I drape myself around him, whispering, “Shh, I’ve got you. I’m right here.” His whimpers begin to taper off, but the trembling persists. So I keep rubbing his arm, kissing his forehead and hushing him until peace finds him again.
“What’s haunting you, beautiful boy?”
I sigh, dropping my face into the crook of his neck. I’m afraid to leave him and shut off the lights. What if his nightmare returns?Is this how he felt whenever I called? It’s fucking torture. But his pleas and cries didn’t sound imaginary. Whatever plagues his dreams sounds more like a memory.
Which makes it so much worse.
31
Win
Six Years Ago
Grass and dirt crunch under my slides. I should’ve worn sneakers but they squeak on the tile and I hadn’t wanted Mom or Richard to notice me leaving.
The salty breeze cuts through the hoodie I threw on last minute. More layers make it harder for Remy to get to my skin. Normally, I’m desperate for him to explore as much of me as he wants, but the newest bruises Grant and Marcus bestowed on me yesterday are turning a nasty shade of yellow-purple.
I tug the sleeves over my hands. Should I have told Andrea? Maybe. But I don’t believe it’ll save me long-term by dragging her further into this mess. Though, after the most recent encounter, I’m getting desperate. Jessica decided to get creative and decorate my ribs with some cigarette burns while the two football bastards held me down.
They’re sadists and I’m an easy target. Is Andrea’s promise of a protective shield enough to fight off these rabid beasts?
Unlikely.
If anything, it’ll make it worse.
A droplet smacks my nose. This time of year, the storms are less frequent but heavier. Thankfully, the one this evening passed before Remy texted me to head over.
He’s been grounded for two weeks after failing a test, not finishing an essay and missing track practice. They assume he’s slacking to play video games and smoke weed. In reality, he’s barely slept more than three hours a night, can’t focus in class, doesn’t eat and passes out in the backseat of his jeep rather than run in the humid heat.
It’s starting to scare me. At first, I thought I could cheer him up. Distract him. Give him something to smile about. But he’s spiraling and I’m not enough to ground him.
I don’t know how much longer I can keep my worries to myself.
The warm glow of his bedroom window is a lighthouse guiding me home. I jog up to it, rapping my knuckle to the beat of the song he dedicated to us.
The glass slides up, Remy’s head poking out. He hasn’t bothered getting a haircut since I told him I wanted to see what his natural waves look like. It currently sticks up on one side like he’s spent hours lying in bed.
Odds are, he has.
I hoist myself up, ducking my head to fit through the opening. Thanks to a mini growth spurt, I'm now only two inches shorter than him, aka way too fucking tall to be squeezing through his window.
My feet barely hit the carpet before he’s on me, cupping my face and kissing me everywhere.
“I missed you so fucking much,” he murmurs. “I don’t give a shit that it’s only been like five hours.”
Grinning into his lips, I whisper, “Missed you too, baby.”
He takes my mouth greedily, the taste of marijuana and chocolate on his tongue. I chase it, reveling in his sweetness, backing him up by the hips until his thighs hit the bed. A gentle shove and he falls back, our fingers lacing as I crawl over him.
“Wanna smoke?” he asks. I shake my head. I smoked the entire evening after downing a bunch of over-the-counter pain relievers, trying to numb the endless agony.
“I just want you,” I murmur and seal my lips to his. He sighs like I’m a hit, infusing him with relief and euphoria.
Our tongues start a familiar, lazy dance. My hips descend to meet his, rolling languidly. His breathing picks up as I guide his hands overhead, pinning his wrists in my left while my right glides over his chest in search of his nipple. He’s shirtless and I want to taste every exposed inch of golden skin.
He wriggles against me. “Let me touch you,” he begs.
Not tonight, sweetheart.
