Yet, she concerns me. She digs at my heart that I once believed didn’t exist, and that’s answer enough. I need to comfort her. I don’t have to fuck her or have a relationship with her, but, in this moment, I can at least make sure she’s okay. There were so many dreams and so many times I’d wished someone would’ve done the same for me.
Standing beside her bed, I watch her a few moments more until she calls out loudly, scrunching her face up. In pain or in sadness, I wonder? Who knows, but something is definitely not right in her head tonight.
I can’t help but think it’s me in there, terrorizing her. She’s acted pretty scared and nervous since I’ve arrived, but, honestly, I’ve relished it. I’ve taken each little terrified look she’s sent at some of my remarks and have added them inside, collecting bits and pieces, letting them offer me what small comfort they can.
Revenge…I love getting payback when it’s due to me, but how do you take out your hurt and anger on the mother of your child? I kill her for the shit she pulled, and, then suddenly, I’m the bad guy in the equation. I refuse to be the villain in my son’s eyes. I may not be some real hero out there, but to him, I will do everything in my power to look like I should be one.
I could shake her, rouse her enough to pull her free, but I don’t. I’m stupid, I want to feel her against me, and this is offering me the perfect excuse to do just that. Pulling the puffy comforter away from the pillows, I climb into the bed next to her.
One hand on her shoulder, I place my other palm to her face. She whimpers and the sound’s beautiful. I’d love to have her whimpering underneath me, but in pain and pleasure combined.
“Bethany.” It comes out in a bit of a grumble. I’m still tired and watching her half-naked has me flexing and hard.
She doesn’t wake, so I stroke over the side of her face, calling her again. “Little Daydream…wake up, baby.”
“Night?” Her eyes crack open, dazed and confused. I’m sure she’s wondering what I’m doing in her bed and touching her as well.
“I’m here, you’re safe.”
Tears well up, her pouty lip trembling, and then she’s in my arms. Her own wrapped around my neck, head against my chest as sobs wrack her body.
“Shh, shh, you’re okay. I got you, baby, don’t worry.”
“Oh God,” she whispers, still crying.
“Was it really that bad? What happened?”
“I-I don’t want to talk about it. If I talk about it, it becomes worse, because then it’s real.”
“Fine. Just tell me…was it me making you like this?”
“You? No-no-no…it was…it was my father,” she admits, her warm breath fanning over my pecs. A few shuddering breaths and her tears begin to dry up.
I lie back, pulling her on me until I can wrap my arms around her securely. We l like that, chest to chest for what feels like hours. Truth is, I have no idea how much time passes; eventually, we both drift off to sleep.
It’s in the early morning when she’s sleeping soundly that I crawl free from her touch, wrapping the blankets around her cozily. That was close enough for now. I have to keep reminding myself that I hate her for what she did, that we could never be.
I would never be able to trust her to even give her a chance.
However, I can’t help but wonder why it was her that got pregnant with my child. I’d lied to her about being careful. I wasn’t; in fact, I was careless. No woman ever got pregnant no matter how many times I fucked them…and then there was her.
I wake to a cold bed and groggy thoughts of Nightmare holding me all night long. Part of me believes that last night never happened, but I know it did. My bed still smells like him.
Rolling over in his spot, I deeply breathe in his scent. It’s been a very long time since a man was in my bed in any form, and smelling him has my body wound tight, senses in overdrive.
My hand crawls over my stomach, fingers almost going into my panties when I get a wake-up call.
“Momma?”
“Hmmm,” I groan, rolling over to my back.
“Cereal’s wready”
Shit.That means there’s a mess from hell in my kitchen and probably no milk left. I thought we talked about him fixing his own breakfast; it never works out for either one of us.
“’Kay, I’ll be right there.”
Clumsily, I head for the bathroom, taking care of business and washing my face with cold water, so I’m awake enough to mop up the milk that I know is coating my kitchen floor. At least it wasn’t eggs this time; cleaning those up suck.