Just wanted to say a quick thank you to to awesome Eva Maree, who made the cover above for this story! I've dedicated the chapter to her.
***
By the time we arrive home, it is mid-morning.
We are no more injured than we were yesterday; there was no need to fight our way out of the bank. The horde had wandered off, distracted by boredom or easier prey.
"They're going to freak," I murmur into the quiet.
Frank's looking at the bungalow, nodding apprehensively. "We don't have to tell them what happened."
I'm not sure which event he's talking about. My almost-assault. My murder victims. My confession. I'm sure it's a blanket statement that encompasses the entire, wretched trip.
"Thank you." I tell him, and when he glances at me and grins, I smile back.
We didn't do anything... Extreme. In fact, we didn't even kiss. Nor did we have sex. We had cold tinned food for dinner, and I slept with my head resting on his chest. More than anything, I think he was cautious of what the day's violence had done to me. I had been too, in truth. I didn't want to look back on the memory and have to remember the rest of it.
I walk in the door with my head lowered, because I'm expecting a wave of anger.
"Nevaeh?!" Ray's voice, raised. I flinch back, but there's no need for that. He's already caught me up in his arms, cradling me close. "Where the fuck have you both been?"
He holds me at arm's-length, and his mouth drops open when he catches sight of my face.
"Who did that to you?" He demands, and his palm is on my cheek.
"Nevaeh?" Gerard gasps, appearing over Ray's shoulder. "Frank! Oh, thank fuck."
Ray passes me off to Gerard, and Mikey rushes straight to Frank. Natalie gets her arms around Gerard and I both, and I'm crushed between the two of them.
"What happened?" Gerard wrenches back, and catches sight of the injures etched into my face. A split lip, a deep graze on the crest of one cheekbone. Grazed knuckles. "Honey, who did that to you?"
His eyes go to Frank, not in accusation, but in assessment.
Pandora arrives, barking and whining and shrieking, and I drop to my knees so she can see that I'm home and okay.
"Would either of you like to explain?" Ray shuts the front door. One hand is on his hip, the other on Frank's shoulder. "Why didn't you come home?" There is no anger from him, just worry.
Alissa has her arms crossed over her chest, and if she was worried, she smothers it now with annoyance. "Trying to play hero again, Nevaeh? Almost get Frank killed too, this time?"
Frank motions with both hands for calm. "She saved my fucking life, actually." His eyes are hard as they flick to Liss, "There was a horde. We ran into a bank and barricaded ourselves in, and had to wait until it was clear."
Natalie is looking between the two of us, eyes narrowed.
"Where was your rifle?" She asks, suspicious. "Why couldn't you fight?"
"It was taken." I reveal, scrubbing at Pandora's neck, hushing her whines.
"By who?" Nat snorts disbelievingly.
"The group of men that attacked us," I look up, and the ghosts of those men are heavy on my shoulders. I slump under their weight. "They took my rifle right before they tried to rape me."
Natalie reels back. Everyone else flinches, or falters, or gapes. They are so used to being a little bit afraid of me, I suppose it's surprising that not everyone feels that way.
"Oh, my love." Gerard breathes, and hooks his hands under my elbows so he can hoist me up into his arms. "I hope they paid for it." He murmurs in my ear.
"It's fine," I say gruffly, "I'm fine. Really."
"We'll make you both breakfast," Ray offers, trying for a smile. "Pancakes?"
I chuckle, and shift out of Gerard's embrace. "I'm going to go lay down."
"And I need to shower," Frank claps Ray on the back, "Thanks, man."
I head for my room, leaving Pandora behind even though she yaps. I'm bone-tired, but sleep does not seem like an option once I slump into my pillows.
I know - now that I'm allowing myself to think in such terms - that I won't be able to sleep unless Frank is with me. And I'm not tired, or traumatised, or sad. I'm awake and full of energy, in need of a distraction. If I'm being really honest, I'd admit that I don't want to be away from Frank for any length of time. Maybe I'll wait for him in his room, or...
Before I can chicken out, I get up and strip my shoes and socks and coat. I'm left in black leggings and a long-sleeved black shirt, form fitting.
The hallway is clear, so it is easy to creep to the bathroom door, listening for the shower on the other side. It's running. The door is locked, but it's easy to flip open from this side.
Steam curls in the air I step into. Heat settles on my face and makes my hair heavy. I lock the door quickly, in case anyone catches me.
I'm not quiet about shutting the door, to give Frank a small warning. Still, when I slide the pane of glass aside and step into the shower, his back is to me. He's at the far end, face under the shower, turned to the wall. It's the first time I've seen his bare bum, and I can't help but grin.
Before I can lose my nerve - though I've clearly already lost my mind - I wrap my arms around his waist and flatten myself against his back.
He gives a little jolt, and I hear his gasp over the running water. He curls his fingers around my wrists, grip tight. My forearms get soaked, the cloth of my shirt sticking to my skin. I ignore it.
I don't say anything, and neither does he, but his shoulders rise and fall too fast. To calm him, I turn my face into his damp skin, and kiss the spot between his shoulder blades. Once, twice. My nose skims his warm, tattooed flesh, but this doesn't seem to calm him. In fact, his breathing spikes.
"Figured it would be hypocritical for you to be annoyed at me for this." I murmur, to make him laugh.
He does, quietly. He seems to brace himself with a steadying breath, and turns, slowly, in my arms to face me. I don't let go, and he doesn't seem to mind.
"Why... Are you doing this?" He asks, as he brushes my hair back over my shoulders. When his touch grazes my throat, my stomach tightens.
It's hard to look at his face. His cheeks are flushed crimson, his hair spiked in odd places, slicked flat in others. Droplets glisten on his skin, and his eyes are bright and intense.
I raise an eyebrow. "I can leave, if you prefer."
"No," he shakes his head quickly, and wraps his hands around the top of my arms. "No, this is fine."
My fingers trail over his lower back, and when he shudders in response, I cannot help myself. I tilt my head and brush past his jaw, and press my mouth against his throat. His fingers tighten on my arms. They tighten again when I dig my hand into his hair and pull.
He groans, and it's a very distracting sound, and I'm not sure if it's a case of him stumbling or me shoving, but he smacks into the tiled wall anyway. I brace him there with a hand around his jaw, and I make an effort not to press my palm into his windpipe.
My tongue and teeth and lips are on his flesh, and I worry - too late - that I'm leaving marks. I yank myself away, breathless, resting my forehead against his cheek. My hands are braced beside his head against the cold tiles.
"That's okay," he murmurs, and strokes his hands down my back. "It's okay, darlin'. We don't... You don't have to."
My chest aches, because he's giving me an out. I can leave and he won't be annoyed.
My hands drift down to his chest, rest there lightly.
"I'm..." I shake my head, pushing back the damp mess of my hair. "I'm not ready for everything." I mutter, "But..." I reach between us, wrap my hand tight around him. Frank stutters, and stumbles, before he catches himself. "I'm ready for some things."
I stroke him, wondering if I'm doing it properly. I don't have much experience with this... Specifically. If his open mouth and closed eyes are anything to go by, I'm not awful.
"Is that okay?" I ask, voice hushed.
He reaches for me blindly, one hand wrapping around the back of my neck, the other clamping on my left elbow. His breathing is harsh, his face even more colourful.
"I can't tell you..." He breathes, nose bumping mine, "How okay that is."
I chuckle, and kiss his cheekbone, and dip my head to kiss lower. I kiss his throat and then his collarbone, and then his chest. He tries to follow, mouth seeking mine, but that's one of the things I'm not ready for. So I dig my fingers into his jaw again and pin his head back against the wall. He doesn't fight the hold.
He seems satisfied with this. There's no need to do more. But... I want more.
I pull my mouth off his skin. Stop the motions of my hand, and wait until he opens his eyes to look down at me. I hold his gaze as I sink to my knees.
His reaction makes me laugh. His breathing stutters again, and he jams the heels of his palms into his eyes, and his head smacks back against the wall. Grinning, I trail my mouth over his lower stomach. I bite into his hip, and he moans, and when I drop lower to run my mouth along the skin of his inner thighs, he moans then too.
I take my time. I do it slowly, and carefully, cautiously. I'm not reckless with my movements. I dig my fingers into his skin and suck his skin into my mouth.
Frank doesn't hurry me along. The only sign of his impatience is an occasional thrust of his hips, but that's easily ignored. The little grunts and gasps he emits spur me on. His clenched, shaking fists at his side make me smile, and I decide not to torture him any longer.
When I finally take him in my mouth, his knees buckle.
It's a good job I'm not small, or weak, or slow, because I manage to catch him before he falls. I hook one arm around his knees and one around his hips, and nudge him back up onto his feet. He braces himself on my shoulders, gasping.
I swallow him again, and he groans, and one of his hands knot in my hair.
His hips thrust up as my mouth drops down. When he hits the back of my throat, I fight the urge to gag. I cannot take him entirely in my mouth, so I use my hand too.
When he finishes, he has to use his hands to smother the noises he makes. I take this as a compliment. He shudders and shakes, and if he didn't have the wall at his back, I think he'd fall.
I spit into the drain and let the warm shower water fill my mouth, and I spit that too.
When I stand, Frank's eyes are still closed. He's still panting, his chest and neck flushed with red, and I think the damp on his skin is mostly sweat now.
I kiss his neck, then his jaw, then his cheek.
"You good?" I murmur, pushing snarled, black hair off his forehead.
"I'm ruined," he mutters back, and I chuckle.
"You'll be fine," I give his naked thigh a light smack, and after I wring the water from my hair, I step out of the shower. Check the hallway for watching eyes, which it's empty of, and steal back to my room.
I strip my soaking clothes, and dress again slowly, feeling smug all the while.
***
A knock on my door, and I call him in quietly.
It's dark, and the house quiet. Everyone has gone to bed, but I expected Frank later than this.
"Hey," he murmurs, rubbing at his bare forearms. "No Pandora?"
"She's in with Natalie," I reply, only just glancing up. I'm curled in my armchair, still reading. "Said I was tired."
He hums, and I sense rather than see him move across the room.
A couple more paragraphs on the myth of the Greek hero Atalanta, and -
The book disappears from my lap, the pages sweeping from between my fingers, and there is a thump as it hits the floor.
I try to look up, but the blanket obscures my vision as he yanks it up and away from my legs.
"Frank!" I hiss, but he's already bent to scoop his arms under my hips, and then the world tilts as he hoists me onto his shoulder. I smack at his back, and though he huffs under the blows, he still flicks the lamp off and drops me onto my mattress.
I move to stand again, but he's already bundling me under the quilt, encasing me in his arms. Laughing at me as I struggle, but I'm barely trying.
"You know," I'm breathless, indignant, "You're kind of bossy."
"So I've been told," he chuckles, and his nose skims my cheekbone. I feel his lips on my skin, and my chest tightens. "You were tired."
I snort, "Sure, this is for my benefit." I tuck my hands against his chest, plucking at his collar.
His fingers slide under my shirt, trailing cold at the base of my spine. "This is okay?" His voice is gentle, cautious. He means all of it - touching me casually, being in bed, picking me up like that.
I fight a shiver, and my voice is rough. "Fine. Good."
He chuckles, and presses his lips against my cheek, then my jaw. "Good. Tell me if... When it's too much."
I turn into his next kiss, but don't offer my mouth. "Thank you for being patient."
"Don't thank me for that," he murmurs, "It's the least you can ask of the person-" he stops, clears his throat.
"The person you love?" I say, and it's a mutter. He's an outline in the dark, but even so I can't look into his eyes.
He chuckles, "I was going to say person that loves you, but I like yours better."
I laugh, and the tension leaks out of me. I shift in his arms, my knees knocking against his, burrowing into my pillow. Once I've stopped wriggling, he settles around me.
"Everyone was weird tonight," I say, and I'm not sure why.
His chest swells as he sighs, "They were just being gentle with you."
"Dunno why," I roll my eyes.
"Don't roll your eyes," he tweaks my chin.
"I didn't!" He can't see my eyes in the dark, I'm sure of it.
"Liar." He snorts, "They'll forget to be nice the next time you're an asshole."
I think to argue, but it's more than fair.
"Let them fuss." He squeezes me, "They all thought we were dead. They've treated me like a baby as well; they're just relieved that we're home and mostly safe."
I frown, "You don't think they'll see me differently?"
He muses on this, considering. "Maybe it's a good thing to know you're not indestructible. It might stop them asking too much of you," he's directing the words at the whole group, but I know he means Alissa, "No one will think less of you."
Now that he's said it, I know this was the worry prickling at the back of my brain. That they would think me weak, or damaged in some way. Think me incapable.
It's... Nice to be comforted.
Humming, I tuck my head under his chin and press my face against his chest. He kisses my forehead, squeezes me again. I drift off, and I sleep soundly.
I wake because he jostles me, and the world is still dark and cold. There is a gasp, and a wrench, and I blink into the gloom.
"Frank?" My hands brush his back, slide up to the nape of his neck. He's sticky with sweat.
He mutters, and twists.
"Frank!" I hiss, and shake his shoulder.
Something of his hits me in the stomach, not enough to hurt, but enough to make me grunt. He exclaims in the next moment and spins towards me, and there is just enough light in the room that I can see his eyes glisten.
"Nevaeh?" He chokes.
"Hey, it's okay," I murmur, and my palms slide against his cheeks.
"Did I hurt you?" He whispers, and he's shaking.
"Don't be ridiculous," I snort, and pull him closer. His hands scrabble at my waist, fingers bunching in my shirt. His head hits my shoulder, and his panted breath is hot on my skin.
"I'm sorry," he says anyway, and I can hear the tears in his throat.
I hush him gently, and paw at the mattress until I find the discarded quilt.
"Turn around for me," I coax. "You're okay."
I pull the quilt up around us and settle against his back, tucking my knees against the backs of his thighs. I wrap one arm around his chest, tuck the other under his head. His breathing rattles, and he shakes in my arms for a while.
Eventually, his breathing evens and his limbs settle, and I press my head into his pillow and my face against the nape of his neck. I'm not sure if he sleeps, but I do.
I wake in the exact same position, curled against his back. I try to stretch, but my knees hit soft limbs and one arm is trapped, and hair tickles my nose.
"Morning," he murmurs.
My eyes crank open. I groan, and he chuckles.
"Is it early?" I ask, my nose bumping his skull.
"Just," he says, "Everyone will be getting up soon."
I hum, and untangle myself, flopping onto my back and scrubbing at my eyes.
"Sorry about last night," his voice is hesitant - embarrassed. "It was a nightmare."
"I figured," I shrug, and pull the quilt back up to my chin to fend off the prickly cold morning. I feel stiff and groggy, and my mouth feels full of cotton. Despite the interruption, my sleep was deep and dreamless.
When I glance sideways at Frank, I find him on his back too. Hands on his stomach. Eyebrows scrunched. Lips pursed. Unhappy.
"You didn't hurt me," I assure him, turning. "No big deal."
"It was just vivid, that's all." He shakes his head, waving a hand. "Sorry I lashed out."
"You couldn't help it. I won't grab you next time." I rest my hand on his chest, and his fingers thread between mine. He's still staring at the ceiling. "What... Was it about?"
His eyes squeeze shut, and his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows unsteadily. "I... Couldn't get to you in time."
My heart aches, and the dread in his voice is enough to shake the dregs of sleep out of my brain.
"Just a dream," I lean in and kiss his shoulder.
He huffs a laugh empty of humour. "No, it wasn't. That's what happened, isn't it? They grabbed you and I couldn't do anything about it."
I sigh, "Yes, I suppose that's what happened." He laughs again, bitterly. "But there were four of them, Frank. If I'd been alone, they'd have all been focussed on me. I wouldn't have had the opportunity to get away. You being there was a distraction."
"You're just trying to make me feel better." He scoffs.
"Well, obviously." I chuckle, and kiss his shoulder again. "All the same, I couldn't have done it alone."
He sighs, and turns to look at me, and the guilt seems to have loosened it's hold on him, if only a little. He smiles suddenly, and tweaks my nose.
"I've never been the little spoon." He arches an eyebrow.
I grin, "How was it?"
"Very comfortable." He laughs, and shifts to kiss my forehead. He lingers there for a moment, and his hand slides against my waist, and... I wonder if he wants to kiss me properly. I wonder if he wants to do more than that.
My stomach twists, and I shift back, palm against his cheek. He leans away too, and smiles in a way that says it's okay, he's still patient. He pushes the hair back from my cheek, and I shudder when his knuckles scrape against my throat.
His face grows thoughtful, "You don't... Have nightmares?"
I shrug, "Not when you're with me."
He rolls his eyes, "Lame."
I smack him.
***
Spring, 2009
Everyone is gentle with me for the next couple of days. I don't ask them to be, nor do I feel my behaviour warrants any sort of sympathy. I don't slink around like a kicked dog, or flinch at loud noises, but they treat me like glass regardless.
Ray cooks my favourite meals. Mikey invites me to play board games. Natalie and Gerard hover. Alissa plaits my hair.
I appreciate their efforts. Frank is better at shrugging off their attention. I get caught up in their niceness, too awkward to tell them it's not necessary.
"You wanna watch a movie?" Gerard asks me one morning. I've just done a workout with Ray and showered. He's halfway in my door, blue hair curling past his ears.
My eyebrows flick upwards. "Are you asking because you feel guilty?"
He looks down at his bare toes, "No. But I'll let you pick?"
I chuckle, and agree, because I've got nothing better to do.
Instead of leaving, he wiggles into my room and takes a seat in my armchair. He keeps his eyes - carefully - on the window as I change. It's raining, but it's getting warmer. I'd assume we're in early February, edging towards spring. I'm hoping to avoid ice, because it'll make my time in the outside world a lot harder.
Wrapping myself up in wool pyjama bottoms and a hoodie, I drag a brush through my hair while searching for some thick socks.
"Isn't that Frank's?"
I glance down. My hoodie has Frankenstein blazoned across the chest, so it could only belong to one person. "Is it?" My voice is too high.
"He gave you it?" Gerard asks, and his eyebrows are raised high.
"I probably stole it," I shrug, "All our washing ends up together."
"As if that thing gets washed," He snorts. He's picking at a red spot on his jaw, eyes thoughtful. I ignore him, hunting through my underwear drawer. "You two seem to be getting on better."
It's a loaded observation, one that is posed like a question and a statement.
"Did you try those protein shakes I got you?" I demand, flopping onto the floor, socks in hand and ready to pull them on. "They'll help your calorie count-"
He waves my words away, "You're the least subtle person I've ever fucking met, Nevaeh. Are you and Frank okay now?"
"We're..." I struggle and stumble, "We're fine. We've decided to stop arguing, for the house."
He purses his lips and narrows his eyes, "Are you sleeping together again?"
I spin away, stooping over my mattress to collect my brush. I keep my face angled away from him and my voice steady as I lie; "No. Too complicated, as you agreed."
I'm not sure why I can't tell Gerard the truth. I'm not sure why I can't kiss Frank. There's so many ridiculous things that I'm afraid of, and it frustrates me that I can't just... Get over them.
Maybe it's because the last person I wanted to kiss ended up dead. Maybe it's because the last people I loved are dead too. I want to fall in love, with my whole heart and soul and body... But there are so many ways to die. There's so many ways for me to lose him, and for him to lose me.
Gerard sighs, and I watch him tap his fingers against his knee out of the corner of my eye. He must decide it's not worth further interrogation.
A knock on the door, and I call an invitation.
"Hey, love, do you want-" Frank's voice makes my heart lurch, and I turn so fast I might as well have had a cattle prod tapped against my ass.
He's half-smiling, but his smile drops as we both look at Gerard.
Who is currently lounging in my armchair, looking smug and vaguely amused. Eyebrows up, head tilted imploringly. It's the sort of look I'd expect from Sherlock Holmes after figuring out a puzzle.
"Sorry to interrupt," Gerard says coyly, and waves a lazy hand. "Do continue."
Frank looks at me, and I hope I don't have the same choked look that he's wearing.
"Did either of you want lunch?" He asks, and his voice is only a little strangled.
"What were you making her?" Gerard smiles slowly.
Frank fumbles, "I'm making sandwiches. Ray already said he wanted some, so I was just checking." He shrugs, and it's a decent save.
"With everyone, naturally." Gerard nods, but his tone is disbelieving.
"I'll have some." I say quickly, "We were just about to watch a film."
"Great," Frank nods and turns to leave, "I'll get some snacks."
I lurch after him, not wanting to be left alone with Gerard and his perceptive gaze, with his pointed questions that squeeze too many reactions out of me.
Frank heads for the kitchen and I veer towards the living room. It's empty, and I rifle through the piles of DVDs under the TV, focusing entirely on my task as Gerard comes in and sits down, too quiet.
"Horror, action or comedy?" I ask, hands full of plastic cases.
"You decide." He encourages, but I don't look at his face. It sounds like he's trying not to laugh.
Frank comes in, laden with plates and packets. Our eyes meet, and his grin is amused but worried. Maybe he's watching for my reaction, waiting for me to back off, to say this is too much, that we can't try and be together.
But I don't want that, no matter how panicky Gerard's attention is making me feel. I'm embarrassed, and flustered, and not ready to announce anything to anyone, but... I don't want to stop anything with Frank.
"Okay," I announce, and my voice is steadier and the flush is gone from my face. "War of the Worlds, or V for Vendetta?"
"I've not seen War of the Worlds," Frank settles next to Gerard, handing him a plate. Gerard shrugs his indifference.
I decide on that, sliding it into the DVD player and clicking through the ads. When I stand, there is a new conundrum, and Gerard is watching expectantly.
The only space left on the couch is beside Frank, or there's two armchairs. Would it be telling to settle beside him? Would it be weird to sit alone in an armchair?
"Get out of the way then, moron." Frank frowns, "You're blocking the view."
I narrow my eyes, "I am the view."
They both laugh, and I scrabble into the space next to Frank without thinking, settling back into the pillows. He hands me my lunch, and the snacks he's gathered for the rest of the film. He gives me a sideways smile and a quick wink, and my stomach settles into calm.
Gerard isn't rude enough to keep an eye on the two of us in the days that follow, but I certainly catch him looking often. It feels like there's a spotlight on me every time Frank and I are in a room together. I know that's not the case, and I know I'm being paranoid.
Maybe if we told everyone, I'd feel better. Announced it casually - we're kind of together, please deal with it. But that would cement it in reality, and reality is a dangerous place.
I like whispering to him in the dark, arms around each other. Warm and safe and nose to nose. Nothing else exists, and there is nothing to worry about.
A hand between my shoulder blades, and I jump.
"Sorry," Frank snorts, "I'm making tea, you want one?"
I'm sat at the kitchen table, staring at words and brittle pages, mind occupied. Gerard is writing opposite me, scribbling more furiously than I was.
"Yes, please." I smile up at him, grateful.
"Gee?" Frank calls, moving to the kettle and the cups he already set out. I didn't hear him come in, despite him being the subject I'm agonising over. Have been agonising over, in the weeks since we holed up in that bank.
"Sure," Gerard replies, not looking up.
"How's the album coming?" I tap at his knuckles with my pen.
"Reluctantly," he grunts, and doesn't say any more.
Alissa comes into the kitchen, hair in pigtails and smeared in paint - new hobby. She bangs the cupboards and the drawers, loudly making her own lunch.
"Who are those for?" Liss asks, and she's talking to Frank. I don't turn, and quietly hope that she's not looking for an argument. Frank is usually happy to oblige her.
"Those two nerds," he says, fondly. Meaning Gerard and I.
"Don't they have legs of their own?" She snorts, rattling cutlery.
"If I don't feed them, they'll sit there until Ray kicks them out for dinner." He explains.
She hums, "You'll make a good boyfriend one day. We'll have to ask Nevaeh to bring someone home for you."
My shoulders square, and my spine straightens, and Gerard's eyes flick up for the first time in hours. His gaze goes over my head to watch the interaction. I don't turn; stubbornness won't allow it.
Frank takes a moment to answer. "There's no one out there for me."
Gerard's gaze flicks to me, and I hastily look down at my work. Chew my lip like I'm thinking through a problem and not tuned, completely, into their conversation.
"Don't be so negative," Liss reprimands, "We'll find other women eventually. Who knows, maybe one of us will take you."
Gerard's mouth drops open. He snaps his jaw closed with a clack, and he quickly yanks his head back down towards his own paper. That must mean-
A cup of tea slides onto Gerard's side of the table, a plate of biscuits accompanying it.
"Maybe," Frank laughs, and a cup appears by my own elbow. I go to lift my head, to thank him, but my words race away from me as his hand slides into my hair. His flesh finds the nape of my neck, and his fingers squeeze. "Hopefully." He murmurs, and squeezes again.
My stomach tightens, and my heart lurches.
When he pulls his hand away, my neck feels too cold. My scalp feels too tight, my flesh prickling where he touched me. He leaves without another word, and Alissa collects her food and leaves soon after.
Gerard isn't looking up and there are no probing questions, so he didn't catch Frank's last word.
We sip at our tea, and we dunk the biscuits, but we don't break the silence. The atmosphere is tense, too tense to talk through. I feel like a rubber band, pulled too taut and poised to snap. Gerard feels more like a swollen balloon, too full of questions and assumptions, ready to burst.
"Nevaeh-" he says it on a breathless exhale, losing the battle with himself. He's bright-eyed, excited, fighting a smile. He sees too much.
"I'm finished here," I say it in a rush, too loudly. I'm already on my feet, slamming books closed and crushing papers inside them. "I'm tired, think I'm going to go lay down."
He stares at me, mouth half open. He looks guilty, eyes wide and immediately regretful.
"Okay," he backs off, raising his hands in surrender. He's nodding. "Here if you need to talk, honey."
"I know that," I offer a wounded smile. I know he means well, and it's not him - it's me. It's my own fear. "I know that," I insist, earnest. "And I'm grateful for you, Gerard. I'll talk... When I'm ready."
His shoulders drop, and he blows out a breath, and he's relieved that we're okay. That he hasn't chased me away.
I leave my work on the table and flee.
But my feet don't carry me to my own room, and it's not my door I push open and close behind me.
He's sat on his floor, back to me. Angled towards his window, which is open an inch to let in the cool winter air. He's hunched over an acoustic guitar, plucking lightly at the strings. He's wearing the same thick green jumper he wore to Stonehenge.
The truth is... He would make a good boyfriend. That word isn't a good title - it's not big enough for what I feel for him. He is a good man, and he's kind and intelligent and beautiful. He has mended my body without looking for thanks, and he's healed my heart without asking for it as payment.
But that's what he deserves; he deserves my whole heart.
I don't want to whisper to him in the dark. I want to love him every minute of the day. And it's scary, and it's a risk, but... He's worth it.
"You just going to stand there, Dailey?" he asks without turning, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
I flick the lock on his door closed, and the click is loud enough for him to hear.
"Well, I've got a nice view." I murmur, and he snorts.
I inch closer, and see a spread of papers in front of him, scattered on the floor. He looks up at me as I pause to look down at it all, lingering by his side. His hand leaves his guitar, slides down the back of my calf. The backs of my knees tingle.
"I'm not interrupting?" I ask, having second thoughts.
"More than happy for you to do so," he grins. The column of his throat is exposed, the angle of his jaw a sharp line, tilted up to look at me.
"I don't want to distract you-" I try again, but my hand is already on his shoulder, thumb on the exposed skin of his collarbone.
He swallows, "That's an impractical wish," he raises a dark eyebrow, "You're a walking distraction."
He says it like a compliment, and I take it as one, but it's hard to believe I'm enough to make someone's concentration wander.
I think of asking, and I think of checking with him, but my hands are too eager, my heart singing, beating wildly, desperately -
I'm careful not to step on the papers in front of him, but I bend at the knees and lift the guitar out of his arms. I expect him to resist, but he lets it go without a fight, watching silently as I set it carefully in the empty stand nearby. I return to him, and his fingers brush my bare ankles, and before I can talk myself out of it I put my hands on his shoulders and lower myself into his lap.
He gasps, and braces my hips, but does nothing more than blink as my knees settle on the floor either side of his thighs. We're chest to chest, and I'm poised just above him. He has to lift his chin to look into my eyes.
My stomach is in a flurry, and my heart is beating too hard, and my whole body feels jittery and shaky and alive. My hands are in his hair, on his cheek. I'm breathless, and so is he.
"Hope you don't mind," I mutter, glancing at his guitar.
"It's a fair substitute," he murmurs, and his hands flex on my hips, bunching in my shirt.
I laugh, and without any hesitation, or agony, or discussion, I lower my mouth to his.
He groans, and his hands brace on my lower back, yanking me in, and my arms tighten around his neck, and I kiss him like I'm drowning.
I've kissed people before, and they've been mostly nice experiences. But it's always felt... Lacklustre. You read about kissing, and how explosive it feels, and then it happens, and it's just flesh on flesh, and it's awkward or wet or you feel their teeth a lot more than the love stories said you would.
But I press my mouth to his, and I get it. I feel like I've been set on fire. I feel like my blood has been emptied out and electricity has been poured into my veins instead. Every inch of me aches, and burns, but it is delicious.
He's breathless, and I feel his heart slamming against my chest, and his fingers dig into my spine, but he's... Motionless, aside from that. Still as stone. I'm liquid in his arms, clutching at him, but I might as well be holding onto a statue made of marble.
I pull back, cover my mouth with my hand, struggling for breath. Worried, that he doesn't feel what I feel.
His expression is guarded, but... His eyes are bright and awed. His mouth half-open, his chest pumping just as hard as mine. I tilt my head. Narrow my eyes.
"You're holding back," I accuse.
He swallows, shakes his head. Bites his lip. "I'm..." His voice is carefully controlled. "I'm trying not to frighten you."
I splutter, "The fuck are you talking about?"
He smiles, but his face quickly falls into a frown. He's not moving, held still and tight. "You're... Not ready for everything." He says slowly, cautiously. "And that's okay. I'm happy and satisfied with whatever you can give me. Whether that's... Holding you at night or kissing me in the afternoon. But that doesn't mean..." He clears his throat, won't meet my eyes, "My body doesn't, occasionally, want more." He shifts his hips for emphasis, and I stifle a gasp, "And I'm afraid that you're going to see how... Desperately I want you, or how fiercely I love you... And you'll be frightened, and this will all stop. So, for now, it's best I just hold very still in moments like these."
My heart squeezes, and hollers, and demands vengeance for the agony in his face. For the uncertainty in those golden eyes.
I slide my palms against his cheeks. Hold onto him tightly. Flatten myself against him, until there's not one inch of space between us.
"I want you," I tell him, and I feel nothing but joy. "I want all of you, and I'm not frightened of what you feel for me."
"Because you feel the same way?" He checks, smiling.
I roll my eyes, "Lame."
He growls, and yanks my mouth down onto his, and I'm breathless all over again.