“You should take off your pants and shirt. You’re hurt pretty badly,” Florence said. She gently tugged at my torn shirtsleeve, but I stubbornly resisted.
After Florence caught her breath back at that stupid fence, she’d half-dragged, half-supported me back to her house. I had gone quietly this time. It was slow going and we hid between some blueberry bushes at one point when we heard police sirens.
They were searching for me.
Finally, we made it back to an empty house. Florence didn’t tell me where everyone was, but I knew. Her parents were in Chicago at the hospital.
She got me up the stairs to her room and now I was sitting on her bed, covered in dirt and dust and dried blood. Florence fretted about, locating towels and wetting them in her bathroom sink.
I sat there, numb. All the endorphins from the fight and flight had left me, and all that remained was a dull ache and biting pain.
“Take off your clothes,” Florence said when she came back into the room. I kept my eyes on the hardwood floor. Shame had begun sinking in.
“Hey.” Florence’s fingers gripped my blood-soaked collar and I twitched. I tried to swat her hands away, but she yanked at my shirt.
“Stop it,” she said in a firm voice.
I stopped it.
Florence worked quickly, unbuttoning my torn flannel and shedding it off my body. My left arm still had that old wound, barely scabbed over. The fight today had torn the flesh apart and it was bleeding slightly. She pulled my t-shirt over my head.
A fleeting panic flared within me. I was going to be nearly naked with Florence in an empty house.
My mind whirled; it went to inappropriate places as she unbuttoned my jeans and tugged them down over my pants. But when the denim got caught in my gash, all thought left me and I gritted my teeth in pain.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly while still working my leg out of the pants.
Florence ran wet towels over my body, cleaning the dirt and blood off my face. One side of my neck was crusty with blood where Kevin had thrown me down over the bike racks. As she swept over my ear, I hissed as she made contact with torn skin. But she soon moved on, her fingertips soothing me, and I began to breathe easier.
“You’re still bleeding here,” Florence whispered gently and she placed a cool towel against my forehead.
“Don’t tell my dad,” I answered gruffly. I didn’t need another lecture. Things had been tense as hell since I’d returned.
Florence nodded.
“Boy! What you doing out here?”
“What’s it to you?” My hood shrouded most of my face, so I doubted he could tell how young I was.
I probably shouldn’t have wandered so far east. I was in the Little Woods area, and now, a man was approaching me from down the block.
He probably wasn’t going to ask me for the time.
He came into view. He was tall, but I was taller. He was lean, almost scrawny. I had more muscle. He leered at me, placing his hands in his pockets threateningly, looming closer.
“Hey, let me see your backpack.”
He sneered, his ugly grin displaying missing teeth.
I was so ready to break someone. So ready. By the time lights flashed behind me to illuminate the dark night, and by the time hard, tough hands pulled me off him, he was barely breathing and blood was running thick and hot down my left arm.
His knife lay a couple feet away from us, thrown aside, handle and blade bloody. I wasn’t sure if the blood was mine or his. My arm hurt like a bitch … but I’d been through worse.
What really hurt didn’t bleed.
What truly hurt would never bleed.
“Can you stand?” Florence dabbed at the cut on my leg. “You should shower to get the dirt off you before I dress the wounds.”
I gave a grunt of agreement.
“Here.” Florence gripped my wrist and I allowed her to help me up on my feet. “You can use my bathroom. I’ll shower in my parents’ room.”
Her hair was matted with my blood.
I limped into her bathroom and she left me alone to my task. I quickly shed my briefs with some difficulty and stumbled into her shower. I scrubbed myself down, wincing as the soap flowed over broken skin.
I stared at the bottom of the porcelain tub, watching the water run white with suds, red with blood and then pink as the blood mixed with the water.
I was numb.
I hoped I hadn’t killed Kevin. That would suck.
Florence probably thought I was the world’s biggest loser.
I squeezed my eyes closed and leaned my forehead against the cool tile as the scalding water beat down.
A soft knock. “Are you okay in there?” Florence’s voice broke my stupor.
“Yeah,” I answered flatly. “Be out in a bit.”
Heat gathered at the tip of my nose and my entire face flushed. If water wasn’t already sluicing down my face, I could have sworn I was crying.
* * *
I was back on Florence’s bed, in my boxer briefs and nothing else. She had toweled off my hair and was now blow-drying it. She reached around me to get the back of my head and her shirt rode up past her midsection.
A pang of guilt hit me when I spotted a rectangular bandage on the small of her back. So the fence had cut her when I pushed her into it.
I hated myself more, if that was possible.
The blow-dryer clicked off and silence fell.
“You feeling okay?” Florence pressed the back of her hand against my cheek and brushed my hair off my forehead.
I nodded slightly, staring stupidly at her.
“Oh,” Florence said. “You’re still bleeding.” She picked up a small yellow towel and pressed it against the top of my forehead.
I blinked slowly, still keeping her in my eyeline. There was something stirring, something strange. It swirled within me and choked off my words.
“Let me get the first aid kit,” she said. I continued staring at her. Florence gave a small smile, then reached down and gripped my hand. She pulled it up and gently placed it against the towel.
“Hold this.” She cajoled my fingers to press the towel in place. When she was satisfied that I wouldn’t pull away, she let go and reached over my shoulder to drape a blanket back over my shoulders. Her hair glided over my face, and God help me, I couldn’t help but inhale like an idiot. She smelled amazing. An intoxicating mix of faint floral smells and a clean sweetness that I could never describe in any way.
In her room, we were surrounded by it. In this moment, there was no escaping it.
Crushed apple blossom petals underneath.
My cock twitched and I mentally tamped it down.
I would never be good enough for her.
I could never be with her.
Florence took a step away and her essence went with her. She gifted me a small smile, thanking me for my cooperation.
I did not deserve her kindness.
She stood up and subconsciously wound her hair around one finger and then let it go so it spilled all around her. She had blow-dried and brushed her hair before I got out of the bathroom. She was twisting her hair around her finger when I’d emerged. She’d always had this habit and seeing it now drove my senses crazy.
I wanted to touch her, to dig my fingers into that hair, bury myself in it. Bury myself in her.
As Florence walked away towards the door, my throat opened and words found their way out.
I finally asked, “You’re not going to say anything?”
Florence paused at to the doorway, resting her long, elegant fingers against the wall. She turned to peek at me over her shoulder. Her large eyes puzzled at my question and I watched her as she blinked them in thought. Then she shook her head, her hair gently falling back over her shoulders.
My fingers itched to touch it. To touch her.
“No,” she said with finality. “Kevin is a jerk. I’m sure he deserved it.”
She hesitated. And when she spoke the following words, it was in such a q
uiet voice I had to strain to hear.
“I’m just happy you’re okay.”
With that fleeting remark, she disappeared around the corner.
The cop stretched his legs out in front of him, and the edge of a knife sheath flashed beneath his pant leg. I stared at the knife handle and its pronounced grip, and only darted my eyes away when he gave a pointed cough.
“The guy you attacked was a pretty well-known drug dealer in town. We’d been trying to find him for months, but he disappeared every time we swung around his neighborhood.”
“Well, lucky for you, now you know where he is,” I answered flatly.
The cop considered me for a second after I answered. He wasn’t mad at my impudence. Instead, he seemed concerned. “True. He’s wanted on pimping charges, not to mention the street bags of crack cocaine and meth we found on his body during the ambulance ride.”
I remained silent. I couldn’t care less about this.
“What I’m saying is he deserved that beating more than anyone, so you got lucky. However, you still assaulted a man. He’s not awake at the moment to press charges, but you better prepare yourself. Who can you call?”
I looked over the cop’s shoulder at the plain cement wall. My arm was starting to hurt again, but damned if I’d tell anyone.
The cop’s voice took on a sharp edge. “Kid, if you don’t call someone, you’re going to have to go to the penitentiary. You need to get a lawyer. You put a man in the hospital. If he dies, you’re going to jail for a long time. No matter who he is.”
I didn’t say anything.
The cop sighed.
“You’re a runaway, out of town. That much is obvious. You don’t look like a street kid. You probably have a family somewhere that misses you a lot; you should really call them. Let them know you’re okay.” The cop paused. “Well, you know, considering you’re in police custody. But still, you’re alright. They should know.”
I finally looked straight at him. I made eye contact. His eyes were blue, an almost pronounced blue underneath the blinding fluorescent light above us. The color unsettled me, but when I answered, my voice was firm. “I don’t have anyone. No one gives a shit.”
The cop stared back at me, unflinching and unblinking. “Are you sure?”
I glanced away.
My jar sat next to her side table. Fireflies died easily. Most only lasted a week, maybe two if they were lucky. The one I had given Florence had long since bitten the dust.
Florence’s footfalls gently padded down the hallway. She entered and slipped back besides me.
She worked with quiet efficiency. She murmured soothing words to me when she pressed peroxide against the wound on my leg. I didn’t flinch.
None of this hurt anymore, at least not in any way that mattered.
“Luckily this isn’t too deep,” she said. More peroxide. More numbing non-pain. “But you should get a tetanus shot, just in case it was a rusty nail.”
As she slathered ointment on my skin and wound gauze around my calf, I said, “You don’t have to do this.”
Florence’s fingers stilled. She was silent for a long time, the gauze slipping just off her fingertips, my calf half-covered.
I couldn’t even look at her, lest she gave me the same wounded expression.
“You’re hurt,” she finally said quietly against my leg. “I want to take care of you. I know you’d do the same.”
Our eyes met.
“You’d take care of me when I’m hurt. I know it,” she whispered.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
From his position at the closed door, Bill’s expression flashed a warning at me. “Watch your language.”
I ignored him. Bill closed the distance and sat down across from me. His metal chair made a screeching noise of protest as he pulled it out.
“They found your school ID in your wallet and called the principal. The school got ahold of me and I’m here to take you home.”
“I have no home.”
Bill shook his head. “Look, I know why you’re here. I’m guessing it didn’t go well, but Sandra and everyone are waiting for you to come home. We were all worried sick.”
Bill paused and then leaned against the table with his forearms. His gaze bored straight into me and after a tense couple seconds, I diverted my eyes downwards to stare at the table.
Bill continued, “Florence hasn’t stopped crying since you left.”
My nerves gave a small leap at the sound of her name, but I shook it aside. “Like I give a shit,” I mumbled towards the steel. I readjusted my arms because the handcuffs suddenly felt incredibly heavy.
Silence fell, and for a hopeful moment, I imagined Bill was at a loss for words.
There was a rustling sound and a loud bang.
Bill had thrown my journal onto the table. It landed with a hollow thud and skidded to rest two feet in front of me.
Rage flared through me.
“Like I said, Florence has been crying for three weeks straight. She’s barely eating, can’t sleep. You better get your ass home before you kill the poor girl.”
A sliver of fear sliced through the anger. An image flashed of Florence curled up in bed, just like the last time her mom was in the hospital. She was so fragile, so weak. I wouldn’t put it past her to waste away and disappear.
I rolled my shoulders back and yanked my wrists back to rest upon my lap. “She’ll get over it. She’s not that bad off,” I mumbled.
Bill sighed. He leaned back and waved a palm in the air. “Forget it. Just forget it. Okay, well, I’m going to tell you how this is going to go. I got you a lawyer and you’re going to cooperate with him. Listen to every damn word he says. Then we’re going to get you out of here and you’re getting on the plane with me, all obedient-like, and we’re going back to St. Haven. You got it? I’m not leaving without you, so just shut up and let’s get this taken care of.”
Bill shoved the chair away from the table with another metallic shriek of protest and walked to the door. His footsteps suddenly stopped, but I didn’t hear the door open.
I glanced up.
Exhaustion and weariness were etched in every wrinkle, but he still threw a sad smile at me.
“I’m glad you’re okay, son. We’re all relieved.”
“I’m glad you came back.”
Florence spoke again as she bandaged my bleeding forehead. Her fingers, her hand, her arm had run over every part of me.
I was already wound up and tense, and still my chest seized up at her words.
Florence’s voice trembled. “I missed you when you were gone.” The gauze quivered in her grasp and she pulled her hands back, pressing them against her chest.
A single tear spilled down her cheek and she quickly ran the back of her hand across it.
“I’m sorry.” She turned away from me and her shoulders began shaking. “I told myself I wouldn’t cry in front of you. I promised myself I’d be strong, but when you disappeared, and now to see you hurt …”
The sound of her tears filled the room, and if possible, her essence enveloped me more completely. I watched her as she pressed her palms against her eyes, trying hard to stifle her soft sobs.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She kept on repeating her apologies.
I should say I’m sorry. I should be the one apologizing. But my words were caught again and I couldn’t get them out.
My voice wouldn’t work, wouldn’t respond, wouldn’t function.
But my hand did. It reached out for her and tightened around her upper arm. It pulled her up towards me. She gave a small sharp inhale of surprise as my arms wound around her, crushing her against my chest tightly.
I was drowning. I was dying. I needed her as badly as I needed air. I needed her heartbeat to stir mine. I needed her lips to revive me. I needed her breath if I wanted to live.
I wrapped my arms around her and pressed my face against her hair. Her hair that was so smooth and that smell, that smell that was inexplic
ably her, it flooded me as deeply and completely as any drug ever could.
Florence’s body shuddered slightly with a shaky breath and her hands hesitantly fluttered over my abdomen. My palms traveled up along her exposed shoulders, her smooth neck, and settled to cup her cheeks.
Both our breaths were coming out hard and my mind couldn’t process anything else besides her and now.
I turned her to face me. We gazed at each other for a moment and I fell.
I fell in her eyes.
I was lost.
I fell in love even more.
I couldn’t stop.
I gently guided her to meet me.
Our lips met. Florence was so soft and plush beneath me. Her cheeks against my fingers. Her body pressed up to my body, her lips gliding so slowly under mine.
I pulled at her tighter to feel her yielding body; she melted into my arms and it was so perfect. As small as she was compared to me, she matched me one-to-one.
It was so right, we were so right, down to the shape of our lips, the angles of our bodies to mold into each other.
I pulled her knees to the sides so she ended up straddling my hips. The pressure of her center against my erection was mind-blowing; I couldn’t help but grind up against her jeans. Florence’s movements were unsure, tentative, shy. Her hands stuttered as they traveled upwards. She paused, unsure, but then gripped my shoulders lightly. This innocence made me want to push up against her again, to relieve this crazy intense desire.
A small moan vibrated from her mouth and I swallowed it. I ran my tongue against the seam of her lips, and hers came out to meet mine.
Florence stroked my hair with her fingers. It was then I realized this was what I craved. Her touch relieved that anger, that fire in me. It made me hope. Her smell that allowed me to forget everything, made me feel like I was something else besides dead.
I kissed her harder.
I wanted her even more.
We remained there, locked together in an embrace, on her bed. No sounds could be heard besides our desperate pants. Occasionally, Florence would moan, or whimper, or sigh, or emit a faint breathy groan. Each variant of sound spurred my body even stronger and soon, I didn’t know if I could stop. The pressure in my cock was insurmountable and I was desperate, so desperate to connect and to know and to dominate.
The Beginning of Always Page 19