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Even now, the way he’s holding me to kiss me, with his giant palms against my ribs and his fingers spread over my shoulder blades, it’s perfect. He’s not touching me more and pressuring me to move beyond just a kiss, he’s holding me gently, carefully. He cares.
I’ve never felt that before. It makes my insides feel like warm, gooey brownies. I know he’s in a weird place, so I’m not trying to take it farther either. Although, I wouldn’t mind if he did.
Knox pulls back and looks at me with a lust-drunk expression that makes my belly go even more mushy. “Thank you, Nellie.” He rubs his thumb over my swollen lips.
The silence between us is heavy and full, but not uncomfortable. His other hand is still at my back, his fingers opening and closing against my shoulder blade. “You’re welcome,” I mumble thickly. I don’t know if that’s an appropriate response or not. All my thoughts get scrambled when things are like this.
His dark eyes devour me like he’s reading the story my thoughts would tell, and I let him. I have nothing to hide. He’s intense a lot of the time now. If he’s not begging to be released, he’s normally quietly staring.
“How are you feeling?” He gets so tired of me constantly asking that, but I know that I can’t ask him what he’s thinking or what he’s going through. The best I can do is get him to answer what’s happening right now, in the moment.
He laughs mirthlessly. “You don’t want to know.”
“I do. I want to know. Even if it’s bad, tell me.”
Knox shifts his position on the bed, scooting backwards. “It’s bad.”
“Tell me anyway.”
He looks me over, measuring me up to see if I can handle it. I can. “I feel like I would kill ten people for a bump of coke right now. If anyone else stood where you are right now, they wouldn’t survive me.” He lowers his head, casting shadows over his face that make him look intimidating. “I want out of these handcuffs, out of this room, out of this clubhouse, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to do that.”
“Good. Then get sober. I’ll let you out when you’re capable of staying that way.”
The muscle in his jaw flexes. “Fuck you.”
“I know.” I massage that muscle with my thumb. He’s angry. Part of him is furious and hates me and he can’t completely control it. I’ve been researching cocaine withdrawals like crazy, and it makes it easier to deal with how it affects him. He’s not mad at me. He’s lashing out because his brain was so used to how it felt to be high all the time.
Cocaine made his brain release chemicals that made him feel happy and euphoric. Now that’s gone and all he’s left with is me, the person who stopped those chemicals from flowing. I imagine it will take some time to readjust.
Knox stares at my belly and growls. “I hate this. I hate you.”
“Okay.” I rub my fingers through his hair, playing with the soft strands. His long hair feels better than mine.
His hand clasps around my wrist, pulling my hand away from him. “Stop touching me.”
The bed is shaking, but I’m too drowsy to connect the dots. Something’s happening. I let out a low moan, trying to force myself to wake up. “Knox?” My eyes finally open and I look for him in the darkness.
His pained face is wet with tears, something I’ve never seen before. He’s clutching a pillow to his chest as tightly as he can, trembling around it.
“Shit. Knox?” I scoot closer and touch his arm. “Wake up. It’s just a bad dream.” He doesn’t rouse, doesn’t move any closer to appearing awake. My hand is gentle against his face, trying not to scare him. “Knox-” I suck in air when his eyes fly open.
Knox’s arm wraps around my back and he crushes me to him.
“It’s Nell,” I whisper, afraid that he thinks I’m someone else.
“I know.” He rubs his stubbled cheek against mine. “I know it’s you.”
“It was just a bad dream. Everything’s okay.”
His breathing slowly returns to normal, and then he yanks the pillow out from between us and pulls me up against him again. “The nightmare… is my life.”
“I’m sorry.”
“How’s he doing?” Pres asks, sliding a cup of coffee to me across the table.
“I don’t know. It all seems horrible to me. I don’t know how this is supposed to go.” Steam from the mug helps me relax as I rub my temples.
“I think it’s supposed to be terrible. As long as he’s alive and not high, I think that counts as a success.”
