“You two do realize you’re not alone, right?” Josh smirks.
I watch them through the mirror on the drive back to the house. Trevor’s kissing her neck, her face, her lips. I wish it were my lips running along her soft skin. I want to reach back and pull them apart. I immediately leave the truck when Josh comes to a stop in front of the house before I do something I’ll regret.
“What the fuck is his problem?” I hear Trevor ask.
“Who cares?” Josh replies.
My uncle gave me a key, so I’m able to go inside the house without having to wait on my asshole cousin. I enter my bedroom, slamming the door shut, and pace like a caged lion, feeling agitated and volatile. Maybe I should go pick a fight with Josh. After a few minutes, I hear a light knock.
I’m surprised to find Cin standing there when I open the door.
“What the fuck do you want? I told you what would happen the next time you came in here.”
Her mouth opens to reply, but no words come out. I move until my lips are at her ear, my body brushing against hers. Her hair smells so fucking good, like sweet strawberries. I wonder if that’s how her pussy will taste.
“Is that what you came here for? Are you ready for me to fuck you?” I ask in a low voice.
I don’t want to be her boyfriend—I wouldn’t know how. But I do want to fuck her, and fuck her I will. When I’m done, I’ll give what’s left of her back to her bitch ass boyfriend. I place a kiss just below her earlobe. She moans before stepping back. My first instinct is to grab her, to pull her forward, but before I can, she holds up a little square box. It’s a first aid kit. I hadn’t realized she was holding it at her side.
“I came to clean your cuts,” she replies softly.
“Where’s your boyfriend?”
“He went home.”
I step to the side, allowing her entry before closing the door. Her progress stops when she reaches the middle of the room. Even in her loose-fitting jeans and plain red T-shirt, she’s sexy as fuck. I walk by her to sit on the edge of the bed. She doesn’t move or talk—she simply stands there.
“Well? What are you waiting for?” I ask.
Cin slowly moves towards me, like an animal catcher approaching a rabid dog. She puts the first aid kit on the bed beside me before opening it to take out alcohol pads.
She gasps as I pull her between my spread legs.
“I’m waiting, nurse.”
I keep my hands on her waist. She tears open the little packet to retrieve the alcohol pad then carefully goes over the cuts on my face.
“You’re a cutter,” she states.
“What’s your point?”
“Why do you do it?”
“It helps me to cope.”
“With what happened to your brother?”
I nod. I’ve never opened up to anyone, not even my therapist. I don’t know what makes her special. I barely know her. After she finishes cleaning the cuts on my face, she covers them with ointment.
“Does it help?”
“A little.”
“Have you thought about getting help?”
“The only thing that can help me is a time machine. Why didn’t you tell anyone?” I ask her.
She lifts my right hand from her hip to clean my bruised knuckles then applies ointment before answering.
