a kiss in the dark
Silas
My eyes are burning by the time I pull under the portico of a hotel off the freeway somewhere in Pennsylvania. Naomi slept most of the way, and then we spent the rest of the drive scanning through the FM radio stations. Naomi, perhaps unsurprisingly, likes country and pop. I…do not. I’ve always gravitated toward the harder stuff—hard rock and heavy metal. But, for her, I pretend to like her choices. And honestly, even though I’d never admit it out loud, I find myself actually enjoying some of it, despite my best efforts to the contrary.
Apparently, there’s a little league tournament in the town I chose to stop in, which means the only room available is a single king, and I’m too wiped out to go any farther. If Naomi has an issue, I’ll just sleep on the floor. Won’t be the first time. She doesn’t question it when I accept the single king room, though, so we’ll see.
We reach our room and dump our bags on the floor. Naomi seems uncertain about what to do next, perching on the edge of the bed, bolt upright. I kick off my shoes, tug my socks off, and peel out of my shirt. I hesitate with my hand on the fly of my trousers, though. Naomi is studiously not looking at me, not watching.
“Hey,” I murmur. “Kick back. Relax.”
“There’s only one bed,” she says, her shoulders hunching up, anxiety written in every line of her body.
“It was all they had.” I sit beside her. “If you’re not comfortable sharing, I’ll take the floor. I’m so beat I could sleep on a boulder.”
“You were just in a fight and then drove several hours. You need to rest.” She swallows hard. “I can’t make you sleep on the floor.”
“So we’ll share.” I twist to face her. “Naomi, listen to me. Nothing will happen but sleep, okay? I promise.”
“I…I’ve never shared a bed with anyone.”
I blink, shocked. “You were married, I thought.”
“I am—I was.” She shrugs. “We didn’t sleep in the same room. He…I had my room and he had his. But it was mainly so he could lock me in at night. The only time I was ever in his room was…” she trails off. Swallows hard. “For…you know. Marital…duties.”
I push off the bed and pace across the room, scrubbing both hands through my hair with an angry snarl. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I turn in place and stare at her from across the room. “Your goddamn husbandlocked you in at night?”
“That’s seriously fucked up,” I say.
“Well…” she rolls one shoulder in a tiny effigy of a shrug. “Yes. My father locked me in at night my whole life,” she says. “It’s all I’ve ever known.”
“Well, it’s not fucking okay, and it’s not fucking normal,” I snap.
I glance at her and realize we never attended to either of our wounds, which were admittedly minor but should still be taken care of. I check the bags Taj provided and find the first aid kit, which I use to clean and bandage both of our injuries.
She does the micro-shrug again, as I tend to her neck. “There are a lot of things that I’m discovering aren’t normal or okay about the way I was raised.”
“Such as everything?”
She smirks at me, with a soft snort. “Pretty much, yes.”
I sit back down beside her, after cleaning my wound and slapping a bandage on it. “I’m sorry for everything you’ve been through, Naomi,” I say. “None of it is okay.”
“I survived,” she whispers, dropping her chin to her chest, lifting both shoulders in a full, true shrug, now.
“You deserve more than just surviving.” I take her hand in mine.
I hear her suck in a sharp breath, noting the subtle tilt of her head as she gazes down at our joined hands.
“Is this okay?” I ask.
She hesitates, and then nods. “Yes. I…I don’t mind it.” She drags her eyes up to mine. “I…I like holding your hand.”
My heart skips a beat as if I’m fourteen again and holding Elaina Slocomb’s hand on the bus during a field trip to Washington D.C.
For a few moments, we just sit there on the edge of the bed, holding hands. I want more. My mind offers up the image of her, naked, damp from the shower. I swallow hard, close my eyes, and push the image away. She doesn’t want that with me.
“What is it, Silas?” Her soft voice washes over me.
