by Karen Ferry
“Shh, shh, I’ve got you, sweetheart,” Daniel whispers from beside me, and it takes my befuddled brain a few seconds to realise that he’s holding me. Next thing I know, I’m lying on top of him, chin pressed into his neck, my hands in his hair, all the while huge shudders break through my body, preventing me from hiding my distress from him. His soothing voice whispers sweet nothings in my ear, all the while his hold on me never lets up, and, ever so slowly, my sobs subside, leaving only silent tears in their wake.
“Just hold onto me,” he croons, leaving small, lingering kisses on my cheeks, my hair, and, lastly, on the corners of my mouth. And so I do just that. I hold onto him, never wanting to let go. His kisses burn me, make me catch my breath for fear that he’ll try to go for my lips . . . the last thing I want right now is to feel that part of him against me. Yet . . . he never does. Instead, his sweet caresses force me to focus solely on them instead of the never-ending nightmare until it, finally, fades away.
Their aftermath, however, is the same as always: I need a shower, and I think I’m about to get sick.
I don’t want Daniel to become suspicious of anything, though, so I try to concentrate on him, his voice, and his arms holding me in a vice like grip until my eyes are dry again. It almost feels like he’s afraid that now is the time I’ll choose to run from him.
I can’t say he’s wrong about that part. I do want to escape him this very moment . . . but only because I feel beyond mortified about him seeing me like this: weak, broken, ugly, and undesirable.
Praying that he won’t ask me any questions, I untangle my hands from his hair and clear my throat quietly.
“I . . . need a shower. Let me go, please . . . , ” I ask him in a small voice. There’s no strength behind them, no fight within me, but, somehow, he seems to understand because he loosens his arms slowly and sits up, and I have no choice but to straddle him.
Averting my gaze, I move to leave him, but his hands on my chin makes me pause. I refuse to meet his eyes even though I feel them trying to penetrate me until he leans down and look up at me. A worried frown mars his face, and my lips automatically pull up in a small smile. He doesn’t buy it.
“Do you need any help?” he asks me softly, bringing me close to tears again, and I shake my head adamantly at him.
“No.”
He hesitates and opens his mouth as if to say more, but apparently thinks better of it because he shuts it almost immediately, gritting his teeth.
“Please don’t ask me any questions,” I beg quietly, and he nods once, understanding that I don’t need them right now.
Again, I move to leave his lap, and, this time, he doesn’t stop me. He just keeps holding my hand until I’m standing firmly on the floor, and then squeezes it once before releasing me. I hesitate briefly, but then go with my instincts and lean down to brush my lips across his, and it causes him to jolt as if I’ve marked him in some way.
“Thank you,” I whisper and then practically run to my bathroom, open the door and lock it behind me. The shivering begins again and I hurry to turn on the shower, silently praying that it’ll warm up soon.
I step under the showerhead, and, for once, the nausea has left me. Instead, the tingling in my lips reminds me of what I just did, and that’s what I choose to hold onto all while the hot water does its job.
I kissed Daniel. And I didn’t flee from him.
Granted, it wasn’t what I’d call a proper kiss involving lots of tongue and everything, but that’s not important.
What’s important is the fact that I no longer feel so terrified of what’ll happen once we do finally kiss. And that’s an encouraging thought.
One that, even in this sorry state I’m in, causes me to smile.
Emma kissed me . . . It may only have been a small kiss, one that so many other guys would scoff at, but this is huge. Maybe . . . just maybe . . . this means that she’s finally beginning to realise that there’s more to us than merely a physical relationship. If I hadn’t heard the soft click of the lock on the door, I’d be tempted to go after her, but even I know that she needs to be alone.
Her nightmare woke me up before she did, her frightened whimpers and thrashing about on the bed making me worried that she’d end up hurting herself and fall down on the floor. She scared me, and I was just about to shake her awake when she pulled out of it.
The way her eyes looked when they sought out mine . . . shit. Rage unlike any I have ever felt before surged through me, but I hid it from her the best I could.
What the hell happened to her?!
I can’t fathom it. I mean, I could ask her, perhaps even force an explanation out of her, of course. Somehow, I doubt she’d tell me the truth, though, and it’s imperative that I gain her trust.
Without it, she’ll never become mine. Not completely.
My mum always told me that I’d know it deep down to my bones when I’d found the woman I’d want to spend the rest of my life with. Even when drunk, she’d be adamant about this fact, not letting my skepticism about the validity of her words take root. Needless to say, I never believed her . . . until now. I felt it earlier when I knocked on Emma’s door, but I feel it even stronger now. Another important moment in my life, and I never really saw it coming.
Is it irrational and completely messed up having such strong feelings for her so soon after I’ve met her? Probably . . . but who cares? I want the chance to get to know every single detail about this woman, to protect her from all harm, and I just know that she’ll never stop intriguing me. True, I’d also like to do all sorts of wicked things to that body of hers, but I can wait. I mean, I’ve waited this long to lose my virginity -- what’s a couple of more months?
I may not be a real knight in shining armour, but I’ll be Emma’s whenever she needs one. I’ll be damned if she tries to stop me, but even if she does? It won’t matter. I can be just as stubborn as she is.
For now, though, I won’t voice how desperately in love with her I am. Now, I’ll take care of her, whatever she needs, and just be there for her, tending to her every wish.
I rub my eyes and search for my glasses on the floor before putting them on.
This situation calls for hot chocolate, cuddles, and caresses, and I’m just the man to provide that for Emma. I pick up my jeans from the floor, not bothering with my boxers at all. Checking that the keys to my flat are, I leave Emma in order to fetch what I need from my fridge as quickly as possible.
It’s time I take care of my girl.
My girl. Has a nice ring to it.
The high from officially staking my claim on Emma, albeit silently, makes me grin widely. She is at a bad place right now, I know that, and clearly marked by her nightmare, but maybe some special attention will help her overcome it for now.
At least she’ll know that I won’t abandon her.
Scrutinising my reflection in the mirror above the sink, I shake my head at what I see; once again, I look ghastly. Granted, it is the middle of the night, and nobody really looks their best at this ungodly hour -- not even Michael Fassbender, I bet -- but, even so, it is clear that the shower hasn’t really helped. Except from making the bone-deep coldness the nightmare always leaves me with disappear.
Now, though, I wish I’d thought of bringing some clothes with me, because I feel too exposed with only a towel wrapped around my body.
Vulnerable.
Broken.
Empty.
Now that I have thought more about it, I feel kind of silly for making the small kiss I gave Daniel bigger than it probably was. Still, it was important to me -- and it still is.
Taking a fortifying breath, I finally muster up enough courage to unlock the door and leave the confines of my safe haven to get back to Daniel. The scent of melted chocolate that seems to be wafting out from my kitchen teases my nostrils, halting me in my tracks halfway through the door to my living room, and I back up a few steps to look in the direction it is coming from.
There he is: Daniel, my sexy-
as-sin-virgin-neighbour. And he’s cooking for me again. From the looks of it, he’s making me hot chocolate, and I have to swallow hard for fearing the emotion welling up inside me will burst free. The enormity of what he’s trying to do hits me smack dab in my heart, and my resolve to keep away from him dwindles further.
He wants to help me.
He‘s trying to put the broken pieces back together, bit by bit.
Will he be able to succeed?
I doubt I’ll ever be altogether healed, and, logically, I know that I will have to heal myself . . . that only I hold the power to do that.
Still . . . it feels wonderful to know that he cares enough about me to make hot chocolate -- and is that marshmallows? -- at four am in the morning.
Daniel looks up from the stove as I move further towards him and smiles gently at me. He’s only wearing his jeans, and they’re hanging loosely from his hips, leaving me with a perfect view of that delectable V and happy trail. I can’t decide if my mouth waters from the sight of him or because of what he’s cooking, but I don’t care. Seeing him here, relaxed and at ease in my flat, makes me happy, and I smile back at him.
What he says next surprises me.
“My mum wasn’t always an alcoholic, you know.” He looks down and stirs the pot, his tone of voice not giving one tiny hint of how he must feel about his mother and her illness.
“I can’t pinpoint when she started drinking more heavily, though,” he continues and starts pouring the chocolate into my largest mugs. “One day I came home -- I think I was around 12 or 13 years old -- and found her passed out on the living room couch, TV blaring with some god-awful show.” Pausing, he opens the bag with the marshmallows and put a generous amount of them in the mugs. They make a soft plop, and I watch, mesmerised, before he hands me the mug.
“Do you want to sit outside?” he asks me and blows on the steam of his.
I break free of my stupor and nod. “Yes. But I’ll just put on some clothes. Do you want me to bring your T-shirt?”
He nods and takes a sip of chocolate. The drop left on his upper lip is calling me to lick it, but I ignore it. Daniel is in a conversational mood, and I want to hear his story. Even if it is an ugly one.
I just hope he doesn’t expect me to reciprocate tonight.
“I’ll take care of our drinks,” he says quietly and follows me into the living room. Without saying another word, his hand brushes mine, and he leaves me alone. I do my best to hurry up and pull on my beloved yoga pants before joining him on my balcony. I don’t want him to clam up on me now.
Once we’re seated, Daniel watches me silently as I pick up a cigarette and light it. He doesn’t reproach me for needing it, and I’m grateful for his silence.
I pick up my mug of chocolate, and take my first sip.
Mmm . . . divine. And just what I needed.
“What did you do when you saw your mother like that?” I ask him, glancing at him briefly.
He leans back in his seat and looks over the park, taking in the beautiful sunrise before us for a minute, before continuing his tale.
“I panicked, of course. Tried to shake her awake and then phoned my dad at work. I begged him to come home, and he did, all the while I stayed by her side.” He shrugs. “At the time, I didn’t think of ringing 1-1-2, even though both of my parents had drilled it into us children from when we were quite young that that’s the first cause of action in case of an emergency.”
I take a final drag of my cigarette before flicking the butt away with my fingertip, and we both watch it as it sails through the air and then lands on the grass below us.
Daniel inhales deeply, warming his hands on his mug, his face still turned away from me. It’s clear that he needs to distance himself somehow while unveiling such a horrible memory, and it makes perfect sense to me.
“When Dad got home, I couldn’t help but notice the grim set to his mouth or the way he didn’t really seem to be that surprised. I guess my mum had been good at fooling her children and that she’d been doing it for a long time,” he adds, his voice showing the first hint of bitterness and anger.
“Eventually, he managed to rouse her, and then put her to bed, almost dragging her . . . He ordered me to stay away for the rest of the night, said that he and mum needed to have a chat . . . ,” he spits out, and my heart hurts for him.
“So . . . ,” he continues after he’s gathered himself. “I went to a mate’s house, and I guess my sisters did the same, or I can’t remember . . . Anyway, when I got home the next morning, dreading what I’d see once I got there, I found my mum sitting on the couch in nothing but a robe, beer in hand . . . “ He hesitates, gritting his teeth so hard I can almost hear them grinding. On a loud whoosh of his breath, he finishes his tale. “ She was sporting a black eye and two broken ribs, drunk off her arse.”
Scooting my seat closer to him, trying to show him my support, I put my hand on his thigh and squeeze it lightly. I hope he’s aware that I do not pity him and what he’s had to endure.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, unshed tears clogging my throat.
He snorts. “Yeah, me, too. The day I found her? That’s the last time I ever saw or heard from my dad.”
I gasp. “What?”
He chuckles grimly. “You heard me. He was just . . . gone . . . vanished. After that, my mum didn’t seem to care at all about us, about anything at all, besides her precious alcohol. She disappeared into the bottle, and no matter how many times she’s promised us that she’ll get better . . . that she’ll seek counselling . . . she never does, and she never will.”
Daniel leans over and rubs his face harshly, despondency and anger radiating off him.
“Not one word from him? Not even on birthdays?” I ask him, even though I already know the answer. “How did you manage?”
Sighing, he sits back and entwines his fingers with mine, and I look down at our hands but don’t refuse him this sign of intimacy. I don’t believe I am able to refuse this man anything.
“Nope. You learn to get by the hard way when you are five children desperately searching for a way to survive without the system finding out. None of us wanted to go away, to be separated from each other, so we lied a lot, I guess. Well, I kept silent most of the time which is part of the reason I didn’t graduate from school until two years after anyone else. Therein lays the explanation, or some of it, as to why I’m not already at university.”
“It makes sense. I just can’t fathom why your teachers didn’t make a better effort. What about your neighbours, the rest of your family?”
Daniel looks at me, his eyes shifting, as if there’s more to his story than what he’s told me so far.
“You don’t have to answer,” I hurry to say, wanting him to relax while he’s with me. It’s the least I can do after the way he’s taken care of me, making me forget about my own troubles for a while.
We sit in silence once more, and I notice how the birds are waking up now. Their cheerful voices take the last shreds of the night away, carrying it away on the winds, and I hope I won’t have another nightmare for a few nights.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” Daniel surprisingly asks me, straightening up in his seat.
I blink at him, wondering if I heard that right.
“Now? At this hour?”
He nods enthusiastically, and the way he looks right now -- tired, yet hopeful -- almost makes me want to agree with anything he suggests, just to see the shadows of his past leave his eyes for another while.
“Sure . . . But I’m choosing the movie, alright?”
Curling his lip, he frowns unhappily. “Not a chick flick, please . . . ?”
I chuckle and stand up, my fingers still wrapped around his.
“How does “Back To The Future” or “Indiana Jones” sound?”
“Perfect.” His beaming smile almost knocks me off-kilter, and a sharp pang hits me right in the centre of my heart.
Shite. I think I’m in love.
Trying to
hide my reaction from him, I look down at my feet and lead him back inside to grant him his wish. None of us are working today anyway, so there’s no harm in spending the day together, I suppose.
Daniel’s story keeps swirling around and around in my mind as we watch the movie, though, and if his father were here right now, I’d knee him so hard in his balls for leaving his children like that.
No one, least of all your parents, abandons a child. It’s unacceptable.
Chapter 32
Bloody hell, where did that come from?
I didn’t set out to tell Emma so much about my past, but before I knew it, words spilled out of my mouth, and I couldn’t stop them. It took a great deal out of me to let her in on what happened, but I don’t regret it. Deep inside me, I hope that she’ll realise that she can confide in me when she feels ready for it. I want, no need her to know that she can trust me. And baring some of my dirty laundry to her felt liberating in a way: I feel freer now than I did before.
The way she let me tell my story? How she kept her silence and didn’t try to make me divulge more than I was ready for only intensifies the burning need I have for her. I crave her, and not only on a physical level. I love the way she crinkles her nose and frowns when she thinks I’m not watching her and she becomes lost inside her own head; I love the way her eyes lit up when she lets down her guard and allow herself to feel.
And I love her laugh because she doesn’t let go easily. True, I would love for her to laugh more often . . . but at least for now, I know that when she does laugh, it’s because she truly means it.
There’s nothing fake about this girl.
I love that about her, too.
I just . . . love her.
Full stop.
The end.
I pray that our real beginning -- the one that will truly matter -- will come soon.
I’m near desperation with want for kissing her lips . . . and if it doesn’t happen soon, I fear that I am going to explode.
We ended up watching all three movies of “Back To The Future”, and I can’t remember the last time I felt so relaxed. It was . . . comfortable, but the ever present attraction between us never simmered down. I don’t doubt for a minute that she noticed my hard-on more than once -- and I went back to my flat with a serious case of the blue balls -- but she didn’t bring it up. Not once. And I saw no reason to do it, either.