Then he leans back and the moment is over. He shakes his head, like I’ve done something confusing, and takes a deep breath.
“Okay,” Rafe says. “I’ll be back in fifteen.”
I nod and close the door without meeting his eyes. When the hot water hits my cut hand, it feels like razor blades. After soaping up, I slap my stupid dick, trying to get my hard-on to go away. No dice. I can’t get the feeling out of my head—Rafe surrounding me. The warmth of his chest, his heavy arms around me.
“Fuck,” I groan, getting more turned on just thinking about it.
I grab my dick and stroke hard, my hand slick with soap. I picture Rafe pushing me up against the wall, eyes blazing, hair wild. He’d give me no choice, just hold me there, pinned like a butterfly—no. I shake that image off, replacing it with Rafe biting my neck, hands all over me. I stroke faster, so hard it’s almost painful, and that turns me on more. After only a few more strokes, I come, a pathetic, gasping orgasm that leaves me light-headed. The moment it’s over, hot shame rushes through me and I squeeze my eyes shut to try and disappear.
I can’t believe I just jerked off in the shower thinking about a guy I’m going to see in five minutes. But, more, I can’t believe I feel the same way I always do after some stranger sucks me off: so fucking ashamed I want to die.
I blast cold water for a minute and drag myself out of the shower. I hardly ever look in the mirror if I can help it, but catching a glimpse of myself as I brush my teeth confirms that I look as bad as I feel. Jesus, I look tired. The kind of tired that a good night’s sleep won’t ease. The shadows under my eyes are matched by the ones under my cheekbones, sharp and dangerous looking.
My mother’s eyes look back at me, but where hers were a soft blue, mine just look empty. I have her light brown hair, too, but it’s usually buzzed so short you can barely tell what color it is. Rafe is right, though. I haven’t had it this long in years—maybe an inch long—and it’s lighter even than I remember. My brothers all have Pop’s dark hair and pale skin. Daniel has green eyes, though, where Brian and Sam have brown, like Pop. I’m not sure how Daniel ended up with them. It’s like genetics conspired to mark him as different.
By the time I throw on some sweats, Rafe is back. I don’t know how I’m going to look him in the face after what I just did, so I linger in the bedroom, zipping my sweatshirt up to my neck and running a cautious finger over Shelby’s sleeping back.
I drink some water while Rafe showers. My hand hangs at my side, a giant, throbbing heartbeat of pain, and my legs feel weak and shaky. I sip the water slowly, and my stomach is so empty that I can feel the path the water takes as it trickles down my throat and into my intestines. I feel… miserable.
Dangerously miserable.
I haven’t felt quite this bad in a while, and last time—
“Okay.” Rafe’s out of the shower, his hair braided back. I’ve never seen him wear a braid like that before. He sits down next to me and settles a hand gently on my wrist, turning my hand to examine the cut.
“It’s swollen, so this is going to hurt. Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the hospital?”
“Naw, man, just do it.”
The sting of the alcohol takes my breath away and makes my stomach clench.
“What’d you do?” Rafe asks, probably trying to distract me.
“Oh, I leaned onto a saw blade that was next to a truck I was working on.” Yeah. Because I was thinking about you and your comment the other night. Stupid.
He threads a curved needle with ease.
“They have this glue now,” Rafe explains, “where you can stick the edges of the skin together, but I don’t have any. These are the dissolving kind, though, so they’ll just melt after a week or two.”
“Seriously, how do you know how to do this? Do they just sell this stuff at the drugstore?”
“Nah. I learned at a workshop on radical nursing.”
“Uh, what?”
“Radical nursing. It was about basic home care, like sutures, remedies for the flu, how to pack wounds, bind sprains, treat infections, that kind of thing.”
“Sorry, radical as in, like, hey, man, far out, or….”
“Radical as in invested in a break from traditional hierarchies of knowledge and embracing modes of transmitting knowledge other than the official, sanctioned ones.”
“Whoa.”
“Okay?”
I blow out a breath. “Okay.”
Rafe puts on gloves and rests my hand on a paper towel on his knee. “Let me know if it’s too much.” His concentration is intense.