And Pearl knew. She told me recently that she could tell just from my face...that it was something.
I prop my cheek in my palm, letting my eyes caress each inch of his skin. Beautiful V. The world's most perfect human. The most kind and gentle, smart and charming man. And he's mine. I'm certain that I don't deserve him. I can hear my mom say, "It’s a fierce love Mr. Rayne has for you. God’s own sort of selfless love." Always makes my throat knot up.
I want to wrap myself around him right now. I just want to protect him. Why is it that that's the one thing that’s impossible with this life that I have? I do it, even though I hate to wake him: I wrap him up. The curtains glow faint orange, streaks of amber stretching through the shadows toward the bed. Our bed. I brush my lips over his short hair, kiss behind his ear. I thank God—thank you, thank you—for protecting what's under this soft hair and his warm skin. What's under these bones I love more than the world. He could have died. He could have really hurt his head. But it was okay.
It's okay now.
Just some shorter hair. I miss his long hair, but I also love this short hair, showing off more of his strong, squeezable nape. There's a dark freckle—sort of a flat mole—just below his hairline. And his hairline looks good. Got the good hair stylist. Got the better boxer-briefs—the luxury brand I wear because some personal shopper got me hooked on them.
I cup my hand around his tight ass in those briefs. The ones he’s got on right now are maroon. Mr. Rayne in red. What could be better than this gorgeous, warm, sleeping man with his arm stretched out and his cheek pressed to his bicep on the pillow. There are covers over his legs, but I nudge one of my calves between his. He shifts his hips, arching back against me even in his sleep.
I really shouldn't do this—I should let him sleep—but I kiss him where the freckle is.
I love you, I say to him in my head.
I love him, I say to God. Please spare us more pain. Please don't let this hurt him too much. In whatever way it could. And if it doesn't work, if no one wants me at the church, just let us go. Let it be easy on him. I can walk away if I have to. I just want to keep Vance Rayne. For long enough to make him Vance McDowell.
I hug him harder than I should, my arm around him and my palm pressed to his chest. He feels almost feverishly warm, cuddled against me. I swallow, closing my eyes. Thinking of fevers reminds me of getting outed. Which makes me think about the week before. When I sat here and dared God to just…take me. Thanked Him, even, for letting me get so sick, and for Pearl’s last-minute destination wedding.
At first, I had this eerie sense of surreality. But toward the end, I got scared. I was too weak to get up, to get water or to grab my phone. I was shaking so hard.
That's when I wanted V. My chest lit up with pain at thinking I would die without him. How strange—all I want is just to die in his arms.
I didn't want to live. I had tried it, and it hadn't worked. I couldn't do it, and I didn't want to keep on trying. I was tired. But I ached for V. My soul ached. I could feel it crying out, like in the Bible. I didn't understand that language until I met Vance.
I remember praying, "Please." Please. Please. Please just help me. Anything.
Feeling bad and dizzy, feeling like my brain was on a merry go round. That's the last thing I remember.
After that, just little swatches of the car's roof…movement as they carried me in. The next thing I remember is V's face. How he seemed extremely pissed off, for the first time ever. I remember thinking that I'd never seen him look that angry. Turns out a nurse had gotten an IV started, and I guess I didn’t like it. He told me later he was furious at the nurse—as if the woman had a choice.
I would open my eyes, and Rayne would be there, looking tired and unshaven, his eyes radiating love and affection. He would trace my hand with his fingertips, and sometimes he would lean in through the rail and kiss my palm.
I didn't know the details, but I didn't care. Rayne had come to save me. I had been the worst coward, but somehow, he still wanted me. He stroked my eyebrows and he kissed my cheek, and I was loved by him, and it was all I needed.