I tell him about the anger, the mental illness, the PTSD, the drugs, the cops at Riverbend, Stuart, the slaughter at the log cabin, and Evie . . . falling in love with her. I get choked up at that part and he holds me tighter. He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t have to.
I move on to burying my little brother, digging through the family keepsakes box, and finding my file. About how I lost it and shot up the house, took too much acid, and polished off Henry’s bottle of scotch. I explain how I just ended up at Riverbend, shooting through the window, and then I woke up when Murray rescued me.
“Hang on, you dreamed this?” he asks halfway through the story.
“Yeah. You think it was some kinda spiritual acid trip or something?”
“I don’t know . . . could be.”
“The things he talked about, some of them I . . . experienced.”
While I tell him about Murray and Hao, and all the synchronicities, he traces a figure eight on my forearm, and never takes his eyes from mine as I speak. I tell him how I’d hated my name forever because my mother gave it to me before giving me away. But that Hao forgave Murray, and Murray forgave himself, so maybe I should forgive myself, and my mother, too.
I ramble for longer than I should, but it feels good to. There’s a candidness I never really had before. Somewhere inside of me a wall has crumbled down, and it’s a relief just as much as it is terrifying. It’s as if I’ve known Gideon my whole life. I keep talking until I run out of things to say, and he listens, breathing on my shoulder for a crescendo of silence, contemplating my life and experiences before he speaks.
“You’ve been through a lot.”
“Yeah.”
“You’ve survived. You’re stronger now.”
“Partial thanks to you.”
We hold each other’s gaze for a long while, and there are urges I’ve never had before, too. I’ve been afraid of men for so long, but things are different now, here, with this one, even in light of recent events. He’s not like them; he’s different. More so than anyone I’ve ever met.
Gideon retracts his arm to reach for a bottled water, takes a swig, then holds the bottle to my lips. “Want some? You probably need the fluids.”
I nod and take a sip, then another. Water tastes good. I can’t remember it ever tasting this good.
“So—” Gideon screws the cap back on the water bottle, then sets it aside. “Using your birth-given name shows you’ve forgiven. It shows empowerment.” He props himself up onto one elbow, then traces the smile lines around my lips. “You’re a strong girl.”
“I thought I was strong before. I feel different now, though.”
“You are different. I didn’t know you for long before, but I see it. It’s alchemy.”
“You might be right.”
“So . . . Grace. Grace . . .” He says it as though the utterance of that one word could cure mankind.
“Yes?” I grin.
“I love it. It’s beautiful, just like you.”
I want to memorize his every feature, every crease and scar. I don’t ever want to forget the dimple on his cheek, or the way his brow furrows and he breathes in deeply when he looks at me, as though he were bracing himself for both immense pain and joy. I don’t want to forget those heady brown eyes that have seen me at my worst, or the strong hands that healed me when I was helpless, and would never hurt me.
I place my ear on his chest and listen to his heartbeat. He’s real. And so am I, for the first time.
FORTY-SIX
With a kiss to my forehead, Gideon places a loaded AR-17 at my side. “Try to get some rest, Grace. I’ll be back soon.”
Third time this week. I want to tell him not to go, but we need supplies. Before I can say goodbye, he slides down the tube slide which is our exit. He doesn’t like to say goodbye, and neither do I. But half of me vanishes when he’s away from me. I cry soft tears, watching through a rip in the plastic as he climbs over the spot in the fence with an acquired AK-47.
These are the worst times. He may never come back. That would be the killshot.
Sometimes, when I look at Gideon, I see someone entirely different, as if who he is with me isn’t all of who he is. Sometimes he gets quiet, or I can hear the slice of stone cold rage behind his words as he speaks of the way our world is now, and the things that happened leading up to it. Though he’s vague, and never goes into detail about the people he lost, I know there’s more. I don’t pry though, maybe because I’m afraid to dig too deep, afraid of what I’ll find. But also, because I know he’ll tell me everything when he’s ready to.
Tonight, he returns an hour before dawn. When he sees me awake, he smiles. “Hey there. Did you sleep?”
“No.”
“Aw, I’m sorry.” He sits cross-legged before me, digs into his loot bag and removes a little tin box. “I’ve got something for ya.”
“Oh yeah?” I sit up and face him.
He pops up the red-and-tarnished-gold lid. “Smell this.”
I take a sniff. “Holy shit, where’d you find that? Is it weed?”
“Hash, I think.”
“What the hell do you do with that?”
“Well, I’m gonna make tea with it.”
I chuckle. “Does that work?”
“I think so. My aunt mentioned it once.”
“Your aunt that was a witch?”
“That’s the one. She liked her marijuana.”
“I like mine, too.”
He squirts some fluid on coals in our tiny grill, and I rise slowly to my feet in the waterslide tower hideaway to scan the perimeter. It’s still a bit startling, being this high up, but it gives us an advantage. We can see possible dangers coming from miles away. The park’s empty, but in the distance, beyond the fence, they move all around us. Can’t see them, but I know they’re there. We see more of them than we’d like to in the daytime.
I face Gideon across the fire, where he’s placed a pan to heat up water. I don’t say it, but I have a hard time looking away from him when he’s here. His hair has grown a little longer since we met. He ties it up to keep it out of his eyes while he’s cooking, or killing. And though I’ve never been much for beards, his thin beard only highlights his gorgeous features even more. He is one seriously sexy, handsome man. But it goes so much deeper than looks with him.
He makes me feel vulnerable, but protected. He makes me want to be vulnerable. Sometimes, I can’t breathe when he’s close to me, like I need time itself to stop and hold this moment longer . . .
But then I think of Eve, and guilt makes me pull away.
I’m tired of pulling away.
“This shit will be off the chain.” Gideon grins, dropping a spoonful of the hash into the pan of water, which he then removes from the fire. He covers the grill again and places it back in the corner, then returns to stir the tea.
“What if it’s bunk?” I ask.
He laughs. “It won’t be. This is some nice, medicated tea right here.” He pours some from the pan into a cup and hands it to me.
Murray had given me medicated tea. And when he’d carried me on my death bed, he’d said we were going to find a doctor. He said there are men I could trust. Maybe he meant Gideon.
I want to tell Gideon these things, but something holds me back. I sip the steaming cup and drift off in this unexplainable occurrence.
“How is it?” Gideon asks.
“It’s good.”
“Wait about ten minutes, and then tell me how you like it.” He winks.
“Want some?” I offer him the cup.
His slight grin fades to seriousness.
“What’s wrong?”
He shakes his head, then peers up at me. “After what happened . . .” He looks away, and in his peripheral, there’s guilt. “I have to stay alert. I have to protect . . . us.”
I gulp down the tea, heat rising inside of me as I travel the course of his body. The tattoos, the eyes, the hair, the strength and protection . . . the love.
“Me,” I say.
“Huh?”
“You have to protect . . . me.”
He gives a half-second glance, then drops his chin to fidget. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because . . . we’re family now, remember?” He grins up at me, showing off that dimple. “And because I love you, Grace.”
My smile is broad as my gaze drifts off to somewhere in the sky, beyond the secret hideout, as I weigh his words. It’s so good to hear those words. Reason says he couldn’t possibly love me—after all, we barely know each other—but it crashes into a new mind-voice, that of the one who has lost everything.
I know he’s telling the truth, because I love him, too. I don’t ever want to be away from him. Sometimes, even when we have food, I can’t eat, because I’m falling so hard for Gideon Tyler that I can think of nothing else. Who knew I’d have to lose everything to find what I’ve been missing? Not just pieces of me, but Gideon, too.
“You don’t have to say it back, I get it.” He inches closer to me. “We haven’t known each other that long, so . . . But I’m positive I love you more than anything on the planet.”
“If you keep saying that, I might actually start to believe it.”
“Aww, come on.” He brushes his lips across my cheek, before placing a gentle, lingering kiss. “You must know that I love you.”
“I do. You saved my life after I placed yours in danger. And then you doctored me back to health. And now you’re keeping me safe, and fed.”
“That’s right.” He nods. “So, is, uh . . . everything all right . . . down there? I mean . . . is it okay—?”
I can tell he’s nervous, and it turns me on.
“Do you want to check and make sure it looks okay?” I ask him, though we both know I’ve been healed over a week now.
“Uh . . . sure. Yeah.” He nods, removes his hoodie, and sets it aside.
I remove my pants and panties, slowly, eyes on his, and I lie back, spread my legs apart. “How does it look?”
“Better,” he says, steadying his breath. “Healed.”
I spread my legs wider, and slip a hand down there, spreading my lips apart. “How about . . . now?”
“It looks . . . beautiful . . . goddamn, Grace.” He pushes back and adjusts the bulge in his pants. “You feel nice, huh? Good tea?”
“Good tea, good man. Come here.”
Breathing heavily, he moves into me, straddles me, hovering over my lips.
“I love you, too, Gideon,” I finally say. “So much. Make love to me.”
He holds me close against his muscular chest, heart pounding. “I don’t wanna hurt you. Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
I trace an intricate circular tattoo on his chest, hidden by a thin layer of hair. “Yes. I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
He dives into me, pulls off my shirt and his in a reckless frenzy, kissing my neck, my chin, my lips, my ears and jawline. “You know what?”
“What?” I pant.
“I’ve loved you from the second you let me in and pulled a gun on me.”
We laugh, and I curl into his chest, planting soft kisses along his collarbone. “I’ve never done this before,” I say. “Not like this. Not because I wanted to.”
He kisses me harder, then strips his pants and tosses them to the floor. “To me, you’re a virgin, baby. And I’m gonna pop that juicy little cherry.” He winks at me, and I giggle at the roleplay.
“I’m ready for ya.” And I guide him as he enters me with a firm, yet gentle thrust that makes us both moan. He slips his left arm beneath the arch of my back to hold me against him, and he clasps my hand above my shoulder. He gives it to me slow and deep, so sensual and careful, as his love for me fills the cracks and craters of my fragmented insides. He dips himself into my warm wetness and back out again, like a baker dipping his ladle in the batter for a taste. I can tell he’s afraid to hurt me, and his timidness makes me want him even more.
I guide him down onto the bed and climb on top of him, my thin frame perched on the muscular prize beneath it. I grip his rock-hard penis and guide it into me again, and my hungry folds lap up every single inch. He looks me in the eyes as I fuck him, and I’m even more aroused by that.
“I loved you from the start, too,” I say, leaning down to kiss him, “ever since you pulled your gun on me and said you weren’t gonna hurt me. You meant it.”
“I did.” He guides me back and forth. “Always.”
I ride him, harder, harder, faster, until he stops me to pull out. “You’re gonna make me come, sexy girl.” And he flips me over easily with one strong arm, taking back the reins. “I’m not ready to come yet. Not until you do.” He sucks on my nipples, nibbles my bottom lip, then he slips his tongue into my mouth, and his fingers inside of me.
He rubs my clit with his thumb, and I guide his dick over to me. “Oh shit,” he says, when I put it in my mouth. “Shit.” His penis is beautiful, smooth, warm and hard, bulging and throbbing in my mouth. I’m not sure if it’s that, or the sensual way he attacks my vagina like a caveman, but my body responds with waves of euphoria on all ports.
Gideon steals himself away from my mouth to spin around and scoop me up. He holds my ass off the pallet and squeezes me tight around him as he pounds me for a few seconds, bringing me to near-orgasm. He stops, and I hold my breath as he goes slow . . . slow . . . and then he thrusts hard and deep.
“Wow,” I say. “Holy shit, you’re gonna make me come, baby. Oh my God.”
I cry out as he thrusts deep again, and I rupture into orgasm, my muscles tensing and contracting against the waves of pleasure beating a virgin shore, an island. And when my body can take no more, I stop him, lie him down onto his back and suck him off until he comes in my throat, cradling the back of my head, with a deep moan that’s better than any music I’ve ever heard. And in this moment, Gideon’s cum is the most delicious, precious thing that’s ever entered my mouth.
“Fuck,” he says, trembling. “Where’d you learn how to do that so well?”
“I don’t know—porn?” I lie down next to him on the pallet.
He laughs out loud, and I join him, and it feels so good to laugh, and to feel his bare skin against mine. To be free, even if it’s in a waterslide tower on a bed of mismatched pillows with carnivorous monsters below. That I could enjoy that moment with Gideon, despite everything I’ve been through in my life, is a victory in itself.
“I just realized something,” Gideon says, still catching his breath. “Well, re-realized it, actually.”
“What did you re-realize?”
“That I’m madly in love with you. And that I want to spend every minute of every day of the rest of my life with you.”
I hold him tighter, kiss his lips. “I feel the same way, Gideon. I love you so much.”
“You do?” He raises one eyebrow, as if to accuse an uncertainty that doesn’t exist.
“Yes.”
“That makes me happier than anything.”
“Me, too. I feel . . . complete. For the first time ever.”
“Same.” He hugs me to him, clasping my hands and curling them to my chest to hold me tighter, closer, safer.
I almost didn’t find this.
I, too, was a night blind monster, racing headfirst through the dark, searching for my missing pieces, to feed my hunger, fill my void. And I almost left before the sunrise.
But that’s not me anymore.
This is why Murray saved me, I know this now.
Never mind that I may be insane, having imagined a whole man into being in my mind . . . It doesn’t change the fact that his message still rings clear. To be whole and free, to love and be loved, to forgive, to have purpose . . . to spread light in a dark world. This is how we make it right again.
END OF BOOK ONE
If you enjoyed this story, please help others find it, and show your support for this author by leaving a review on Amazon and Goodreads.
Sign up here
to be notified the minute book 2, “Murray’s Law” is released (and snag book 1 of my YA Dystopian Scifi Treemakers Trilogy for free, too!)
“MURRAY’S LAW”
SNEAK PEEK of BOOK 2
(Excerpt from Chapter 1)
ONE
I yank my laces tight and tug at my socks to adjust them. After a few neck rotations, I touch my toes and do a straddle stretch to release the tension from my calves.
“Gonna try for three miles tonight?” Gideon crouches beside me, kisses my cheek.
“Yeah.” I nod. “I think I can do it.”
“I do, too, baby.” He pats my shoulder, then offers me his hand.
I take it, stand and zip my hoodie, then tie my long hair up in a ponytail. I tighten the AK strap on my back so it won’t bounce while I run.
After a lingering kiss to my lips, Gideon sets the silver stopwatch acquired last week from a sporting goods store down the street.
“Ready,” he says. “Set. Bang.”
I take off at a steady pace, practicing the way he showed me to run on the balls of my feet. Not only faster, but quieter. For the past two months since we’ve been here, he’s insisted on going on supply runs alone at night, so when I finally threatened I’d sneak out after him, he made a deal with me.
“Cardio, muscle building, and self-defense,” he’d said. “We’ll work on those for three weeks, build up your strength, and then . . . we’ll see.” He smiled at me, because we’ve gotten to know each other well over the last two months and he knows he can’t keep me locked up here forever. Eventually, he’ll have to let me go with him.
But tonight, I run the semi-secured fortress of our current home, Wipeouts Water Park, thinking about the same things I think about every night when I run. I think about Aislynn and foster care, my birth mother—whom I struggle to forgive every day. I think about Eve, Eileen, Henry, and Corbin . . . the men who raped me and Eve, and made us like it. I think about Murray, and Hao, and how I must be completely insane, and I cry sometimes while I run, crushed by the weight of it all.
Dysphoria and Grace Page 17