Delayed

by Nathan Kingsly

  “... You can’t honestly believe that.” She whispers as she places a hand on my shoulder.

  “There’s nothing to believe; it’s fact.” I shrug her off and stand. “I’ve let them down one too many times.”

  “I don’t know what else you’ve done to make you think that, but that man’s decision isn’t your fault. If he were determined, he would have found a way.”

  “I made it easy for him.” Squinting my eyes shut, my shoulders drop.

  “Liam, I know it’s hard, but you can’t change what happened.”

  My eyes open to slits, and my body grows stiff with every word. She’s like all the rest; if it were that easy to let go, I would have managed it by now.

  “I’m taking a shower.” My pace is stiff and rushed. Sometimes the thought of getting revenge is all that motivates me to keep moving from one day to the next. Ger will pay for what he’s done; jail was always too good for him. Someday, we’ll be standing across from one another, and he’ll know who’s ending his life and why. How can anyone, especially Emma know anything about that?

  “Liam? Wait--”

  Closing the door behind me, shutting out her words, I brace myself on the counter and take one breath at a time. She can’t imagine how hard it was to see. My father, unable to do anything, knowing I had a hand in it. Then, as if I hadn’t been punished enough, he’s not the only one I lost that day. My mom, after she stopped screaming, took her over six months to speak to me.

  Her first words broke me and continue to echo no matter the years.

  ‘Your fault!’

  ‘Your fault!’

  ‘Your fault!’

  I had to call a nurse to help restrain her from bashing herself in the head with her tiny fists. I’d done that to her, made her into an emotionally damaged shell, and I couldn’t face visiting again.

  “Damn it.” The miniature hotel soaps and towels crash against the nearest wall and lands scattered on the floor. My hands shake when they return to the counter, and my eyes reflect back to me in the mirror. Despite my clenched jaw, narrowed slits, and downcast brows, under the façade, my eyes and the tears gathering at the corners told the story.

  Jerking up, I wipe at them and start to rip off my clothes with harsh and jerky movements. They are all somewhere on the floor when I turn on the shower. Before I step in, I grab the closest washcloth that landed on the floor. With a generous amount of soap, I start to scrub my body and wish it isn’t only the first layer of skin I’m washing away with every pass.

  Pausing, I listen to the door hinges protest. When the door shuts soon after, I’m not sure if she’s stayed. Slicking the hair away from my forehead, I consider checking, but before I decide, I see her moving on the other side of the curtain. She takes a seat on the toilet lid. She’s silent for so long, but when she does talk, it’s not the words I expect.

  “You must think I don’t understand loss.” She doesn’t leave a pause for me to interrupt, but this time I have no urge to. “There’s an obvious reason my brothers are so overprotective. We lost our father too. Granted, it isn’t as traumatic as how you lost yours.” The seat creaks under her bottom as she shifts. “It was in his second remission, I was fourteen, and he was simply done fighting. I know what you must be thinking, but I’m not comparing our losses ...”

  She didn’t know; it’s terrible to lose anyone, no matter the cause. It leaves a hole in your life where they used to fill it. The loss of my father is painful. However, it isn’t the cause of my constant grief and feeling of failure. It’s the living that haunt me. She can’t know that kind of pain, or the sharp anger and frustration at feeling no matter what you do, the living will resent you as long as you walk the earth. The sting of her brush-off starts to recede.

  “... I know what it is to be stuck in a cycle of pain. I’m sorry if it came across as harsh, but you still have people that need you. I don’t want to see you push away the only family you have left.”

  "They don't ..."

  "Your sister's mad, so what? It's part of the sibling dynamic. She'll get over it. I will tell you this, if you don’t go home, it’ll take her even longer to forgive you."

  “Even after her telling me not to come home?” The skin stretching across my knuckles scream in protest with a fresh stream of blood as I pull my hands into fists remembering Mia’s tone.

  “Especially when she’s told you not to come home. Women will test you nearly your whole life.”

  “Am I expected to pass?” Shaking my hands out, I hear her breathy laugh.

  “No, but it means all the more when you do.”

  "I've got a wedding to go to. Unless you're uninviting me?"

  "No, I won't keep you from going. But ..."

  "It's settled." Pulling the curtain back, she's looking up, her mouth still forming around the words she wants to say. I shake my head and hold out a hand. “Not right now. Later.” Thrusting my palm closer in her direction, I watch as her eyes flick down, catching the movement, but her eyes soon wander. When she finally returns my gaze, her cheeks are pink, and my smirk is back. After what’s happened in the past hour, I wouldn’t think it was possible, but my will to not give into reality is stronger. Her palm slides into mine, and I help her into the shower.

  We don’t look away from one another when I pull on either side of the tie at the back of her neck. Her breasts come free, and the two triangles of fabric fall against her stomach.

  “Liam ...” She bites her lip. Her arms shield her, and she looks down and away.

  “What is it?” Did I read the situation wrong? Maybe she doesn’t want to be here with me anymore, after knowing my dirty secret.

  “I’m sorry-” Her eyes met mine again. “I crossed a line. You shared something traumatic, and instead of comforting you, I gave tough love.” She tilts her head and presses her lips together. “I blame my brothers for that.”

  My lips dangle on one corner. “It’s a language I understand,” I say before taking her face in my hands and touching my lips to hers. When I pull back, her smile is hesitant. “Really, it’s fine.”

  If I allow it to ruin what we’ve found in each other, to focus on the one thing we don’t have in common would be a waste on my part. She deserves better than that, and so do I, at least for a little while longer.

  “How about we let it go? I’m naked.” I raise an eyebrow. “I could have sworn you said something about better things to spend our time on if I were.” Tilting my eyes up towards the ceiling, I start to rub my chin. “Now, what were those ‘things’?”

  “Oomph!” Jerking forward, I trap her hand where it’s hit my stomach.

  “You’re cheating.” She purses her lips, but that smile at the edges betray her.

  “Already know that’s not my style, but I don’t recall making rules. Even if I missed that part, I would never agree to playing fair.” When my mouth takes hers, it’s tentative, like her mood, but when her tongue sneaks between my lips, asking for more, I don’t hold back. The bow holding her top comes away, and when my hands move, her hands are already working the ties on her bottoms. We smile against each other’s lips when the slap of the fabric hits the tub.

  When my hands go exploring, her body shivers under my touch, and that gasp, when I grip generously of her ass cheeks, has me letting out my own excited exhale. She’s got such a fantastic ass. During our short time together, I have smacked it, bitten it, dug my fingers deep, kissed with damn near adoration, and could think of other ways to worship it.

  She exhales as I drag her across the nearest wall and pin her to it, using it as leverage as I grip under her thighs. Her feet dangle mid-air, her hands brace against my shoulders. She lets out a gasp, and her back arches away from the cold of the wall, thrusting her perfect breasts in my face. Those sky eyes of hers are wide but dilated, waiting for my next move. We have spent so much time in the dark that I only now notice the sparks of green coloring the very edge of the blue.

  Memories flash, reminding me why this is famili
ar, and I’m glad that blonde at the gym passed on me. This fantasy is more deserving of Emma. There’s not a blush on her cheeks, she’s not embarrassed by her desires, and I doubt it would change if someone did catch us. There’s not a passive bone in this woman’s body unless she’s following orders from me, and I can’t ignore how much it turns me the fuck on.

  Or maybe I’ve spoken too soon, her hand goes to the back of my neck, and she’s kissing me. Her tongue isn't asking for permission, and it’s so clever she doesn’t need it; I’d let it play with mine anytime. With her other hand on my face, she tilts my head thinking she can take over the kiss. For a while I let her, because I like the way her nails dig into the sensitive skin of my neck, and how her fingertips dig into my cheekbones. There’s a possessiveness in her touch that I haven't felt from anyone, in any capacity, in a very long time. I’m weak in the wake of her, and for once I feel like it’s okay for me to be anything but strong.

  When my hands fists in her hair, wrenching her head to the side, I devour her neck, my four-day unshaved facial hair scraping against her sensitive skin. When I pull back, resting my cheek against hers, blood reaches to the surface, making the spot pink, and my breath over it making her shiver.

  “Tell me you want me.” My eyes squeeze shut. I hadn't meant to pant it into her ear. Too late, I bite my lip.

  “I don’t just want you, I need you.”

  Pulling back, I look into her eyes. My hand releases her hair, and I cup her face, stroke the softness of her cheekbone with my thumb.

  The word ‘need’ is a better description of what I feel for her. Want is something you desire, a luxury, but without it, there is no chance to feel its absence. Need is a thing you’ve experienced and now know after you’ve had it, you can no longer be without.

  Pushing inside her with one smooth thrust, no longer wanting to be apart, I revel in her reaction. She closes her eyes, her head hits the wall with a muted thud, and her mouth shapes her moan that’s turning out to be an obsession of mine.

  I keep telling myself that I’ll be fine with letting her go when this whole thing is over, but I’m not sure I can now. The thought unsettles me more than how I left things with my family, and that surely makes me a monster.

  It’s been so long that I’ve felt exposed and vulnerable, and she’s done it in an insignificant amount of time. As if all those barriers and walls I erected meant nothing as she jumped on that trampoline of hers and scaled them without effort. Even when I swore I would tell no one of my past failings, I did. She didn’t do what I expected, even with all the knowledge she now has. She’s still here, naked even, letting me feel her from the inside out.

  Her fingernails are punishing on my shoulders, and she’s since looked back with hazy passion-filled eyes. My thrust is deep but lacking in punishment or pace. There’s a ripping desire to destroy and protect her at the same time, and they are warring with one another. Destroy so that she can think of no one else. Protect her from me, aware that I may ruin her if I try to keep her. No matter what side wins, there will be consequences.

  I can tell when she cums around me. She grabs hold of my face and kisses me hard. The hungry kiss is my undoing.

  After I help her down and wash her from head to toe, I help her to bed. She curls into me when I follow shortly after. She lays her cheek on my chest, and the top of her head tucks perfectly beneath my chin. I’m drained after all I’ve felt and said in the past few hours. So, when her fingers start to lazily trace my tattoos on my chest, it doesn’t take long for it to soothe me to sleep.

  As sleep claims me, I hear a disembodied whisper saying, ‘I’m so sorry’, but never divulging for what.

  Groaning, I squint against the light coming through the crack the curtains provide. Turning my head, my body tries to follow, but I take in a hiss of breath.

  “Shit.” I try to flex my hand again, but it’s stiff, already bruising, and it’s angrier than my morning erection.

  When I turn back to rectify my hard-on and think to indulge a good start to Emma and my travels, I’m met with an empty bed.

  Testing the sheets for warmth, they are cold, as if it’s been hours since she’s laid next to me. Leaning upon my forearm, I call out her name. Silence greets me. Swinging my legs off the side of the bed, I stretch and head to the bathroom. Expecting it to be shut, it’s wide open, with Emma nowhere in sight. The things that I'd scattered, back in their place on the counter. My discarded clothes folded there too.

  A stone drops in my stomach, making it roil and my head momentarily dizzy.

  Only now realizing her toothbrush and hairbrush that I took for granted until now are gone. Twisting, her bag is gone.

  My fists clench, the bite of it comforting compared to the unnerving feeling takes over. I take one last look around the room. If it wasn’t for the two cups on the coffee table, I could convince myself I’d dreamt her up. Maybe she went to get breakfast? No, she left with her bag and shit, you idiot. There’s no reason to think she took all that stuff with her, only to come back and serve me some oatmeal and toast.

  The war is over. She is queen and made her move first. It’s now clear that Emma is well versed in protecting herself and leaving the other chips to land as they may. I'm collateral damage, and I hadn’t seen it until it was too late.

  The urge to break something, rip something to shreds, is making me see red. How could I have been so blind? Emma didn’t seem like the girl to pack up and say goodbye without a word.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, I replay what I had thought was an escape from reality. My own personal bubble of blissful pause. Now it’s starting to get tangled with all my regrets.

  I decide my options, and only one seems bearable. So, when I get up, I grab my duffle and start pulling out what I need for my plane back to my apartment.

  There’s no way I can go home now. The thought of going back to my apartment isn’t appealing, but it’s the only place left at this point to go.

  Just as I’m about to reach for the door, I check one last time. On the floor on her side of the bed, I find the single piece of paper. I sink to the edge of the bed. The name of the hotel finally had its moment to mock me.

  With the air conditioner silent in the room, the paper crumpling is deafening. My hands ache with how hard I crush it. If the thing had lungs to breathe, they’d be dust, much like how my insides feel.

  Son of a bitch, after everything I fucking shared with her, all she left was a note. Who is she to tell me what I should do? She doesn’t know a goddamn thing. If the truth were staring her in the face, she wouldn’t see it for what it is. I have half a mind to go back, face everything I left in Georgia, only to prove her wrong.

  No one at home wants me. My father died, my mother blames me, and my sister didn’t take sides, leaving me to hang for my sins alone. If they didn’t make it clear six years ago, my sister made sure I understood that yesterday. She’s finally picked a side, and it’s not mine. I’ve failed everyone I’ve ever cared for and believing Emma was different is an oversight that I’m paying for.

  Even thinking her name is a knife wrenched in my gut. When I told her about my past, it wasn’t like ripping off a bandage. It’s a war wound that was never properly taken care of. It gapes, has questionable leakage, red at the edges refusing to heal, and not once scabbed over. I am a walking hole, and to trust anyone to begin to understand that is the single most ignorant thing I’ve done to date.

  No, I’m not going home. The only place left for me is my apartment, and maybe not even that anymore. With my father’s killer on the loose, surely out looking for revenge, it might be the first place he searches for. It’s easy to leave behind; nothing there is worth going back for.

  My blood runs cold, razor blades stuck to shred my veins as I convince myself that he might have taken Emma, but the feeling passes. She took the time to write a note and take her bag. The man, Ger Malcom Wainwright, isn’t capable of patience to kidnap anyone unless it’s my mother. It makes me wish I
could see his expression when he realizes she is out of his reach.

  No, he wouldn’t have waited for her to do any of that, so Emma, wherever she is, went under her own will. My hands flex on the paper again as my insides feel charred. Walking towards the waste bin, I release finger by finger, until I hear the telling plastic crinkle of the lining. The page finds a place amongst the rest of the trash. A taste of bile fills my mouth that I can think of her or her safety after she left like that.

  Grabbing my bag from the floor, where I abandoned it, my hand grips the cold door handle, and the retraction of the latch abrupt to the silence of a moment ago.

  Sighing, my shoulders curve inward, my bag forcing a lopsided slouch before I stand and release the knob. Even if it’s not for Emma, there is a need to be sure, with Ger out of prison, that everything is okay at home.

  Looking over my shoulder, the wastebasket seems to draw me with invisible energy until I am standing before it and not remembering how I got there. Looking down, stark against the dusty brown of the coffee cups we’ve accumulated, is the letter. Before I can change my mind, I yank it out of the bin and jam it into the front pocket of my jeans. How many times will I prove that I am weak when it comes to Emma C.B.?

  “Fuck,” I spit. Twisting around, I stalk back to the door. Yanking it open, the hinges squeal in protest from the force. It vibrates as it impacts the wall. I’ve got no remorse for the damage it may cause; they can chalk it up to the storm. The record books will call this one Helen; I call mine Emma.

  A sharp gasp comes from down the hall, the same little girl from the other day clutched in the arms of a woman I can only presume is her mom. Even with her still round child-like features, they look so similar. The glaring differences were their expressions. The girl wears a smile, and her mom’s eyes are big and weary, mouth agape, ready to scream. Unfortunately, I don’t have the patience to reassure them. Sighing, I give them my back, head down the hall, then down the stairs before I make it to the lobby.