A lot more to be said.
She’s already heading back to bed when I pull the door closed behind me.
Abigail is waiting in the truck. Her hand slips straight into mine as I climb in.
“Thanks for the secrets.”
“Thanks for the ear. It’s been a while since someone cared enough to listen.”
I pull away from the house and make a turn for Hereford. We drive in silence most of the way.
Her hand comes to rest on my thigh, and in spite of every harrowing word I’ve spoken this evening, I’m still hard for her.
More fucking hard for her than ever, it seems.
I guess the sense of mortality does wonders for the urge to procreate.
There’s an easiness between us that wasn’t there before. A closeness in pain. Her sadness holding hands with mine.
Now I’ve told her my secrets, I’m even more curious about hers.
I wonder if this could really be a thing, her and me. I wonder if her pieces will fit with mine in a way that Mariana’s didn’t.
I park up in my usual spot when we arrive at hers.
She covers her modesty as best she can as she climbs down from the truck. My jacket swamps her and she moves awkwardly.
“You don’t have to come in,” she says. “If it’s too much, I mean.”
“Am I invited?”
She smirks. “That doesn’t usually hold you back. I hope you’re not losing your bite.”
“I was being polite,” I tell her with a smile. “You could say no. I’d just climb in through the window and make you regret it.”
“I guess I should save us both the trouble,” she says, and slips her hand in mine.
She flicks on the lights in her hallway as I close her door behind me.
My jacket is off her shoulders before she’s even dropped her handbag.
My mouth is fierce. Desperate.
Her body is needy as I hitch her legs up around my waist and pin her to the wall.
My thumb flicks at her tender nipples. Her skin is still clammy, even after the drive.
I walk her to the bedroom and nudge the door open.
I drop her straight onto the bed and drop down on top of her. I’m grinding hard against her pussy in a heartbeat.
“You summoned a monster from the darkness,” I grunt. “Is it everything you were hoping for?”
“More than I was hoping for,” she whispers. “But tonight I want to see the monster in the light.”
She flicks on the lamp before I can protest. Her fingers are under my shirt before I can stop her.
I flinch as her fingertips graze across gnarled skin.
“Let me see you.” Her eyes are open wide. “Please let me see.”
“My scars are hideous,” I tell her, but she shakes her head.
“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” she whispers. “Even your scars will be beautiful.”
Oh fuck, how I feel it in my gut.
This sweet little siren from the deep, opening my sores and kissing them better. Making me feel alive again.
Whole again.
It feels strange to undress for her. Strange to see her wonderment as she trails her fingers down my tattoos.
“So many,” she whispers.
“A whole pile more secrets,” I say. “Each one tells a story. Some of them happier than others.”
“I want to hear them all.” She smiles. “I want to know everything.”
She wriggles out from under me even as her mouth is on mine. It’s tempting to hold her firm and make her appease the throb in my fucking dick, but I don’t. I let her up. She kneels before me, eye to eye, before she dips her head.
She’s so careful as she kisses my collarbone and sweeps her fingers down my back. My skin itches, but I let it. Today, I don’t fight it.
“May I?” she asks.
I love how she asks for permission.
I’m tempted to say no just to hear her beg.
But I don’t.
Not tonight.
“You can have everything you want,” I tell her. “Just know that I’ll take your everything in return.”
She smiles against my neck. Her fingers are soft in my hair.
“My everything is already yours,” she says. “I just wasn’t sure you wanted it.”
Oh, how I fucking want it.
I close my eyes as she moves behind me.
Thirty-Three
I’ve cried, and you’d think I’d be better for it, but the sadness just sleeps, and it stays in my spine the rest of my life.
Conor Oberst
Abigail
I tell myself I’m prepared for this. But I’m not.
I’m not prepared for the way his scars take my breath, or the way my heart bursts at the reality of his pain. I’m not prepared for the way I want to hold his wounds to my chest and never let go.
“I still feel it burning sometimes,” he says. “I guess I always will.”