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“I was six, I think when she died. And after the funeral, everyone came back to the house.” The depth of emotions that play in the soft blues of Chloe’s eyes force me to look at the ceiling rather than at her.
“And I didn’t know any of the people. I hardly recognized my own mother, because she’d been gone for years, but this one guy, an older guy with glasses, sat down in my grandmom’s recliner. And when he did, he pulled up a Zip-loc bag, and it had all the treats in it.”
I can feel Chloe’s eyes on me, but I can’t look down at her. It’s so stupid, but I can feel tears pricking my eyes.
“Grandmom had a stash I didn’t know about. She didn’t pick one out every night. It was right there all along.” I clear my throat and tell her, “I kicked him, Chlo. I kicked him hard and grabbed the bag from him. I grabbed it so hard that it tore, and the candy and little toys fell everywhere. They weren’t his though. They were Grandmom’s. It was her stash to give to me.”
I feel the tears on my chest at the same time as I hear Chloe sniffle.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and I hold her closer to me.
“It’s all right, Chlo. Just a story I remembered.” I don’t tell her the rest. How my mom beat my ass in front of everyone and made me throw away all the candy. She struck me so hard I fell to the floor. I don’t tell her how I cried uncontrollably and my mother, who I hadn’t seen in years, held my face up for everyone to see that she was punishing her brat of a child who didn’t deserve any candy. And that was why she left. That’s what she told them. That she was cursed with a bad kid.
She was so proud that everyone got to see her being the mother she never was. And the only thing I had to hold on to, was that those tears weren’t for her. They were never for her.
“Your grandmother sounds like a wonderful person.”
“She was,” I tell her and we’re both quiet for a long time.
“Hey, if you could up and leave, where would you go?” I ask her even though I can see sleep taking her already. She’s going to pass out soon and then I need to take care of some shit. I’ll be careful; I won’t wake her up.
“Anywhere that would take me,” she says playfully.
“I’m serious. What would you do?” I ask her, wondering if she’s really thought about it. If she’d really run away one day. She props herself up on her elbow, still lying on her stomach and considers me.
“I think I could be a writer. Not like a reporter… but like my books. Fiction.”
“If you could do anything at all, you’d write?” It takes me a minute to visualize it. Her bundled up on a sofa, with a mug of tea beside her, jotting down notes or typing away. I could see it. She’d be good at it.
“I feel like that’s where I belong, you know? I can kind of be a little weird in person, but when I read or write, it’s so freeing.”
“I get that,” I tell her, feeling a knot growing in my throat. “You could do it, Chlo. You know?” I ask her even though everything in me is telling me not to put those thoughts in her head. I don’t want her to run away, I don’t want her to leave me.
She gives me a weak smile that mixes with her shyness as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear before settling back down and yawning.
“And what would you do?” she asks as she nudges me, peeking up at me to add, “If you could do anything.”
I think about her question for a long time, long after I shrug and tell her to go to bed. Long after she nuzzles up next to me and falls asleep in my arms. The only answer I can think of is if I could do anything in the world, I’d run away with her.
The only place I want to be is with her.
“Chlo,” I whisper her name not long after sleep’s taken her from me. Her brow is pinched and the sweet expression on her beautiful face has been replaced by something else. Something that lingers in the place between fear and worry. A small whimper is all I get from her as her nails dig into my arm, holding on to me for dear life. Whatever’s got her mind now isn’t what I want her thinking about.
The only thing on her mind should be thoughts of us together. It would only be fair since she’s the only thing I can think about anymore.
With one hand on her shoulder, I give her a gentle shake to wake her, hard enough to know I’ll snap her out of her sleep. “Chloe Rose.” I keep my voice gentle and soothing as her wide doe eyes peer up at me, the traces of fear still dancing in her gaze.
Her chest rises and falls with a slow and steadying breath as she looks past me, at the room and then back to my gaze. “You’re with me, Chloe Rose.” My words are meant to be soothing, but the reaction I get from her is more powerful than I could ever imagine. She pulls herself closer to me, molding every inch of her soft body to mine, kissing my neck, my collar, my chest. Her hands roam down my stomach and then she slips her hand up my chest, letting her fingers play with the small smattering of hair that trails down to my lower half.
The next time I say her name, it’s merely a stifled groan. “Chlo.” My dick is harder than it’s ever been before.
She wants me. She fucking wants me.
“Sebastian,” she whispers my name with desperation, brushing her lips against my neck again and letting her kisses trail everywhere they can.
She’s in need and so am I.
I roll her over onto her back, and she lets out a small squeal of surprise. It’s short-lived as I climb on top of her, kicking off my pants while her fingers spear through my hair and her lips hungrily find mine.
