‘That’ll never happen,’ he promises. ‘There’s nothing that’d ever make me want to stay away from you.’
It feels like I should say something back to his powerful words, but I can’t find them in the darkness of my head. I open my eyes and am greeted by his intense gaze, ‘What about your mom?’ I ask.
His entire body tenses as a ripple of panic waves through him. ‘What about her?’
I want to shut my eyes but force myself to keep them open. ‘What happens when … if she gets arrested? I mean, that’s a lot to take in and it’d be my fault she’s there.’
‘She fucking put herself there.’ His tone is hash, angry, eyes burning with rage.
‘I might have to testify against her,’ I point out, something the Detective and I have talked about if they ever find her. How I have to try and remember what she looks like, to identify her from that night, which would play a part in getting her sentenced.
Luke huffs out several breaths, his face anxiety stricken. ‘Can we just stop talking about this please? You and I, we’ll be together as long as you want us to … Forever, if …’ He trails off at the end, either wanting to retract his words or fearing them and I feel my own heart slam against my chest. They’re packed with a lot of emotion, a lot of meaning, a lot of relationship stuff we haven’t talked about. Luke and I have so many challenges ahead of us that we haven’t discussed yet. Like what happens when the police finally catch his mother? What if I have to testify against her? What if they discover she was the one that actually killed my parents? Will it affect how I feel? How he feels? Will it ruin us?
So many questions, ones that I should say aloud so we can finally talk about them. But I’m not ready to let go of Luke, my security blanket, my …
There are so many words that flow through my head which I can barely process, so instead I seek a distraction. My favorite distraction.
‘Kiss me please.’ I practically sound like I’m begging, but I can’t take it back so I just roll with it.
He can see it in my eyes too, the avoidance, my attempt to get around talking about the emotional baggage I keep locked inside me. He starts to open his mouth to say who knows what, probably something that will make me feel more and cause me to panic even more, I’m guessing. But I silence him as I lean up and press my lips to his, so aggressively we knock teeth. It’s anything but sexy and hot, however I’ve never really given a shit about that stuff and there’d be no point in starting now.
Kissing him almost desperately and pulling at his hair, I lift my head up and swing my leg over his side, forcing him to lie flat on his back so I can straddle him. I keep our lips sealed as I run my fingers up and down his tattooed chest, continuing my exploration of his lean muscles until I reach the top of his boxers.
‘Violet,’ he says through groans as I slip my hand beneath his waistband. ‘Maybe we … we shouldn’t …’ His head tips back and I put a sliver of space between our lips, watching him starting to lose control.
‘You know, I’d be hurt by your protests, but,’ I slip my hand further into his boxers and rub his hard on, ‘It’s pretty clear your words don’t match what you really want.’
He grips my waist, as if securing me in place, either keeping me near, or allowing himself to have control enough over the situation that he can bail out whenever he wants. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to … I just … don’t think we should …’ He searches my eyes for something and I’m guessing doesn’t see it because in the end he seems disappointed. ‘Not when you’re upset.’
‘I’m not upset.’ I scowl at him. ‘Why do you always think that whenever I want to have sex?’
He presses his lips together to restrain whatever’s on his mind. I seize the opportunity to slant back, tug my dress off, and toss it aside so I’m only in my bra and panties.
‘I promise this has nothing to do with anything else than me wanting to get laid.’ Liar. Liar. Liar. And a bad one at that. I know it – he knows it. But he’ll give in – he always does. And part of me might love him for it and part of me hates myself for doing it to him, using sex as a temporary replacement for my adrenaline addiction.
An exhale later, he’s pulling me to him and as our lips reconnect with a blazing spark of heat, I feel a split second of inner peace, like maybe this is really what I want, that I’m not just trying to bury my feelings by having sweaty sex. The feeling dissipates however, the moment I come to the conclusion that maybe it’s more than just sex. Denial. I’m living – dying in it. But I fear the truth won’t set me free – it’ll kill me. So instead I focus on kissing Luke, basking in the sensation of his hands wandering all over every inch of my body, leaving hot trails of heat across my skin. The way he keeps moaning my name every time I touch his skin and bite his flesh drives my mind into a state of euphoria. We don’t hurry, taking our time, but eventually it feels as though I’m going to combust with need and I end up peeling the rest of my clothes off. Luke follows my lead, taking his boxers off.
Suddenly, he pauses. ‘Wait … do we need—’
I cut him off by covering his mouth with my hand. ‘I’ve been on the pill for a few weeks now, so we’re good.’
He sucks in a breath, then seconds later he’s flipping me on my back and slipping deep inside me. He takes my leg and hitches it over his hip as he thrusts in and out of me. Over and over again until I let out a soft cry, my nails digging into his shoulder blades. For a moment I’m gone. For a moment, I feel like everything is going to be okay. For a moment, I’m dropped into a blissful illusion where I’m free from everything and Luke is right there with me. But almost as quickly as the relief came, I crash back to reality. Luke has stilled inside me, his face buried in my neck, his sweaty chest pressed against mine. I can feel every heartbeat, every breath he takes. I count each one, try to match my own breathing to his. Content. I feel content and I want to ask him to never move.
Just stay still. Forever. Please.
Yet if I did dare utter those irreversible words, that’d just be me trying to live in a fairytale and I’ve lived too much to believe in such things. So I keep silent and eventually Luke pulls out of me, giving me one last deep kiss before he rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling with his arm draped over his head. He doesn’t say anything, lost in his thoughts, drowning in some sort of internal agony that makes me feel guilty since I probably put it there. I want to say something to him, to take that worried expression off his face, to tell him I’m sorry I’m so broken and that I’ll try to fix myself. But I can’t find the words, not knowing where they exist, so instead I take the coward’s way out and utter, ‘Goodnight’. Then I shut my eyes and let my nightmares slowly drown me.