored lips.
I nod at her words, turning to look at her. “I know you don’t owe me any favors but could you not tell her I’m out here. I just,” I shrug, not exactly sure of what to say.
She smiles softly. “I won’t tell her, but she knows you’re here. You’re a bit hard to miss.” She gestures back towards the shop. Belle’s outside, leaning against the wall. Her large chocolate eyes scanning my face, trying to read my intention.
I could leave. Turn and just walk away. Give her what see needs to leave me for good. But I can’t get my feet to move, so I stand fixed in place and stare back. I try unsuccessfully to read her face, to gage her reaction to my presence. Darci leaves my side at some point. I’m not sure when, all I know is that she’s gone and I take reprieve that we’re somewhat alone. I wait impatiently, wanting Belle to make the first move. I want her to come to me. To give me back a semblance of control over the situation. But she doesn’t. She waits, a smooth mask of indifference plastered on her face.
Puffing out a breath of defeat, I stuff my hands in my pockets and make the walk over. It seems to take forever and I don’t move my eyes from hers as I cross the road. I watch as she readies herself for my approach; standing up straight, hugging her arms around her body. Protecting herself, from me. How fucked up is that?
She swallows deeply as I stop a few feet from her. “What are you doing here?” she asks quietly.
I look right. Left. Trying to organize my thoughts. Trying to think of a reason. Anything. “I don’t know,” I answer honestly, on a lift of my shoulders. “Just wanted to see if you’d skipped town. You’ve not been receptive to my attempts at contact.” I can’t look at her as I finish my sentence, embarrassment plaguing my conscious.
A humorless laugh bubbles from her mouth and my eyes shoot up to her face. “I wouldn’t exactly call it contact, Archer. Abusive messages, yes. Contact, no,” she replies, her voice strong.
“I was mad. I didn’t know where you were. If you’d,” I take a deep breath. “If you’d left me,” my voice cracks on the last word and I want to punch the brick wall in frustration. I’m furious that I showed her my weakness, that I gave away how much the thought of her leaving has fucked with me.
Her hands drop from their protective hug, hanging at her sides on a loud sigh. “I just needed time, Archer. I was so fucking mad at you. I was mad at myself for allowing you to treat me the way you do. I just needed to be away from the house. Just for a few days.”
I don’t know what to say. What to do. I want to tell her not to come home. To stay away. To make a clean break. I want to tell her to come home immediately, that I’ll be waiting for her when she finishes work. But it’s a lie. It’s too hard to be around her, but I don’t want her anywhere else.
I stare down the street, unsure of what to say or do. I take a breath to speak countless times but I can’t form a single fucking word. Nothing. Belle’s much the same. Watching me, waiting for something, anything. But I don’t give it to her, so we remain caught up in a stiff silence.
“I’ve gotta get back to work,” she says softly, her voice defeated, disappointed.
I nod my head before turning and walking down the street. Not saying goodbye. Not looking at her face again. “I’m coming home tonight. Will you be there?” I hear her ask quietly.
I don’t bother turning around, only shrugging my shoulders as I continue walking away from her.
“Don’t you dare not acknowledge me,” her voice snaps, making my feet cease their movement. I stand frozen, unable to will my feet to continue their path. “Don’t you dare fucking dismiss me like that. You came to me, so turn around and look at me,” she demands through clenched teeth.
I’m not ready for this. Not even close, but I can’t bring myself to walk away, so I do as she asks and I turn. I look at her and my eyes glisten unintentionally, which grates on my last nerve. Her eyes are clear, stony even, once again proving how much stronger than me, she is. I envy the fight she still has inside of her. For me. For us.
“I’m caught,” she starts, stepping closer and causing my body to brace, readying itself for her next words. “Do I leave you and be the sole person responsible for my own broken heart? Is that what I do, Archer, leave, breaking my own heart in the process?”
I stand stiff, every muscle in my body shaking, struggling with the need to run. “Or do I stay and wait for you to do it for me?” she smiles sadly, wetness starting to pool in her beautiful eyes. “Do I let the person that I love most in the world, slowly, but surely crack my heart wide open?”
Tears fall freely onto the creamy skin of her cheeks as her voice remains strong. “What do you think will hurt less? Could you do it? Break your own heart? Or would you make me do it?”
That’s obvious. I’m a coward. Fucking weak. Can’t she see that I can’t bring myself to break it now? Hers or mine. That she’s completely in control of how this unfolds because I’m too powerless to make it happen.
“I know you, Archer, better than I know myself and I know you can’t bring yourself to walk away because you love me. As empty and devoid of emotion as you are, you love me,” her voice cracks and my jaw tightens at the need to cry.
“The thought of shattering my heart is too much for you to stomach, so you’re waiting for me to do it,” she waits, meeting my eyes, daring me to disagree. But I can’t. It’s true. Every single fucking word.
“That is not fair,” she accuses on a whisper. “Because I’m the half of us actually fighting right now. You’re standing on the outside watching us disintegrate, hoping I’ll put you out of your misery and leave,” her breath catches and she sucks in air trying to reclaim her breath.
“That way you can hate me,” she stutters around a sob. “That way I would be the one that broke your heart. I would be the one that wasn’t strong enough. I would be the one that was weak, the one that couldn’t love you through your flaws and that is just not true, Archer.”
Tears stain my own cheeks at her truth. Why can’t she love me enough to do this for me? Why won’t she let me hate her?
We stand in silence for countless minutes, our misery surrounding us like a storm cloud.
Finally, I watch as she regulates her breathing. I watch as she swipes away her tears. I watch her compose herself, straightening her spine. Once again she waits for me to respond, for me to give her
any kind of reaction, but apart from the tracks of water decorating my face, I stand silently still.
“I won’t do that, Archer. I can’t,” she informs me on a slight shake of her head. “If you want this to end, if you want us to be over, that’s on you. Grow some fucking balls and end it,” she challenges, turning on her heel and disappearing back into the shop without a backwards glance.
I hate her for forcing my hand. I hate her for challenging me. But I love her, so fucking much, for not giving up on me.
I stand there, cut like stone, until the sun begins to set, unsure of what to do, where to go. I’m no closer on knowing what the right thing to do is. All I know is that right now, in this moment, I need a fucking drink.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Annabelle
I'm woken by a soft knock at our front door and sitting up in bed I reach for Archer, but his side of the bed is cold. Empty. This nightmare of my reality hasn’t change. Our confrontation weeks back changed nothing. Maybe he watches me a little closer now, but his focus seems a little sadder. A little bit more broken, if that’s possible. He did come home that night. Completely wasted, but he came home and I let that fire my hope. How could I not? Did me leaving scare him into a reality without me? And was that enough for him to need to be closer? In his way, I think so. He stood at the door of our bedroom for close to an hour. I feigned sleep, unsure of what alerting him to my conscious state would do. Would he run? Or come to me? I couldn’t be sure and so I pretended to breathe rhythmically, lulling my body into a state of rest. My heart was beating a million miles an hour though and my mind couldn’t keep up with the overthinking his presence caused. I could’ve sworn I heard him cry, but as quickly as I was certain, doubt crept in with his silence and I was sure I’d dreamt it up.
Since then, we’ve lived in silent parallels. Existing with limited or nil contact. He comes home more often than not now. The burning flicker of hope that still lives inside me is convinced he needs to be close to me. That me leaving for those few days scared him and his need to have me close, in some way, has overwhelmed him. That somehow, someway, however small, I’ve broken through. That this is the first step. Him needing me, needing to be close means we’re finally beating his demons down. But that flicker of hope gets smaller, gets lighter with every day that passes without anything more.
Blinking my eyes heavily, I adjust to the darkened room, bringing myself slowly into consciousness. Pulling myself from the security of my bed, I make my way downstairs, nerves crawling under my skin. When Archer was deployed, I was haunted by the threat of this very moment. Even today, tomorrow, with him here on home soil, it scares me. What if one day he goes too far? What if one day he leaves me unintentionally and is gone forever?
I let out a hard exhale of air when my feet hit the bottom of our stairs. The breath I didn’t realize I was holding, releasing, my body relaxing when I see Archer holding himself up against the frame of our front door.
Concern immediately overtakes me as I pull open the door. It’s obvious he’s been crying, eyes red rimmed and glassy. "Arch, baby what's wrong? And why are you knocking?”.
Walking through the door, he moves into my space, pushing a lock of my hair back behind my ear. His face portrays a sadness even I’m not used to seeing, he looks utterly broken as he leans down tentatively to inhale the scent of my hair. "Couldn't find my keys, sorry I woke you," his voice is soft and for the first time in months, not tainted by drink.
"It's fine. What's happened?" I push, but ignoring my questions, he moves past me, climbing the stairs to our bedroom slowly, his heavy footsteps echoing in the stillness of the house.
Watching him disappear into our room, I lock up before following his path, treading uncertainly. I’m unsure how to navigate the situation, push him too far and he’ll shut down completely. But he wouldn’t be here if he didn’t need me, so I feel as though I’m balancing on a highly emotional edge. Archer hasn't been home before midnight in months, especially sober. This could finally be our chance to break through, for him to see me as he once did. For him to finally lean on me, instead of swallowing everything he’s been suffocating underneath of all these months.
Our room is dark but I can see him lying on his side of the bed in only his boxers. The spill of moonlight across the room allows me to see his eyes are open, staring at the ceiling, unblinking. Crawling into my side of the bed, I lie down, purposefully not touching him. He’s been so hesitant, so reluctant to my touch since he came home, so I lay beside him, quietly. Hoping my presence is somehow reassuring to him. I’ve barely settled into the bed when his large hand finds mine, his fingers lacing through my own, holding on tight.
Clearing his throat, he speaks quietly into the air, not quite whispering but his voice low. "A brother passed today. Couldn't handle it anymore - this life. Made the decision to leave it."
My heart cracks at his words, at the thought that the darkness for his friend was so overwhelming, so asphyxiating, he decided it was easier to stop existing. I’d be lying if I said Archer having those exact thoughts hadn’t haunted my mind. I tell myself that I know him well enough to know he’d never do that. But in truth, I don’t anymore. I feel sick with worry that one day it’ll all get too much for him and he’ll make the decision to leave us. I shut my thought process down as fast as it comes on, because the pain pressuring my heart is too much when I let fears like that infiltrate.
"Arch, baby, that’s awful. I hate that you've lost someone you care about. Tell me what you need, " I plead, turning onto my side to watch his profile.
Archer turns as well, watching me. He scans my face in the dark room before touching his lips to my own. His kiss is tentative and I don’t hesitate to kiss him back softly, soaking up his taste and the feel of his tongue against my own. "Arch, let me make you feel good, baby,” I speak into his mouth, pushing his shoulders back as I slide my leg over his hip to straddle his waist.
Our kiss deepens as he holds my face, my body flush with his. It’s been months, but my body responds with fervor. Buzzing with the anticipation Archer’s touch brings. Breaking from his mouth, I move my lips along his jaw, down his neck. Licking, biting, sucking every inch of skin I meet. I groan outwardly at the taste of him, of his purely masculine scent, always entwined with the barest hint of cigarette smoke.
I run my hands over his pecs, scratching down his sides. I love Archer’s body; he's fit, well defined. Skin soft, taut along hard muscle. Over the past months, he’s become a lot leaner, still muscular, just not as built. It’s different to what I’m used to, from what I remember.
"Shirt off," he growls out and I know what he wants, my breasts against his skin. He loves the feel of my hardened nipples grazing his bare body. Pulling my tank over my head, by boobs bounce as they release from the tightness of my shirt and he groans in appreciation, grabbing their fullness in his large hands roughly, pinching my nipples and eliciting my own groan. I bend again, touching my lips to his body, trailing them down his abs, gliding the tip of my tongue down the trail from his belly button to the waistband of his boxers. I can feel him hard and wanting in his pants and palming him roughly he jerks under my hand.
"Mouth, Belle. Let me see those gorgeous fucking lips circling my cock," he commands, but it lacks his usual assertiveness, sounding more like a needy beg than of Archer’s intense authority.
This is what we know, what we’re good at. It’s how we read one another best; through our touch, our intimacy. Through sex, fucking. Our bodies respond to each other with incomparable passion. Like a fire that burns bright and hot, it's explosive.
Removing his boxers, I hold him tight, feeling the weight of him in my hand. I love his cock. Long and thick, he feels like velvet in my palm. Stroking up this length softly, I know I'm teasing him, working him to a frenzied state, making him need me. But I feel powerful for the first time in months. I feel connected, and for just a second longer, I want to feel us. I glide the pad of my thumb over his smooth head where moisture
is beading already, his excitement clear. "Belle, mouth," he grumbles on a soft growl, clearly enjoying my touch but irritated at my teasing.
I stroke my tongue along the underside of his shaft; starting at the base and circling the tip when I reach it. Kissing back down, I repeat my action, earning myself another growl, this one a little deeper. Rising onto his elbows, watching me with hooded eyes, he groans as my tongue skates along the smooth skin once again. "Mouth. Now."
Moistening my lips, I wrap them around his width while holding his base tightly. I slide him into my mouth, back towards my throat and the sound that escapes his lips is guttural, feral and my panties dampen immediately. Tasting Archer like this, hearing him lose control, turns me on more than anything else. Watching my man; so imposing and strong - beg me, lose himself in me completely, is such a powerful feeling.
I work him with my mouth, gliding him towards my throat smoothly, taking him as far as I can. Each back and forth allows my throat to loosen, giving his thick cock farther to slide on each intake. Grazing my teeth along his length as I pull him from my mouth, I flick his tip with my tongue before sucking him deep again. My hand skates along his base in rhythm, working with my mouth.
His hands move to the back of my head, twisting through my hair, directing my head, fucking my mouth. "Belle. Baby. Yes," he groans out. At some point my left hand entwines with his, and we squeeze tight. I can feel him throbbing in my mouth, close to release.
"Baby. That's it. Take it deep, Belle." His demands are roughly spoken and I want nothing more than to reach my hand into my panties and relieve the tight coil of tension building. But that would mean letting go of his hand and I wouldn’t give that away for anything, so I settle for rubbing my thighs together.
I do as he asked and take him as deep as I can, swallowing when he touches the back of my throat. The move causes constricting pressure around his length and I feel the thick vein on the underside of his cock throb steadily. "FUCK ME," he yells, shooting into my mouth, his warm release running down my throat.
