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I wait a second, then stand up and leave my bed. My breathing is calm and deep, but my heart is in my throat. I stare for a moment at the pile of clothes on the floor that I didn’t have the energy to put away after the cops left. A slight creak sounds as I gently open the door to my room.
The only light still on is the lamp next to the television, which is turned off. No sound comes from the living room. Yet I know in my heart that Tucker is not asleep. I enter the room and find him lying on his back on the sofa.
I stare for a moment at the word scratched on my wall, promising myself to go buy paint first thing tomorrow to cover the stupid thing.
I take another step forward, silently. One arm cradled behind his head, the other resting on his stomach, his eyes closed. I stop near the couch, not moving an inch.
I stare at his bare skin and the black cotton boxers he is wearing. His chest rises slowly, to the rhythm of his breathing. I move forward a little more, as if hypnotized by the air escaping from his mouth.
A hand lands on the back of my thigh, making me jump. His eyes open wide as he looks into mine. I can’t see any sign of fatigue.
We don’t move other than his fingers gently pressing my tender skin. I am still standing, and he is still lying on the couch. His thumb circles my skin lightly as my gaze gazes again at his body. The hunger is growing in the pit of my stomach, but there is also something else. I just want to…feel his skin against mine.
Taking him by surprise, I sit down astride of him. His hand hasn’t left my body, it has followed my movement and is now on the front of my thigh. I feel his erection beneath me. It gradually hardens but neither he nor I move. His other arm is still lodged behind his head, and his gaze doesn’t leave me for a moment, avidly analyzing my actions.
His breathing quickens slightly as I lean towards him. I press my lips against his once, twice, then I lie down on his body. I press my skin against his, make myself more comfortable and press my cheek against his burning chest.
I feel his heartbeat against my face. It rocks me, it helps me to forget everything, except this moment. I’m not thinking about who broke into my apartment anymore. I let go and close my eyes. Tucker doesn’t reject me, his free hand rests on the back of my head and brushes the strands of my hair. His breath hits the top of my head.
I feel…safe, in his arms.
A part of me needed this. Tomorrow…tomorrow, reality will return. The anxiety will be back inside me. Do I want to be alone tomorrow? Or should I let my heart open, let my guard down?
“I killed my parents’ killer,” I whisper.
His body tenses under me. He doesn’t answer me. I expect him to push me away or burst out laughing thinking I am joking, but he doesn’t. He moves slightly, and his lips press against the top of my head.
“I kind of figured that out already,” he murmurs softly.
I swallow hard. Of course he was going to make the connection between my parents, my half-confession the other day, and that note left on my wall.
“One night I came home late. There was…blood…everywhere. My parents were lying on the living room floor, dead. Someone was in my house, and I couldn’t find my little sister. I went up the stairs as quietly as I could to find Agnes. We used to play hide and seek when she was little, and she always hid in my closet. I knew she was there. When I reached the last step, a voice rang out behind my back. It was the monster that had come into my house and killed my parents. I ran up the stairs, trying to escape him, and locked myself in my room just before he could hurt me.”
Tucker’s arm wraps around my body as he holds me a little tighter against him. His embrace is possessive but I enjoy it.
“You don’t have to,” he whispers in my ear.
My voice trembles softly but I continue. “I called my little sister several times and, thank God, she was hiding where I thought. I held her close, praying that the police would arrive soon. That’s when the guy broke down the door. He was wearing a prison uniform. I later learned that he was a prisoner on the run.”
I closed my eyelids hard to keep my stupid tears from flowing.
“He came into the room and hit me.”
“What a son of a bitch,” Tucker whispers.
I can feel the tension seeping out of his pores, and I know that if Joe was standing in front of him right now, Tucker would be going at him.
“Then he…started touching Agnes. He laid her down on the floor and tried to…to…” Shit, I can’t say it. “That monster was going to abuse her. So I tried to stop him, but he was heavier than me. I saw some scissors sitting on the cabinet, and I didn’t think. I killed him. I drove the scissors into his body several times, praying that he would die with each blow. The cops came soon after. I was proven innocent.”
“My angel,” whispers Tucker, pressing his lips to my ear again.
“So, yes, I’m a killer,” I continue, “but I killed a monster who was going to kill my sister and who had killed my parents. A part of me will never accept that fact, but I…I don’t regret what I did, even if some people think that nothing can give us the right to take someone’s life.”
“You’re not a monster, damn it.” His index finger rests on my chin, and he makes me raise my head in his direction. “You saved your sister. You saved yourself. You are not a monster. You reacted like anyone else would have, and anyone who doesn’t understand what you did is a moron. Me, I understand it.”
I nod, not knowing what to say to him. His arm is still tight around me, his burning skin pressed against me, my breasts pressed against his chest.
“I left Portland and came here hoping to leave my past behind forever. And then this all happened tonight. I’m scared, Tucker. Because maybe it’s a friend of his coming to avenge him, how should I know?”
