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Fuck, I’m ugly.
But this is the face full of scars Lainey runs her fingers over. She kisses this mouth and looks into these eyes. And if she doesn’t run for cover at the sight of me…I’m not going to do it anymore, either.
Last night, I slept with Lainey in my arms in the infirmary—and I’m never spending another night without her. End of discussion. My soul couldn’t survive the nighttime hours without her little body clinging to me, trusting me to keep her safe. No, I can’t live without her feet tucked in between my legs, her breath stirring my body hair. I’m going to need to build up some willpower, though, or she will never get enough sleep. Three times I woke her from sleep to get relief, my cock unable to resist her soft, tight pussy every time she snuggled closer to me for warmth.
The final time I took her, I was extra desperate because of the approaching dawn when I would have to leave. Leave my girl. In my torment, I did nothing more than spit on her cunt to wet it, muffling her cries with my chest as I fucked her like a crazed beast. I would be worried over Lainey being cross with me for not being gentle enough, but my dick was coated in her pleasure afterwards. And that smile she gave me? Christ, I can barely breathe just thinking about it. I will never, ever get used to having her look at me without recoiling, let alone smile at me.
An uneven sound climbs up from my chest, thinking of the way I left her, curled up in come-stained sheets, rosy and glowing in the morning light. Poor little thing is probably walking with a limp today. But I don’t know for sure because she is somewhere I am not. And that is unacceptable. Not being there to provide her with meals, help her dress, kiss her sore cunt…it’s as though layers are being peeled off me one by one.
There is a reason she is inside the camp right now and I’m in my cabin, though. Lainey doesn’t want to live in solitude like me, trapped inside four walls. She doesn’t want to be away from society and her job, the campers she’s so fond of. If I want to sleep with Lainey in my arms every night, if I want to give her the life she needs…I have no choice but to meet her halfway.
I have no clue how to actually style my hair, so I settle for combing it back out of my face and securing it with a piece of twine. And that’s it. No more hiding the damage on my face. It’s out there for the world to see.
Next I pull on the wrinkled, button-down shirt I found in the back of my closet. Tighter than I remember, but it will have to do, since I can’t very well swing by the mall…although, if this plan works, isn’t that exactly the kind of thing I’ll need to start doing? Shopping for groceries, taking Lainey to restaurants…getting a job to support her? The closest I’ve come to other people in a decade is scaring the life out of them at the campfire, the night I took Lainey. What if they react the same way to me now? What if living with Lainey in the real world isn’t even possible? What the fuck am I going to do then?
The animal inside me growls the words take her, keep her, but I bare my teeth and refuse to succumb to the temptation. I kidnapped her once and she was unhappy. I won’t do it again. Not when her unhappiness is like a knife in my heart.
You shouldn’t be ashamed of those scars. You should be proud of them. And you definitely shouldn’t be hiding yourself away in the woods.
Lainey’s voice replaces the slavering animal, soothing me, making me whole. Was she right? Are my scars something I could learn to be…proud of? Even more impossible seeming, could other people ever see past them?
I don’t know. But if I don’t take this chance, I’ll never find out. I’ll never be able to give Lainey the life she deserves. That terrible thought is what finally pushes me out the door, grabbing the bouquet of daisies on the way.
Chapter Ten
Lainey
No one warned me about the insanity of visitor’s day.
From the second I woke up in the infirmary, I’ve been running around like a headless chicken. After catching a quick shower to clean the night’s activities off me, I dressed and woke up the campers, trying without much success to calm their excitement long enough to dress and get to breakfast.
Cars are already beginning to arrive by the time we finish eating, parents alighting from brand new SUVs, surveying the camp like they’re at an art gallery, each of them impeccably dressed. There is a talent show set to take place, followed by a picnic—complete with Frisbee and potato sack race competitions—and in the rush to set everything up, one might assume I don’t have time to think about Carver.
