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“Your father?” I ask him. He only ever told me about his father once. That he’d left them, but that’s all I know. He never wanted to talk about his family.
I look over my shoulder, gripping the door in my hand and I can see the hatred and pain in his eyes. Seeing him like this feels like I’m being stabbed in the chest. I just want to hold him and take his pain away, but I need to understand.
I walk back in and lean against the granite countertop. It’s cold under my hand, but I’d rather touch it than him. If he holds me, I’ll lose focus. I’ll lose him opening up to me, and I can’t do that. “I don’t know anything about him,” I tell him with a seemingly casual shrug.
“It’s best that you don’t.”
“I wanna know.” Ineedto know.
“He wasn’t a good man. Like that fucker at the restaurant…” He trails off and shakes his head. “The things he was saying,” Derek shakes his head again, closing his eyes. “No woman should be talked to that way.”
“Your dad talked to your mom like that?” I ask.
“Yeah, right before he’d beat her,” he says, and I can hear the raw hurt in his voice. My heart breaks for him and I could just cry. I move closer to him and grab his unbandaged hand. I can't resist touching him.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. I reach my hand to his chest, waiting for him to look me in the eyes. “Is she alright?” I ask him.
His eyes flash with something I can't place.
“He’s gone now,” he answers, but it feels like something else. Like he’s hiding more from me.
“I want to know you, Derek,” I plead with him.
He huffs a humorless laugh and swallows thickly, looking behind me and into the mirror before returning my gaze. “I think you’re theonlyone who knows me.”
I don’t know what to say to that. It can’t be true. “That’d be a shame if that’s true.” I speak without thinking. I know who he is--I know his character, his soul, but I don’t know his story.
“Shame? Yeah.” He nods, looking behind me again. “Yeah, maybe it is.”
He grips my waist, setting me on the edge of the counter and leans in closer to me so we’re the same height. His eyes are filled with such sadness. I wish I could take it away. I want the playfulness back. I want him to be happy.
He rests his forehead against mine and barely kisses me, his lips just brushing mine, leaving me wanting more.
My thumb rubs circles on the back of his hand as we stand in silence.
Finally, he breaks the moment with another deep sigh. It's been a stressful night.
“I’ve got problems, Emma. You know that. But I still want you. Just stay with me?” he pleads.
I close my eyes, hating the way he talks about himself. It makes me think about all the lessons I took, learning how to react to low self-esteem in my classes. Preparing me to work with schools and be a guidance counselor. The psychology of it is why I got into it.
But right now those are just words on a page.
I cup his jaw in my hand and bring my lips up to his.
“Everyone has problems. You just need someone to lean on,” I whisper.
I desperately want to be that person, but I’m scared. I’m more than that, I'm terrified. I’m so close to the edge of a deep abyss. I feel like I barely made it out unscathed last time. And we were just kids. Now I know what it feels like to not have him.
I want him just as much as he wants me, but for me, there’s no turning back. It’s all or nothing.
His hands slip up my dress, his bare skin touching mine in a soft caress that leaves goosebumps in his path.
My nipples pebble, and my breath hitches.
“Derek,” I say but I barely get his name out, lost in the soft feel of his touch. He’s always so gentle with me. Forceful in some ways, but I feel like I can tame the beast inside of him. It’s a heady feeling. It’s intoxicating.
“Just feel me, Emma,” he whispers back, pushing his lips against mine. I’m hesitant at first, not sure if I should take this leap. I’m already weak for him; this will only put me over the edge. “Let me feel you.”
