N K Smith - [Old Wounds 03]

by Weight of the World (epub)

  “She broke my arm when I was eight. She slammed a door on it, but I think it was an accident.”

  I doubted very much that her mother ever hurt her by accident.

  “D-did you go to a d-doctor?”

  Sophie moved back to me and shook her head. “Bones heal just fine without doctors. The trick is to not use it for a while.”

  “D-didn’t your teachers ssssssss, kn-know that your arm was b-b-broken?”

  “Didn’t your teachers realize that your back was constantly bloody?”

  I understood what she was saying. There were various techniques that could be employed to avoid anyone knowing about your wounds and through observation I came to realize that most people didn’t care enough to look deeper. Most people didn’t want to see what was beneath the picture they were presented and of those who did, very few found the nerve to confront it.

  Suddenly I didn’t want to see any more scars or feel any more broken bones. I didn’t want to think about Sophie’s mother hurting her for no discernable reason. I didn’t understand why someone would hurt her daughter like that. There was so much about Sophie and her mother that I didn’t understand, but I supposed she didn’t understand my father either.

  I wanted to be normal with her. I wanted to do whatever it was other people did with their girlfriends. It wasn’t normal to be exchanging scars like this. It wasn’t that I wanted to ignore that her bones had been snapped and my skin had been torn, but I didn’t think there were many people who stood around on a Saturday night cataloging the bent and broken bits of another person.

  I could feel her breasts pressed against my torso. Of course, my body reacted. I took a deep breath because the way I reacted would affect her. I knew she didn’t understand the panic I felt at something she felt so casual about. I didn’t want this to be one more time I let all of my fears govern me.

  Sophie liked strength and I wanted to be strong.

  I moved us toward the bed. I didn’t want her to take it the wrong way because her idea and my idea of “too far” were not the same. I was going to push myself by not having a panic attack, but I hoped that she would push herself by not pushing me too much.

  She obviously knew that I had some very limiting physical boundaries and I could tell that she was at least attempting to control herself. I kept practicing speech with Ms. Rice in hopes of one day having a regular conversation with her; so in the hope that I could have a normal physical relationship with Sophie, I would push myself to grow comfortable with it.

  The backs of my legs hit the mattress and I sat down. My hands rested on her hips and I looked up at her. Her breasts were at eye-level. The breath I let out was stunted.

  There was no denying that I wanted Sophie Young in all the ways I could have her.

  If I wanted to ever have her, I knew that I would have to push myself. Even if I broke as I did so, I believed whole-heartedly that together we could rebuild me into something better.

  She leaned down and her hands gripped the bottom of my shirt. My hands moved automatically from her hips to her wrists and I stopped her movements before she could really pull at my shirt.

  I looked into her eyes and they warmed me even though my body was frozen.

  “It’s not about sex, Elliott,” she reminded me. “Please?”

  My fingers loosened and I allowed her to pull my shirt up and off. As she let my t-shirt fall to the floor, I scooted back on my bed. She crawled up between my legs. Her eyes bore into mine.

  I took a deep breath.

  She turned around and pressed her nearly-naked back against my chest.

  Her deep breaths matched my own as she took my arms and wrapped them around her torso. I had no idea that skin-to-skin contact could feel this amazing.

  Her hair tickled my chin. I let my eyes close as I lost myself in the feel of her.

  One of my hands was spread across her stomach. Part of me recognized that Sophie was too thin. She needed to eat. While she cooked all the time, she did not eat a lot. I also suspected that she got physically sick quite often. I didn’t think she had strange body image issues like Andrea Tuttle, but her body was clearly not getting all the nutrition it needed.

  Another part of me didn’t want to focus on observations like that. It just wanted to recognize that she was in my arms and half-naked. That part of me wanted to take full advantage of being on my bed behind a closed and locked door with a girl I liked. This part of my body didn’t care that I might not physically be able to do it; it wanted to at least try.

  I wanted to be the person who at least tried.

  She smelled so good.

  I gently tightened my hold on her. I slid my hand just slightly, reveling in the feel of her soft skin beneath it.

  God, I loved the feel of her.

  She arched her back against me, just a fraction, but her movement allowed my hand to curve around her rib. I felt a tiny bump there and I wondered if it was another healed-but-never-set bone. My thumb was just brushing the cup of her bra. I could feel the cool satin against the tip of it.

  Even more blood and heat rushed to my groin.

  I knew she could feel it against her, but she remained fairly still.

  I didn’t know what would be better, keeping my eyes closed and allowing my imagination to supply the visuals, or to actually open them and see her body against mine. I compromised and only opened one eye. I was thankful that she couldn’t see me. I was sure I looked petrified and ridiculous.

  One of my hands still covered her stomach, my small finger resting on top of her jeans while the thumb dipped into her bellybutton. My other hand was still just under her breast … until I moved it. With one small motion, my palm was over it. I could feel the heat of her skin through the thin fabric of her bra.

  I felt her nipple harden under my hand at the same time I felt even more blood flow to my groin. Sophie arched again, driving her flesh against my palm while relieving some of the friction against my erection.

  Her breathing was quicker than usual. It almost matched my own pace.

  Now my hand was on her breast, but I had no idea what I should do next. I worried about doing something that would push me over the edge and send me into full panic mode. Nothing would impress her more than to see me seizing next to her, desperate for air, all because I touched her.

  I felt awkward and weird. I felt like I was the last person she should or would want. I wasn’t confident, even when I was trying to be. Self-doubt flooded me. Even though I had done what I had with Megan, I hadn’t thought it was all that great for her even though Sophie told me she’d said otherwise, so how was I supposed to live up to Sophie’s expectations?

  Although I didn’t like to think about it, I realized that she had more experience with sex than most girls her age. She probably had more experience with sex than women twice her age. While I didn’t judge her, it frightened me because she knew what she wanted and she would probably realize that I couldn’t give it to her.

  She would see that she was wasting her time with me and while she wasn’t cruel and wouldn’t end all contact with me, she would decide that we were just friends. She would go back to sitting on my couch while I sat awkwardly on my bed. I would watch her find guys who could give her what she needed.

  Maybe that guy at her work with the blond hair and beard.

  She moved. She took her hand and swept her hair over to one side. Both of my eyes were open now. She tilted her head to one side, her index finger tapping against the raised marks of the fork. “Kiss this.”

  Her voice was so soft and not demanding at all.

  My breath caught at the gentle command, but I forced myself to push through it. I sucked air in like I’d been deprived of oxygen for years and then pushed it out again. Lowering my head, I brought my lips down to brush against her neck.

  I
couldn’t see, but I hoped her eyes were closed.

  Her hands covered mine and for just a moment, she didn’t breathe.

  At first, my lips just brushed against her neck, but then I felt compelled to taste her. My lips parted and my tongue swept out. The small bumps of her skin tickled the soft and sensitive flesh of my tongue.

  Sophie’s hands tightened subtly on mine, forcing a firmer hold on her breast.

  She liked her neck being kissed, and I liked kissing it.

  The muscles in my arms coiled and tensed and I brought her body back against mine until my naked chest and her back were nearly fused together. Her body felt so wonderful. I was astonished that having another person so close could feel so amazing.

  I still felt awkward and nervous that I was so hard and I knew she knew it.

  I was breathing heavily, still trying to get used to how this felt, when she moved my hand down her stomach to her thigh.

  Again, I had to redirect everything inside of me to only focus on breathing; on controlling my body enough to not have a panic attack.

  If possible, she pressed closer to me and it made it even more difficult to breathe. It was suddenly becoming too much and while I didn’t want to stop touching her, I needed her body to not be pressed to mine. I needed time for my body to relax, but I couldn’t seem to loosen my hold on her.

  Once again, she moved, twisting in my arms. Her knees were on either side of my hips, her satin-covered breasts were crushed against my chest.

  This new position did not help anything.

  My arms tightened and I let my head fall forward until my forehead rested against her shoulder. One of her hands tangled in my hair while the other skimmed across the upper portion of my back.

  The feel of it was strange since I’d never allowed anyone to touch me like that.

  Even when they took me from my father’s house, I had to be sedated to allow the doctors and social workers to see.

  “SSSSSSooooophie,” I drew out her name, wanting to let her know that I needed physical space before I had any kind of crazy reaction. Somehow, with just that one word, she did know.

  She moved back. Her hands remained in my hair, but her body was no longer on mine.

  “Do you have something I can sleep in?”

  I swallowed hard and nodded. Before I knew it, she was off the bed.

  “You know I’m sleeping in here, right? Not with Jane or in the guest room.”

  I nodded.

  “Can you get me clothes now?”

  I looked up at her and saw that she was staring at me expectantly. While I could probably physically get her something, I was worried that my erection would become a focal point. I shook my head, hating how stupid and inadequate I felt.

  She ran her hands through her hair with a sigh and then asked, “Can I get them myself? I’m going to go brush my teeth.”

  I pointed to the closet. She moved quickly, coming back with black pajama pants and a gray t-shirt. It seemed like she was as nervous as I felt. She chucked a thumb at the door and shrugged. “So I’m going to … you know.”

  I nodded, still unable to trust myself enough to use my voice.

  “Okay, so, um, I’ll see you in a minute?”

  Again, all I did was nod.

  She was gone for a while, which was a good thing because it gave me the opportunity to get my body under control.

  When she came back, she rolled her eyes and pointed down to her toes. “Jane attacked me. Look at this shit.”

  My eyes travelled down her legs, covered by my black pants that were incredibly too large for her. Her toe nails were painted black and I couldn’t help but smile.

  “Shut up,” she said with a smile. “At least she didn’t want to pierce anything, right?” She threw down the clothes she’d been holding and crawled into bed with me. “What are you reading?”

  I put the book down on my lap so that she could see the cover, just in case my mouth couldn’t transfer the information.

  “A b-b-b-b …” I stopped and sucked in a desperate breath of air. I’d hope speaking would have been slightly easier at this point in our relationship, but I still felt like I had to work really hard at it. It had gotten easier before she was my girlfriend, but now I was in constant worry of doing something wrong and making her stop liking me.

  I watched her face, but her eyes never left mine. She wasn’t going to read the title and let me off the hook.

  “A b-b-b-biography ab-b-bout B-B-B …”

  “B’s are bugging you today.”

  My whole body tensed that she made a direct comment about my stuttering, but what she said wasn’t untrue, so I shrugged, hoping to get rid of some of my tension.

  “B-B-Beethoven.”

  “Who?”

  “B-B-Beethoven.”

  “What?”

  “SS-Sophie,” I whined.

  “No, not ‘Sophie.’ Pretty sure I haven’t composed anything close to musical masterpieces, so who is it that you’re reading about?”

  “B-Beethoven.”

  “Beethoven?”

  “Y-yes. Beethoven.”

  Sophie smiled widely at me and then took my head in her hands.

  “So fucking sexy.”

  “Damn, baby. You are so hot.”

  Sophie not only swore a lot when we were like this, but she had taken to calling me “baby.” A part of me liked the term of endearment, because I hadn’t had one since my mother called me “Ellie-Bear,” but the other part of me cringed. My name was Elliott and I wanted to be sure that she knew I wasn’t just some guy doing these things with her. I wanted to know without a doubt that she was thinking about me as it all happened.

  It was incredibly flattering for her to say I was hot and for those beautiful noises escaping her mouth to be caused by me.

  I still didn’t believe her words or her body’s response.

  “Oh, shit,” she said again in the breathiest voice I’d ever heard. Her words’ effect on my body was a key indicator that it was time for us to stop.

  I pulled away, but her hands kept me close, her body arching to try to keep contact with mine.

  “Oh, no, Elliott, don’t, please? Please? Please don’t stop.”

  It had been several weeks since she first saw my back and we’d held each other, skin-on-skin. I was still pushing myself to go just a little further than before and Sophie enjoyed closeness like this, but it always ended the same, with me feeling like I’d disappointed her even though she insisted I hadn’t.

  Mainly we would just kiss, but I found that I really liked touching her. I didn’t think it could be considered erotic, but she seemed to like it, too. My hands concentrated on the upper half of her body and as I got used to feeling her skin against my palm and fingertips, my mouth became comfortable with hers, finding other small areas of her neck. If her moans were any indication, she really liked it.

  Sophie would always convince me to take my shirt off, even when I didn’t want to. She was an incredibly persuasive person and could probably talk me into just about anything. She didn’t touch me a lot since it was uncomfortable for me. I was happy to divert her attention by focusing on her.

  At first she had tried to touch me a lot, and not just in her overtly sexual way. When she kept running her hands down my back as we kissed, my body always contorted and arched. It was an involuntary movement because intellectually I knew that she had already felt my scars, but my body instinctively reacted.

  She stopped doing that it when she realized that it took my attention off of her body and put it onto mine.

  I liked kissing Sophie. She always tasted good and the feel of her against me was incredible. I no longer trembled with panic when I touched her breasts, which were always covered by the cups of her bra. The noises she made sp
urred me on. They sounded like music. I would happily listen to her make those sounds for the rest of my life.

  Sophie had gone from being aggressive to allowing me to have more control. She almost never sat on me anymore and when she did, it never felt like her intentions were sexual. Instead, she would lie back and let me go at whatever pace I could handle, which was usually turtle-slow.

  As long as I didn’t touch her face, she seemed perfectly content with this set-up.

  Well, not perfectly content.

  It wasn’t hard to tell that when I ended it, she always wanted more, but I knew she was at least trying to control her reaction and hide her frustrations.

  Today I pulled away, not only because the sensations and desires were becoming too much, but also because it was Thanksgiving and Sophie had taken on the responsibility of cooking for almost half of the population of Damascus.

  Okay, that was an exaggeration. She was cooking for everyone she normally did when she came over, meaning us and the Wallaces, but her father usually shared the holiday with his girlfriend, Mrs. Collins. He’d wanted Sophie to go to her house with him, but she refused.

  She was quite stubborn, and after a week of hearing about how much she hated her father, Robin must have come up with a solution. After a session with both of them, Sophie rolled her eyes and told me she’d agreed to the Collinses and Mr. Young having Thanksgiving dinner with us.

  Sophie said she was okay with it, but Mrs. Collins would be cooking with her and that bothered her.

  So it was with this in mind that I removed myself from my bed and pulled my shirt back on. I watched Sophie sit up as I leaned back against my computer desk. One of her hands slid down from her neck, between her breasts and stopped at her stomach as the other rubbed her eyes and then ran through her beautiful brown hair.

  She licked her lips and trained her eyes on me. “Can we just …” and then she just shook her head and then swung her feet over the side of the bed, bending down to retrieve her shirt.