I’d tried to wake him by calling his name and shaking him gently at first, then harder. Nothing. He was too deep in that nightmare.
My instinct told me: He needs to feel safe.
So I’d pulled him against me and pinned his limbs with mine so he couldn’t hurt himself.
I talked in a soft voice right next to his ear.
“I’m here.”
“I’ve got you.”
“I’m staying. Not going anywhere.”
Over and over.
I think his subconscious heard me, because slowly his body stopped fighting in my grip. His breathing evened out, and within minutes he was heavy against my chest.
My ribs had taken a hit, my legs too. There’ll probably be bruises later, but I don’t care. He was safe and warm in my arms. Holding him had felt so good, I was out within minutes too.
But now I realize the part where I helped him is over, and the part where I can’t help myself is well underway.
Starting with this morning, when I could’ve simply rolled to the colder side of the bed and he’d never have noticed my skin-starved clinginess. But no. I had to keep him in my arms, chest pressed to his back, nose buried in his hair.
Then he woke up and he gave me that wordless yes by connecting his hand with mine, showing me exactly where he wanted to be touched.
And then… one thing led to another.
I let him feel how much he turns me on, and he came so perfectly in my hand.
I thought it was everything.
But then the tissue issue had come up and I just blew it.
I wonder if he thinks I’m weird. Or worse, that I’m a selfish, shitty lover. I don’t want that, because all my references are outstanding.
It’s just that I couldn’t hold it any longer. And in those last split seconds when every drop of blood had gone south, I saw that box with tissues and thought, brilliant, problem solved, because I didn’t want to… I don’t even know what. It just ended up being the least intimate finish imaginable. I wish I’d tried harder to wait for him, to see what he would do. Even if it was just one wank of his strong hand wrapped around me. At least then we’d be even. I mean, he came pretty fast in my fist.
And if that isn’t enough, I passed out right after. One moment I was trying to calm his inner crisis, the next I woke up in an empty bed. I can’t really embarrass myself more.
But I don’t regret how natural it had felt. Him pressing back against me, me grinding into that perfect peach.
I don’t know how it was for him. I just hope he’d felt what I felt; it had made me forget the world for a while.
Now it’s just me in the house. The Gremlin is still parked outside where we left it, so I figure Yosh went for his run.
I switch the toothbrush to my other hand and focus on the back teeth, then spit into the drain of the outdoor shower.
The bathroom sink still works, but there’s a crack splitting the porcelain. The one in the kitchen is in better shape, aside from the faucet that won’t stop leaking. I don’t trust either to survive a gentle tap, so I brought myself out here instead.
It’s a little nostalgic. The last time I’d brushed my teeth outdoors was when Mum took me and Cheryl to visit family in the Highlands. We’d camped near a loch. I was so young I barelyremember anything. Just the loch, and the fact that Mum was still there.
I turn open the tap and cup my hands underneath it. First handful to rinse my mouth, second and third to wash my face. Then I run water through my hair.
I shake my curls loose and toss my head back, the water cooling my neck and spine. Eyes closed against the spray, it drips across my lips.
My mouth feels like the damn Sahara and the water is cold and unexpectedly sweet. This feels fucking amazing.
When I open my eyes, Yosh appears from around the side of the house.
