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“Dammit. I always tell myself I’m doing the right thing by giving you time and space, but then I’m reminded all over again how much I fucking need you the next time I see you, and how I never want to let you go.”
“Are you okay?” I mumble against his hand, hoping he can make out some of the words. He gently eases his hand back, but only enough to let the words escape my lips.
“Shh, you have to be quiet. You wouldn’t want to wake your brother, would you? I don’t think I’ll make it through another fight with him, but if you want to see me try, we can. I’d rip out my beating heart and throw it into traffic if you asked me to.”
Another fight? He’s speaking in riddles and even more than that he’s worrying me.
I blink, trying to drag myself out of the foggy haze of sleep so I can look at him. I reach for my glasses which are on the nightstand, and slip them onto my face so I can see him properly and figure out what the hell is happening.
Once the glasses are in place, it takes another minute for my brain to make sense of what I’m seeing. I blink and blink again, but he’s still standing here. It wasn’t a dream. I nearly smile, until I notice that his stunningly handsome face is swollen, his cheek already blooming with an ugly bruise. My gaze drops down to his hands, and I notice the knuckles of both hands are red, cracked, and swollen.
"Drew! What happened?" I gasp. He gently lowers his fingers from my mouth tracing my lips before he lets his hand fall away.
"What’s wrong?"
I sit up straighter, and the anxious feeling from just a little bit ago festers in my gut. I need to get him an ice pack and figure out who did this to him. My first thought is his father, but it could be anyone really.
"What happened?" I gesture to his face.
He's bruised and battered, but there's a hazy look in his eyes, reminding me of how he looks when he’s relaxed. It’s similar to that post-orgasm phase.
A boyish grin appears on his lips, but I don’t miss the grimace of pain that pinches his features. "It's nothing. Just a few bruises. I needed to do the right thing. I was so mad, and I wanted to see you. I wanted to come here and fuck you, hurt you, but I knew if I did that I’d only be ruining whatever it is that we have left, so I did something else instead."
I fist the sheets, alarm bells ring in my head. I’m afraid to even ask if it was his father that hurt him or if it was some random person. We haven’t really ever discussed his father, or the way he spoke to me. We didn’t even really talk about what I witnessed that night, but now he’s here, battered and bruised looking every ounce of that scared little boy I picture him to be, and I know I have to ask.
"Who did this to you? Was it your father? Because if it was…"
Drew visibly flinches, and I freeze, waiting for him to lash out, to punish me for asking, but he simply shakes his head softly and gives me one of those all-American smiles.
“What would you do, Flower? How would you protect me against the big bad wolf?”
I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know. I’d find a way to protect you.” I realize I’ve spoken the words out loud, and now there’s no taking them back.
“I love your protectiveness, Bel, and that you’d go to war for me even when knowing it’s a losing battle.”
“It’s only a losing battle if you don’t try. If you fight back, there’s always the chance of winning.”
His green eyes shine with adoration, and my heart clenches inside my chest. Every time we’re together, he pulls us closer, stitching up the pieces of my soul that he tore to shreds that night.
"It wasn’t my father, so stop your worrying. I did this to myself,” he jeers with disgust. “None of it matters. I came here to see you, because I had to see you. Had to prove to you that I still care, that even if I wasn’t there at The Mill tonight, it doesn’t mean that I didn’t want to see you.”
I’m grateful for his confession. Sometimes Drew can be difficult to read and understand, but from the sounds of it, he was trying to do the right thing, whatever that was. Leaning over, he forces me to lay flat against his upper body, my own legs resting over the side of the bed.
"I had to see you," he repeats, inching closer to nuzzle against my neck.
I’m tempted to ask him why he would ever do something like that to himself but the thought evaporates when I feel his wet tongue against my skin. He alternates between kissing, sucking, and nipping at the sensitive flesh along my throat and collarbone.
I wiggle to get closer to him, to feel the heat of him against me, but he's still fully dressed and the blanket between us is ruining the mood.
I need more. More of him. All of him.
Frustration wins, and I toss the blanket away, and the cold air of the room raises goose bumps on my bare legs.
"Come here," I whine. "I need you closer."
I can practically feel his lips curving into a smile on my skin. "I’ve been fighting against myself for days. I’ve wanted to see you, to touch you, but I was afraid I’d hurt you again. The darkness and anger are too close to the surface right now, and I’m trying to do the right thing with you, Bel. I can’t use you as a punching bag if I want to keep you by my side, but it’s terrifying because you’re also the only thing that has the power to calm me.”
He pulls back, his hands trailing up my neck, stopping at my cheeks. He cups them and pulls me closer, so our noses are almost touching. “It’s like there’s so much noise in my head, the voices scream, telling me to let go, to unleash hell, but then you touch me, and everything goes quiet. It’s unexplainable. You quiet the demons. In your presence, there are little fragments of light that slice through the darkness, giving me guidance, and at those moments, I think maybe I can be saved. Maybe I can do this. If I can keep the only person who helps me to think instead of acting out by my side. My only hope is that I can protect you from all the bad in my life, including myself.”
