Leaving Eden

by Kelly A Walker et al.

  The man continues to ask me questions about how I’m eating, if I’m managing to take care of the little things, and how work is going before I finally see the clock hit the hour. I answer as well as I can, avoiding my dreams, my parents' cause of death, and my ex. Everything else is fair game. The doctor stands with me when I pop up from the couch.

  “When can we meet again?”

  “Do you think we need to meet again?” I glance backward at him.

  “I think it’s a good idea, especially since you’re so against medication.” That almost sounds like a threat, and I don’t like it.

  “Fine.” I grit my teeth and agree on another time next week. I’ll play his little game for a while. In the meantime, I might consider a different career track if therapy bothers me so much.

  “Miss Suarez.” My name stops me near the door. “If you have any thoughts of self-harm, call that number.” He nods to the card I’m holding in my hand. He wrote his cell phone on the back. I nod in agreement even as I roll my eyes where he can’t see them. I’m not going to kill myself, not like my parents did. I barely give him a backward glance as I step out the door.

  I don’t head toward my next class, though. Instead, I walk to the bus stop. What a waste of time. My nerves are shot. I need to get laid, and real men are just too much work.

  6

  AISLYNN

  I’m not looking where I’m walking when I trip into the foyer of the apartment building. My bag catches on the edge of the door latch. A ripping sound precedes the thump of my heavy texts falling to the floor. One lands on my toe.

  “Sonuvabitch,” I curse.

  “Aislynn?” Nash appears out of his office, a slightly amused but also concerned look on his face.

  “Fuckers are heavy,” I offer as an explanation while I lean against the wall and scrunch my face against the throbbing in my foot.

  “Are you okay?”

  I admire the view of Nash’s back muscles rippling as he bends over to collect my fallen books, and I’m glad I didn’t have anything embarrassing in the pocket that just ripped open.

  “I’ll be fine,” I say quickly, but my toe still hurts when I put weight on it. With a hiss of pain, I grab up my discarded bag and reach for the books, but Nash shakes his head.

  “Let me help you to your apartment.” He steps up beside me, and I just stare at him. What exactly does he want me to do? He shifts the books to his far side and extends his other arm across my lower back, his large hand wrapping around my ribs. I have no option but to sling my arm around his shoulders, even though he’s several inches taller than I am. It’s awkward, embarrassing, and frustrating as we hop-walk toward my apartment. I’m acutely aware of his warm, hard muscles flexing against me and the strong arm around my back.

  The short flight of stairs is the most challenging part, and I’m clinging to him when we reach the top. His hand has been creeping higher, and the bottom of my breast is brushing against his fingers by the time we reach my door. My teeth grit against the temptation to touch him more.

  “Thanks. I’m fine now.” I try to dismiss him, but he just looks down at me, waiting for me to grab the keys and stick the right one in the lock. I don’t open the door right away. “Um, that’s it.” I really don’t want him seeing my apartment.

  “I’ll help you inside.”

  “Not necessary,” I say quickly, but he doesn’t move. “You’re stubborn,” I grumble, the pain making me forget my manners for a moment. Instead of getting offended, though, his lips pull into a smile. I’m far too aware of how close he is. He could kiss me if he just lowered his head a little.

  “You have no idea,” he murmurs. Left with no other option, I push the door open and flinch as I take in the piles of dirty laundry and stacks of books haphazardly spread on several flat surfaces.

  “Sorry, it’s a mess,” I say uselessly, pointing out the obvious. It’s not dirty, necessarily. It’s not like I have rotten food sitting around, but that’s mostly because I don’t cook. I order takeout or eat microwavable meals. They’re easy, and the clean-up is minimal. But the apartment is cluttered. My bed is just a mattress on the floor; the blankets are thrown everywhere. My clothes are in several separate piles. My desk can’t be seen under the weight of papers and books.

  Nash looks around like he’s trying to decide where to put me, but the only chair I have is the one that’s pushed up to my computer desk. I hop over there with his help and lower myself into the seat. His hands linger a minute like he doesn’t want to let go, but I think that’s probably just because he’s worried I might fall off the creaky chair. He’s not wrong to be concerned. I don’t know how much longer the chair is going to hold out either.

  “Just put the books there.” I nod to the desk that’s loaded with bills, unopened letters from the law firm that handled my parent’s estate, and various other things I haven’t gotten around to. “And thank you.” It would have hurt like hell to walk up by myself, so I’m grateful for his help. But now, I want him to leave. He puts the books down, but he doesn’t leave yet. Instead, he stands over me. Again, I’m aware of how big he is. My dream memories come back in full force.

  “I want to see your toe. You might have broken it.”

  I laugh. “With a textbook?” I glance at the offending anatomy book and shrug. “Okay, maybe you have a point. The thing weighs fifty pounds.” Obviously an exaggeration. But he won’t leave until he sees that it’s not broken. It’s already feeling better so I’m sure it’s not. I pull off my shoe and sock, revealing a red, but not bruised or crooked, middle toe. “See? Not broken.” I bend the joint just to prove it to him, ignoring the pain that shoots through my entire foot.

  “You have ice?” he asks, looking at my small kitchenette. The sink is full of rinsed dishes that I haven’t gotten around to thoroughly cleaning.

  “Nash,” I say before he tries to dig through my freezer. “I just want to rest. I got this.” I make my voice firm, and he nods after a second. He stops just before he steps out. Bending, he picks up one of the books near my bed. Thankfully, it’s not one of the spiral-bound notebooks that hold the descriptions of my dreams since I was ten.

  “You’re interested in dreams?” he asks, holding up my favorite text on the subject. He looks over his shoulder at me, his expression unreadable.

  “Very much so,” I answer with another shrug. “Dreams are fascinating.”

  He continues to stand there for a second, just holding the book and looking at me. “Do you think dreams can provide messages from the subconscious? Reveal things we don’t even realize?” His gaze doesn’t stray from my face.

  “Yes, I do. It’s what my thesis is on.” The thesis that I haven’t started.

  He nods as if he’s really thinking about it and looks back at me. He doesn’t look so tough right now, and I wonder what would happen if I worked up the guts to ask him to stay. “Can I borrow this for a couple days?” he asks, surprising me.

  “Sure. I’ve got the whole thing practically memorized.”

  He gives me a small smile and leaves. I stare at the closed door in confusion. I wouldn’t have guessed Nash would be interested in things like the subconscious and dreams, but I’m kind of glad he is. If he weren’t, I wouldn’t even consider going on a date with him. Not like he asked me again – or will ask me again after seeing my apartment.

  I slip from the office chair and crawl over to my bed, stripping off my jeans as I go. I want better dreams this time – ones I can actually finish.

  7

  AISLYNN

  And…I’m back in the backyard. I sigh, stomping my foot on the ground. What is it about this place? And this man? I ask myself as Devon steps off the porch again – looking just as good as he did in the last dream.

  “Seems like we keep meeting here,” he offers by way of conversation as he looks around and I shrug.

  “Seems like it,” I mutter.

  “What’s the matter? You wanted to dream about something else?”

&n
bsp; “Well, yeah, kinda,” I say. Devon takes a couple steps toward me, and his gait is more determined than last time. He got his bearings really fast in this dream, and I appreciate the change from the usual questioning and curiosity. It keeps me tethered to this dream longer than I might have.

  “What do you dream about?” he asks as he steps closer. He’s wearing a different colored button-down this time, but otherwise, he looks the same.

  “Sex,” I blurt. Thank you, dream self. Still, I refuse to be embarrassed.

  His eyes widen, but that’s the only sign of his surprise. “With who?”

  I shrug. He doesn’t need to know that part. He steps even closer than me, and like the whore that Blain called me, I can’t help but be interested. He’s a good looking guy. I’d noticed it the last dream, but now it’s staring me right in the face. He’s hot, and it’s my dream.

  “And what kind of sex does dream Aislynn have?” Devon asks. His voice has lowered, and a hand reaches out to catch a curl between his fingers. When he tugs on it, goosebumps rise on my flesh. I notice a tattoo I hadn’t seen before – a snake that extends around his toned forearms. It looks really similar to the snake he saved me from when we were just kids. He’d chopped the head off with a hatchet, and I’d thought he was my hero – until he left me to a human snake.

  “Better sex than non-dreaming me,” I reply with a shrug.

  Devon cocks his head at me, his eyes studying me from behind his glasses. I’ve always loved glasses on a man. I know it doesn’t mean he’s intelligent, but he is. “Did you know I had a crush on you for years?” he asks conversationally. “When we were teenagers? Even after you started dating Blain?”

  The name freezes me, erasing everything else he just said.

  “Blain came back for the funeral, you know. Tried to trap me in Eden before I left.”

  Devon’s hand twitches, all signs of playfulness leaving his face and voice. “What happened? Are you okay?”

  “I got away without any of the old problems just because I’m smarter than him and always have been. I still worry he’s going to show up someday, though.”

  “Where are you? You really should have some kind of protection.”

  I take a step backward, and the strand of my hair falls from his fingers. “I can take care of myself, Devon. I’m not as weak as I was back then.”

  “You were never weak, Aislynn.” His voice follows me as the scene fades. His dream self is sucked away with the rest of it.

  When I find myself back in my apartment but still dreaming, I breathe a sigh of relief, but a sense of disquiet has come over me. I don’t think of Blain often, and even less of him finding me, but the likelihood bothers me more than I just admitted to Devon.

  “Something wrong, darling?”

  I jump with a little shriek of surprise. Nash is sitting on my bed with his back against the wall and my dream book in his lap. His hair is adorably mussed, and he’s dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, showing off all those yummy muscles and tattoos. I’m worried for a second that I’m awake, but the apartment is clean. That’s a sure sign this is a dream.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask as if we’re awake and he just popped into my room to sit on my bed.

  His lips tilt in a smug smile. “Ever since the dream the other night, I was hoping for another one. I guess it’s wishful thinking that got me here this time.”

  I stare at him. “You know I dreamed about you?”

  “Believe me, I’ve thought of little but that dream.” His eyes deliberately carve a path of hazel fire down my body, tracing my curves. Heat spreads through me. I’m confused, but dreams aren’t supposed to make sense. I sit down on the bed next to him, but his heated look turns to concern.

  “Something’s bothering you,” he says. His fingers trail across my cheekbone and catch a frizzy corkscrew curl that hangs in my face. The motion is so similar to Devon’s but also different.

  I stare at him, loving how my dreams soften him into something other than the careless ex-military, motorcycle riding stereotype of a brooding recluse. There are a million shadows behind his eyes, shadows that remind me of mine.

  “Thinking about something in my past,” I say simply.

  Nash turns his hand so that his thumb pulls across my bottom lip. I suck it into my mouth, soothing the irritating tickle with my teeth. His eyes catch on that motion; I wait for him to kiss me, but he doesn’t lean forward right away.

  “The past can’t hurt you. It took me a while to learn that.”

  I snort. “It can when someone from your past would like to see you dead and might one day find you.”

  His entire body stills and his fingers catch my chin, his sparking hazel eyes staring into mine. “Does he know where you live?” Of course, he’d realize it’s a man. That isn’t too hard to figure out.

  I shrug. “I don’t know. I just had a dream about someone else from my past. It reminded me of it. I don’t want to dream about bad things anymore.”

  “Will that person reveal where you are?”

  What a strange thing to say. It’s not as if Devon - or Nash - will remember the dream. “No, I don’t think so. He seemed genuinely sorry.” I think back to Devon’s apology about not doing anything about Blain’s treatment of me and then his admission of a crush.

  “Sorry about what?”

  “No.” My expression hardens. “Enough. If you’re not going to fuck me and give me something worth dreaming about, go away. I have to deal with enough people analyzing me when I’m awake. I don’t want to do it when I’m sleeping.”

  “Fine. I’ll ask you when you’re awake.”

  I laugh at him for thinking he’ll remember, or even that he’s the same person, but he muffles the noise with a possessive kiss that makes my toes curl. His firm lips play mine with all the mastery of a man who’s kissed a lot of women, but I push the jealousy away. He’s mine; right here, right now. I don’t care if it’s not real. When his tongue pushes into my mouth, I meet him thrust for thrust, not protesting when he slowly pushes me down on the bed and leans over me.

  “You going to let me take the lead this time?” he asks with a grin in his voice. I nod, incapable of protesting. I like his brand of control. I don’t feel powerless, but more like I’m the one in control. For one, it’s still my dream. I can make him stop. For two, I trust him not to hurt me. Or I’m starting to.

  Callused hands trail down my t-shirt and slowly lift it as he kneels next to me, his fingers smoothing up my ribs. I’m not worried about that extra fifteen pounds, not when he releases a sigh of pleasure as my breasts overfill his hands and he kisses me like a starving man. He’s trying to eat me alive, and I match his ferocity with mine, taking the energy the dream so willingly gives me. My fingers dig into the tousled, shaggy locks on his head. He rips my shirt off without even pausing in the assault on my mouth.

  When he picks his head up, his eyes are blazing. He still wears his dog tags and the cold metal scrapes against the tops of my breasts as his shirt disappears and his head dips to nip at my collarbone. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I met you,” he murmurs against my neck, his face buried in my unmanageable curls. “I’ve wanted those pretty blue eyes watching me, those thick lips around my cock, those fine tits, and that gorgeous ass in my bed.”

  I close my eyes and arch my back, bringing my nipple closer to his mouth. “Don’t talk,” I whisper. I don't want my dreams to start feeding me lies I might think are real in the light of day.

  Nash grunts. “I thought I was the one in control tonight?”

  “You can be in control, but don’t talk. You don’t have to lie to me to get me to sleep with you. This is a dream, remember? It doesn’t matter.”

  “This feels more real than anything I’ve ever experienced before.”

  My hands tighten in Nash’s hair. I rise to a sitting position, holding his head before me. “Oh yeah?” I concentrate for a minute and then Reece is sitting in the chair next to my desk. He looks around for a
second before his eyes fasten on Nash and me, both naked to our waists.

  “Does that feel real?” I tease Nash. “That another man might be watching us?”

  My landlord glances at my professor then back at me. “Do you trust him?” His question is surprising. So far, Reece hasn’t said a word. I think he’s still getting his bearings, but I’m uncertain.

  I shrug. “Yeah, I trust him. Sometimes he takes your place in my dreams.”

  Nash leans back on his heels and stares at me. “Oh yeah?” I wait for him to disappear, to get mad, for my dreaming mind to punish me with horrible thoughts like my waking mind does. “What does he like to do to you?”

  I glance at Reece. He seems to be listening very carefully to our conversation. He’s wheeled the clunky chair closer to us, his gaze flashing between Nash, my breasts, and my face. “Not much actually,” I admit, caught off guard by Nash’s unexpected question. “He’s one of my professors, and I think he feels guilty even in my dreams. Or maybe it’s just my subconscious keeping me from what I really want again.”

  Nash shares an unreadable look with Reece. “Well, then, that’s fine. He can watch. It won’t violate his standards.” And before I have a chance to react, Nash catches me between his arms and pulls me back against his chest. His erection presses into my ass and one hand lightly squeezing a breast while the other splays over my stomach.

  “What do you think, Professor?” Nash’s breath stirs the hair around my face, raising goosebumps across my naked flesh. “I’m sure you want to see your beautiful student naked.”

  Reece doesn’t answer, but the bob of his throat as he swallows is noticeable. He still hasn’t said a word. Nash rolls one of my nipples between his fingers, and I lean my head against his shoulder, all thoughts flying from my mind. My legs spread open without me directing them as wetness floods my core and my pussy aches with emptiness.