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VIOLET: That wasn’t fun.
RHYS: No?
VIOLET: No.
RHYS: What was it?
VIOLET: Indescribable.
RHYS: Agreed, I think about it every day.
VIOLET: What do you think about?
RHYS: The way your hips curve when you wrap your legs around me. How beautiful you are when you come. I love the shape of your mouth.
VIOLET: Will I ever get you alone again for more than an hour?
RHYS: Yes, I promise.
VIOLET: Good, I hope so.
RHYS: I wish I was there now with you wrapped around me, kissing every inch of you that isn’t bruised.
VIOLET: What’s stopping you?
RHYS: Well, for one, I don’t think your parents would appreciate the things I want to do to their daughter.
VIOLET: Silly me.
RHYS: Soon.
VIOLET: I’m sure you’ll be in touch.
RHYS: Shut up.
VIOLET: I’ll wait patiently for your next cryptic text.
RHYS: You’ll pay for that.
VIOLET: I’m counting on it.
RHYS: Now it’s going to be worse.
RHYS: Goodnight.
VIOLET: Goodnight.
An hour later, he wrote back.
RHYS: Now I can’t stop thinking about your legs.
VIOLET: :)
By Monday of the following week, I felt amazing. I had stopped my meds, and though I still had a set of stitches in my face and the side of my neck pinched and itched at times, I was able to move around freely and without pain. I decided to make a house call to Rhys. We hadn’t spoken every day on the phone, but he’d made sure to text me or call me at least once a day. He seemed to have the bedtime of a ninety-year-old and I constantly made fun of him for it. He seemed distracted and I knew he was busy catching up on the work he had missed when he was at the hospital with me. He had shown the club a few times, and though his schedule was full, he always seemed to end his night with me with a phone call or a text telling me how much he wanted to see me. It seemed pretty obvious that we both wanted to resume what we had started.
Meanwhile, my mother held me hostage, refusing to let me join the online world on my laptop to look for new listings to show, although I’d secretly found a few on my phone. She was constantly checking on me and it was starting to drive me up the wall. She refused to let me leave the house.
I’d had a few nightmares, but nothing I couldn’t handle. I’d had a moment or two in the bathtub alone at my parents’ where I was filled with sheer terror, so much so that I couldn’t move. I managed to make it through the first one, but had to call my mother the second time, making an excuse for her to come in and talk to me. Seeing her soothed me, though she could sense she was in the room for much more than handing me some shaving cream.
