“I don’t mean it to hurt you. It’s what it basically boils down to, isn’t it?” She nods reluctantly. “Where is your sister?”
“She moved. When my dear old stepdad set up the new branch of his church, I’d hoped it would fail, and they’d have to go back east. The opposite happened and, in a way, they chased Bex off.”
“You two are twins, right? Lex and Bex? Who’s older?” I change my questions up, not wanting to upset her more.
“Bex by an entire minute. Rebecca, but she goes by Bex because Bex and Lex together is fun. Plus, Mom wanted us to go by Becky and Ali or some shit—she still calls us that. Well, when she’s not calling us other things.”
“That must have been rough when she left.”
“Yeah. My sister is ridiculously smart. Like a full scholarship to UCLA smart, but she’s also a party and fun-times kind of girl. She got pregnant—it wasn’t the first time—but this time, mom found out about it, called her every name she could think of, and my sister didn’t take it. She packed up, left me some money, and moved. She put the kid up for adoption, got a really excellent job that allows her to travel, and right now, I think she’s still in Europe, doing an ‘architectural tour of the world’, as she calls it.”
“So your mom doesn’t want you to be like your sister because your sister is smart, successful, and has her own life? Looks like you’re failing in that regard because you’re just like her.”
She chuckles, but I can tell she doesn’t believe me. “Mom thought we’d follow her and Ronnie into this whole religious devotion. No drinking, no drugs, no tight clothes, no dancing, and most definitely no boys. Failing there, too.” She smiles, but it’s sad and distant. “But I still go. I still try to make her…happy…proud.”
“I’m coming with you,” I growl possessively in her ear. She giggles, and her arms wrap around my neck as her nose rubs mine. God, the things this woman does to me.
“Unless you mean you’re about to fuck me stupid again, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I mean, I’m going with you to your parent’s. Tonight and every other night. And if she tries anything, I’m going to bend you over that dinner table, hike up your fucking skirt—because that’s what you’re going to wear there—and shove my cock so deep inside you that your mother is going to know exactly who you pray to.”
“She’d die. Ronnie would watch, sick fuck.”
“I’ll just have to knock his ass out.”
“This is exactly why you’re not going with me later. I don’t want to start a war, James. I am going to go, do what I have to, and leave. If you’re there, I can’t control what’s going to happen and I wouldn’t put it past them calling the cops on you.” She takes my face in her hands, her nails lightly scratching at my stubble. “There will be plenty of people around tonight, so they’ll behave. Besides, you’re the one I get on my knees for.”
“You looked so pretty on your knees for me,” my voice cracks as I think back to her how incredible her mouth felt all over me. My hands wander over her soft skin. “Fuck, Alexis. You’re extraordinary. I want you all to myself. I want to never leave this apartment again.”
“You’re a menace.”
“I can’t help it, you bring out this absolutely devious side of me.” Shit, I’m already getting hard again just thinking about all the ways I want to make her mine. “You…you remind me how to be happy and your strength gives me hope.”
“Strength? Yeah, I don’t have any of that.”
“You do. You might not see it, but you do. You haven’t let them win, you haven’t given up your life for what they want from you.”
“Barely, but, uhm, thanks I guess. I tried to warn you that my life is chaos and drama. Even told you I’m not the girl for you.”
I close my eyes with a heavy sigh, but she stops me, putting her fingers over my lips. I love this woman. I’ve fallen madly and hopelessly in love with everything about her. My father used to call it the Artist’s Trap because he knew far too many who fell into it. You meet someone, think they’re your muse, and fall hard within hours of meeting them. Usually it only lasts a few days or weeks and they snap out of it, but sometimes it’s how you find your soulmate. I want to tell her everything, pour my heart out and lay my soul bare for her right here.
Her fingers play against my skin, slipping over my hip to the scars, and suddenly I feel like I can’t breathe. I don’t talk about these to anyone—not therapists, not my best friends, no one. The people who needed an explanation get a story about falling off my bike or car accidents. The weird thing is, I want to tell someone. I just can’t ever get the words out. I owe her since she’s already poured her heart out to me, but I don’t think I can offer her the answers she thinks she wants. Not now, not yet.
“Jamie?”
“I—I—I can’t. I can’t.” She moves her hand around my back and away from the scars, holding me close to her. I take a minute to realize she’s rocking me as she pulls my head to her shoulder.
“It’s okay. You don’t owe me anything.”
“I—I wanted… you told me…shit. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Where’d you grow up?”
I lift my head and look at her like she’s got two extra sets of eyes. “What?”
“I only told you what I could, and I don’t expect you to rip open old wounds just to tell me about your past. Just tell me the simple things, the things that aren’t going to make you freeze up and freak out. I’ll figure out your tells, warning signs, and triggers, and with any luck, learn how to help you through the rough patches.”
It baffles me, because it’s exactly what I just did for her.
