Say it!
But she doesn’t. “Are we friends?” she asks instead, her face turning into my skin, peppering me with kisses. It’s not what I wanted to hear, but I can wait because it will come.
“We’re friends, baby.”
“I’m glad.” She sounds so content.
“Me too. So glad.”
“Where have you been?”
I still. My lungs still. My mind stills. Not this. She can’t spoil this beautiful moment with questions. Or, more accurately, I can’t spoil this moment with the answers. “It doesn’t matter, Ava.”Please, don’t ask me. Please, just let me figure out how the fuck I’m going to tell you what I’ve done.
“It matters to me.”
“You asked for space.”Deplorable.“I’m back.”And I don’t deserve to be.“That’s all that matters.” It isn’t, I know that, but I need to get us to a point where she will think twice about leaving. And that point isn’t now. My serenity is gone, and I can’t help feeling pissed off that she’s done that. I have no right. None at all, I’m reasonable enough to accept that. But the feelings are there, and I’ll be damned if I can stop them. I’m just one huge fuck-up, making mistake after mistake. I scowl to myself and feel for her arse, getting a good grip and tugging her closer, my soft,barecock still warm and snug inside her.
She eventually sighs. Peeks up at me. She looks exhausted. Ifeelexhausted. Not physically, though. Physically, I could go on forever. Mentally, I don’t know how much more I can sustain before I crack. It’s an ironic notion. Physical well-being has always been an underlying concern. The drink, the sex. The true state of my mental well-being was masked. Now, I feel like I’m on a runaway roller coaster going one hundred miles an hour, no end in sight, and not a hope of getting off the fucker. And this woman? She’s the reason why.
“I need to wash my hair,” she whispers, and I reach up to push the wet locks from her face, giving her a tender kiss. “Are you hungry yet?”
“Very.” She peels her body from mine, and I can’t lie, it feels wrong. I’m lost without her all over me. I watch her as she scans the sparse shelf and plucks out a bottle. “Is this it?” She turns her eyes down to me, where I’m still on my dead arse recovering. “No conditioner?”
“No, sorry.” I make a mental note to get some for her. A big bottle, so when she’s showering every day here, she won’t run out. On a sigh, I find some strength to pull myself up and claim the bottle. “I want to do it.” I want to look after her. Feed her. Wash her. Do all the things to the point she forgets how to do them herself and has to depend on me.
She gives up the task easily, and I turn her away, smoothing some shampoo through the length of her hair and making sure I do a good job of massaging it in, smiling when she hums happily, her head falling back on her shoulders. My height gives me the perfect view of her face, her eyes closed, her lips slightly parted. She looks like she could be walking on air, and I know I feel like I am. For the most part, anyway.
I take her shoulders and move her under the spray.
And my peace goes up in smoke, my shocked eyes nailed to her arse. Or the big fucking bruises covering it. “What the fuck are they?” Lord above, what happened?
She looks over her shoulder, copping a load of my wide eyes, and frowns, turning to find out what’s got my feathers all ruffled. “What?”
I grab her when I lose sight of them and turn her back “Them!”
She frowns over her shoulder. “I fell over in the back of Margo.”
“What?”
“I was holding up the cake in the back of Margo,” she says on a condescending sigh. “I got chucked about a bit.”
Yes, I knew she was holding up a fucking cake, but I didn’t know this was the extent of the damage. “A bit?” She looks like she’s been struck repeatedly with a fucking hammer. My face screws up as I dip and gently stroke the fading bruises. What was she thinking? Her irresponsibility and neglect for herself is leading to one thing: me wrapping her up in cotton wool, and something tells me Ava won’t like that. Well, she’d better start fucking looking after herself. It’s not beyond me. I’ll bubble wrap her if I have to. What if a car had of ploughed into the van? I flinch harshly, blinking back the memories that thought spikes. She wouldn’t have stood a chance. “Ava, you look like you’ve been used as a rugby ball.”
She laughs. It makes me want to sew her mouth shut. This is about as funny as John’s temper. “It doesn’t hurt,” she says, blasé.
It doesn’t hurt? I beg to differ. I’m in fucking agony. “No more cake propping.” I’ll be having a word with her friend. “I mean it.”
“You’re overreacting.”
Overreacting? Many would probably agree. I don’t give a fuck. Those bruises shouldn’t be tarnishing her flawless skin. Nothing should be tarnishing her. Alcohol. Blemishes.
What about you, Ward. Should you be tarnishing her?
“Probably not,” I grumble in answer to my own silent question, falling to my knees and kissing her better. “I’ll be having a word with Kate too,” I warn, just to be clear, just so there are no surprises when I declare the demise of Margo. Fucking Margo. I need to call the dealership and see if they’ve found a replacement yet.
I rise, every muscle pulling, and turn her back to me, struggling to remove my fierce glare as I wipe the water from her face. Doesn’t she realize how precious she is? She needs to look after herself, and if she’s going to be difficult about it, I don’t mind taking on that role.
When she opens her eyes, I dip and kiss her collarbone. Gently. Softly. Showing her. She quivers when I draw a perfect line with my tongue to her ear. “Later,” I promise, smiling when she grumbles unhappily. There it is. Want. Greed. It’s a leap in the right direction. The first step on the path that’ll be her only route to what keeps her surviving. I’m much farther down that path. “Out,” I order, finding it unbelievably hard to refuse her. But refuse her I must. I lack control in so many elements of my life, even more now. Controlling what I can is a necessity. A compulsion.