N K Smith - [Old Wounds 03]

by Weight of the World (epub)

  He let me wrap him in my arms and we sank together to the floor. As I held him while he cried, it hit me completely that he had watched his mother blow her fucking brains out when he was seven years old. Seven.

  It was strange how much I hated my own mother and how much he absolutely loved his.

  But now was not the time to reflect on those things. Elliott’s body was shaking and I needed to do something for him. I felt out of sorts. Just a little while ago he’d had me wedged against the door with his mouth sucking on my neck like it was the nectar of the gods.

  I threaded my fingers through his hair and he held onto me. I felt his hot tears soak into the fabric of my work shirt and then into my khakis as his head very naturally came to rest in my lap.

  There was no way I could comprehend the pain he felt right now. Everything inside of him had been boiling for a long time and now he couldn’t keep the steam in. He was so fucking strong for everyone in his life and I doubted he ever let himself completely break down.

  I was at a loss, wondering how he was able to even function. He shifted and then pulled away. Then he moved on his knees to the computer and pulled it down from his desk. He settled back down, his head in my lap again, and made the whole thing start from the beginning.

  I still had no idea what I needed to do, so I just ran my hands through his hair and he cried as he watched his mother sing.

  Over and over again, he’d push enter and the scene and song would play again. His body continued to shake and at one point I heard his voice sing with her. It was faint, just barely there, but I heard it.

  It was just as lovely as hers.

  After I’d heard the song probably twenty times, I let the video run until the song was over and I watched his mother kiss his younger self on the cheek, and then I reached over him and shut the laptop.

  “I think that’s enough, okay?”

  “N-n-nnnnno.”

  He sat up and started to open the computer again. My hands on his stopped him. “Stop,” I said quietly, but firmly. His eyes flicked to mine and I felt as though he was trying to reach my soul.

  “B-b-b-but sssssssshe …”

  “The video’s not going anywhere, Elliott. You need to give it a break, okay? I know you feel like …”

  “SSSS-SS-SSStephen gggggave it t-to me. It’s mmmmmmmine! Hhhhhhhe d-d-d-d-didn’t ssssssay I c-c-c-couldn’t …”

  I took his hands again and squeezed them. “This isn’t healthy. Just … just …” I stopped because I was totally in over my head. I didn’t know what the hell to say or do to help him. I had no idea if Dr. Dalton or Wallace had given him restrictions or if they’d been in to check on him.

  I felt like shit for making him turn off the video of his mother, but I kept my hand on the closed computer. Finally, after what seemed like an intense battle of wills, he gave in and slowly sank back down, laying his head in my lap once more.

  Again, I stroked his hair with one hand while letting the other rest between his shoulders. I noted that he was no longer too warm and I hoped that he was on the mend now. I wondered when that video was taken and if this was something that happened every year. None of it made sense to me.

  Elliott’s father didn’t allow music, from what Elliott had told me. How had his mother gone from looking healthy and relatively happy holding her little boy to someone so whacked-out that she could blow her brains out in front of that little boy?

  I held him like that for a long time. My legs were numb. I didn’t know if he was sleeping or not. I sort of wanted him to be asleep and sort of didn’t. Sleep would be good for him, but having witnessed his sleeping habits when he was sick, it didn’t seem all that restful and was somewhat scary.

  I’d seen him biting his hands in his sleep. Not now - thank the Flying Spaghetti Monster - but when he was really sick. He never said anything when he dreamed, but it seemed like he had mini-panic attacks. There were times when it seemed like he didn’t breathe at all and others when it was like he couldn’t catch his breath. His body would arch up, his hands would curl tightly, and his jaw would clench.

  I felt helpless.

  But now, he was just lying on me, perfectly still.

  I had no idea if I should just continue to sit with him or try to get him to relax on his bed. There was no handbook for the girlfriends of guys who had watched their mothers die in horrible ways.

  Suddenly, Elliott tensed again and then sat up straight. He craned his neck. I looked to see what it was that he was looking for and found the clock. It was nearly midnight and I wondered how it had gotten so late.

  Reaching out, I brushed back his hair again, hoping that the new day might help him some, but his face was still troubled.

  “What?” I asked, feeling tired and unable to ask a proper question.

  “JJJJJJJ …” Elliott sighed instead of continuing.

  I took his hands in mine and ran my thumb over his knuckles. “Relax.”

  Instead of relaxing, his body tensed back up as his eyes never moved from the digital numbers. His hands were progressively tightening on mine and while I knew I could take the pain, Tom had said if I came home bruised he’d get involved. No one would understand this shit wasn’t his fault. No one would believe he didn’t mean to do it.

  With a lot of effort, I pulled my hands out of his before he could use too much pressure. I ended up nearly falling over, which didn’t help the disorientation I already felt. “Elliott, what …?”

  “JJJJJ-JJJJJ-JJJJJJJoseph,” he ground out.

  I shook my head because I had no idea what the time meant in reference to the brother he never spoke about.

  “I don’t …” I began but stopped when Elliott rose to his knees, turned to the bed, placed his hands together, and started whispering words that came out fluent and unbroken.

  This shit was messed up.

  I had never been so happy to have the family I had as I was right now. His family had screwed him up good.

  I moved back, still seated on the floor, and just watched him. Like before, I wondered if Elliott was even in that body, or if it was some kind of conditioned, mindless drone propelling him to do these things.

  I was sickly fascinated, but after a while, I couldn’t bear to watch much longer. I glanced back at the clock. He’d been praying or chanting or doing whatever the hell he was doing for over twenty minutes.

  “Elliott?”

  He didn’t respond.

  Where the hell was Wallace? Why wasn’t Dr. Dalton helping him out with all this? Did this shit happen every year?

  I didn’t get it. It hadn’t been that long ago that Elliott told me his beliefs about his god, and I knew that they couldn’t have been those of his father, so why was he suddenly reverting to this old programming? As far as I knew, he’d been away from his zealot family for five years now.

  But how the hell was I supposed to know what was happening? Maybe he did this whacked-out crap every year.

  “Elliott,” I tried again.

  He didn’t do anything, but continued praying in that creepy way.

  I moved closer to him, figuring that if his ears had turned off, maybe he could at least feel me. It was probably a crazy-stupid move on my part, but I sort of pressed myself up behind him, just wanting to give him the comfort of a hug because he liked that shit.

  It was the wrong thing to do. His body damn-near snapped in half. He just froze for a second and then crumpled.

  I felt like shit again. I was screwing this all up. I wasn’t what he needed.

  He’d spun around before crumpling, so now he was lying all fetal-like, facing me. I knew I couldn’t touch him, so I sank down and just lay next to him.

  Elliott wasn’t crying anymore but he was biting down on his hand. His teeth were tearing into the skin and flesh between his thumb and index
finger. His jaw was tense and his lips were red from the blood.

  I raised my hand very slowly and gently took his. Pulling it out of his mouth was a difficult task, but with my other hand moving slowly to his hair, soothing him in the only way I knew how, I was able to get him to release it.

  “Elliott?” I felt powerless except to say his name until he came back to me. This wasn’t him. My Elliott wasn’t curled up on the floor, debilitated by the memories of the past. This wasn’t Elliott and I wanted this thing in front of me to go away and bring back my sweet and strong boyfriend.

  “Elliott, baby?” His eyes finally fixed on mine. I gave him a steady smile of hope. “Come back to me.”

  He licked his lips.

  He blinked.

  And then he spoke.

  “T-today is JJJJoseph’s b-b-b-birthday.”

  Would this shit never end for him? Could the universe not just throw the guy one small break for once? I had no idea why the mere mention of his brother threw him into panic-mode, but I wished Elliott didn’t have to deal with it, especially coupled with the memories of his mother’s suicide.

  What kind of mother not only shot herself in the head while her son watched, but also did it the day before her other son’s birthday?

  “Christmas Eve?”

  Elliott nodded.

  “He was born on Christmas Eve?” I asked again, trying to get a verbal acknowledgement.

  “Hhhhhhe w-w-was G-G-GGGGGGGod’s g-gift t-to mmmy p-p-p-p-parents. T-t-t-to us.”

  I felt too tired to comprehend the enormity behind that statement. Even if I sat and pondered it for a week, I would probably never come close to what the hell it actually meant.

  “W-wwwwwill you sssstay w-with me, SSSophie?”

  I nodded. I had insulin here and Tom had given me permission to stay the night. I would go home in the morning and then come back for Christmas Day dinner.

  “W-w-wwwwill you sssstay w-with me ffffforever? I don’t wwwwant to be allllone.”

  I thought my heart was unbreakable. I’d worked so long and hard to make it that way, but I felt it crack and blister and boil with sadness for him. I watched as his eyes closed and he snaked his body closer to mine.

  I hugged him to me and let my eyes close too.

  He barely slept, and I didn’t sleep at all. He grabbed me tightly in the middle of what had to be some kind of nightmare. I was pressed up against him tightly, his arms locked behind me.

  I took small short breaths, knowing that at some point, his grip would loosen. I was so close that my eyes could only focus on his mouth. It was so beautiful, even set in a frown like it was. His lips were parted and in the darkness, I studied his teeth.

  Suddenly, he gasped for air and his arms held me tighter. It took a moment, but his breathing regulated and his arms relaxed, but only slightly. My work shirt and thermal had ridden up and his hands moved on my back, his fingers almost caressing the bare skin.

  I was pretty sure that he was awake now. I tried to move, but it was difficult. He didn’t let go.

  I was pressed so close to him.

  Now was not the time to press for sex, even though I wanted it. He was damaged. He could still be sleeping.

  I loved the feel of him against me though.

  As he pressed his lips to mine, I realized that he was most definitely not sleeping.

  Oh, shit. Elliott was groping me. His arms had moved. He brought one hand to my breast and the other one was on my ass, keeping me pressed against him.

  It was kind of uncomfortable to be lying on one of his arms. It threw my spine out of alignment, but a little bit of discomfort was worth it if he kept squeezing me like that.

  In the back of my mind, I knew I needed to stop what he was doing. He was distraught. Even though we’d done the whole “third base” thing that one time, he hadn’t done it again and now all of a sudden he was acting like fucking Casanova.

  My brain was warring with itself about what to do - stop Elliott or go with it - when he rolled us over and was ON. TOP. OF. ME.

  Holy shit.

  What the hell was I supposed to do and did he really just thrust against me?

  My eyes rolled back as he started to kiss and lick at my neck. I was utterly powerless. All I could do was run my hands through his hair and clamp my legs around his waist.

  Everything was tingling and my body felt fantastic wrapped around his but I had to pull myself out of the moment to analyze the situation. What was my responsibility as his girlfriend? I thought maybe I should stop him, but my clouded mind reminded me that I was still me and if he wanted to be all sexy with me, I should let him.

  Right?

  No need to draw attention to his issues if he wasn’t.

  My sex-driven mind made a great point, so when he pulled my shirts off, I let him and went with it. My hands moved to pull his off as well and I was happy that he let me. His back didn’t arch when I ran my hands over his skin. All he did was kiss me harder and pull the cups of my bra down.

  If this was a distraction, for either of us, it was an excellent one.

  He lowered his upper body, and the feel of his naked chest against mine was almost too much too take. I’d lost track of how long it had been since I’d had sex, but my body was so very, very ready for it.

  I was trying not to make any noise. I didn’t want the moment to be ruined by alerting the adults. Perhaps they would step in if they knew what he was up to in here. They treated him like a child.

  Then he unbuttoned and unzipped my khakis.

  I lost the feel of him against me for a second while he pulled my pants from my legs.

  I was completely naked.

  It felt like everything was going incredibly fast. It felt like I was speeding toward some kind of goal that couldn’t be adequately defined and I was actually a little afraid.

  Elliott wasn’t usually domineering in any way, yet he was manipulating me completely. He didn’t have this kind of sexual experience, and yet there was a confidence about him now that was incredibly sexy, but also a little worrisome. Apart from that one time, we’d never been here before and I worried that he might panic.

  Of course, I also worried about how he wasn’t panicking either. What the hell did that mean?

  He was aggressively driving me toward an orgasm and even though I really wanted to have that release, I lifted up onto my elbows.

  “Stop.”

  What was I doing?

  Orgasm.

  Moments away.

  And I say “stop?”

  His hand stilled and he pulled away. His brow was creased, but he didn’t look defeated. “I c-can do this,” he whispered and I wasn’t sure if he was telling me or himself.

  I had nothing to say back to him and when his hand began to move again, I lost all my will to figure out why he was doing it. I watched him as he watched me. As much as I wanted to check in with him to see if he was okay, I was absorbed in the moment.

  The tension within me snapped and my muscles tightened and then relaxed.

  My body dropped to the floor and my eyelids fluttered closed.

  My breath was heavy and my head was light.

  When I could, I sat up and his hand withdrew. I rose to my knees in front of him and didn’t know what I should do. He didn’t like being touched, but I wanted to give him something back. I knew that I could make him feel good physically, but I had no clue how to make that happen mentally, too.

  His body was ready for sex. There were no pants in the world that could conceal that fact.

  But he wasn’t looking at me.

  The look on his face was just … heartbreaking.

  I worried that I caused it.

  I shouldn’t have let him do that for me. I should have stopped it before it ever
got going, but now here I was, naked and goose-fleshed with a sad boyfriend who refused to look at me.

  I took his head in my hands and brushed my thumbs under his eyes while the tips of my fingers moved through the hair behind his ears. Tilting his head, I tried to look into his eyes, but he kept shifting them away from me.

  “Elliott?” I whispered.

  “I’m sssssssorry.”

  “For what?” He had just given me an orgasm. An orgasm from Elliott needed no apology, that much was for sure.

  “You ssssaid st-stop.”

  Oh.

  I moved his head again, trying to get him to look at me. He wouldn’t, so I kissed the very edge of his mouth. “You did stop,” I whispered.

  “But I …”

  “But nothing,” I interrupted him. “I let you …”

  “I sssssshould’ve s-ssss-st-st …”

  He couldn’t get the word out. This whole thing was obviously messing with him and I felt like crap because I should have stopped it before it started. Now we were stuck in this murky gray area where he thought he crossed some kind of line and took my choice away from me.

  “I wanted you to … I mean, I wanted to keep going.”

  Elliott’s breath was hollow and he shook his head.

  “W-why did you sssssay s-ssss-sssst-ssst …”

  It was clear that he wouldn’t be able to say the word “stop” right now. I’d noticed that there were times when he could say something easily, and then just moments later had to fight with the word for it to come out at all.

  “Because I wanted you to stop.”

  He took a sharp breath in and tried to pull his head from my hands, but I held firm.

  “And you did.” I leaned in and kissed him, and then whispered against his lips. “You did stop. You didn’t hurt me, Elliott. You didn’t take anything away from me.”

  Why did it have to be like this? Why couldn’t he just be happy and proud that he’d done that for me? Why couldn’t I just thank him in an appropriately physical way without worrying that he’d freak out?