I look back up at his face, which is red and splotchy, his cheeks wet with tears. “Shit, hey, you’re okay.” I pull him against me, and he cries into my bare chest, his hands clutching my biceps like a lifeline.
I want to take away Jeremy’s pain so fucking badly. The way he’s crying reminds me of when Charlie used to have nightmares when she was little, right after our parents were married.
“Shhh, I got you.” I stroke his back like I used to hers, and whisper in his ear. “You’re okay.”
“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” he croaks, his voice muffled.
I shake my head. “You never need to be sorry, Starlight.”
After a minute or two, Jeremy’s body stops shaking, and he peers up at me. Without thinking, I lean forward and drop kisses on his cheeks, tasting salt on my tongue.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not right now,” he whispers, still sniffing.
I stand and pull him up with me. “C’mon.”
He looks confused as I interlace our fingers and pull him to the bathroom. I nod at the closed toilet seat, and he sits, his knee bouncing anxiously. His eyes drop to the bloody spot on his hip, and he flinches.
“Where’re the Band-Aids?” I ask gently.
“Under the sink.”
I grab them and turn on the sink water, allowing it to warm before soaking a washcloth. Then I kneel in front of him. “Give me your hand.”
His brow furrows, so I take his right hand, which is still tipped in dried blood, and do my best to wipe it away. He watches me like he’s hypnotized and tries to fight a smile when I finish and kiss the tip of each finger before releasing him.
“Take off your boxers,” I tell him. He raises an eyebrow, like my motives might be suspect. “This isn’t the time to be a brat, Jeremy,” I admonish, and he concedes, lifting his ass so I can pull them off his legs.
I study the cut on his hip. It doesn’t look deep, and the scratch is still welling with blood, but it’s starting to clot. I dab it with the cloth and then blow on it gently. Jeremy makes a sound in the back of his throat, and his hips give a little jump.
“Sorry,” he murmurs. “I know I’m not supposed to be turned on, but that feels good.”
“I noticed.”
How could I not? His dick is right next to my face.
I drop a light kiss to his scar, and Jeremy’s breath catches.
Despite his disheveled hair and the dark smudges under his eyes, it’s still unreal how beautiful he is. Desire swims in his eyes, but also confusion. Honestly, I’m a little confused too. This softness he brings out in me is strange, but I can’t help it with him, and it’s starting to scare the shit out of me. I’m not an emotional person. I was always so good at shutting it down, buteverything about this man just bleeds me raw. And yet, with him, I feelsafe.Safe to just be.
And I realize I’ve never felt that with anyone.
Does he feel that with me too?
“Can I ask you something?” I run my thumb gently on the inside of his thigh. “It’s personal, so you don’t have to answer.”
He nods hesitantly. “Sure.”
“Why do you cut yourself?”
Something akin to fear flickers in his eyes, but he seems to steel himself with a breath.
“It’s this fucked-up way to deal with my emotions,” he says hesitantly. “When they overwhelm me, it just feels like there’s this pressure building in my body, and I need a release.” He runs his hands through my hair absently, sending tingles through my whole body. “I started doing it after my parents died, and I let it become an outlet.” His voice drops to a soft whisper. “I’ve tried to stop over the years, but sometimes, it’s like if I don’t do it, I’ll die.”
My heart hurts for him. I apply the Band-Aid over his cut and stand. I lift Jeremy with me, gripping him under his thighs. His legs wrap around my waist, his bare chest to mine, our hearts beating in tandem, and he rests his head on my shoulder, his hair tickling my skin.
“Promise that you’ll talk to me before you do it again,” I say, my tone thick with emotion. “I’ll do whatever you need. But don’t hurt yourself.”
