There was a frustrated huff, and then a whuff, and a furry body hurried after me, pressing against my side so hard I stumbled and almost fell. I grabbed automatically for his fur to steady myself and ended up sitting down hard on the grass.
He was in my face then, making a sound like a puppy's whimper, licking my face, wagging his tail tight and low. Every inch of him was an apology. And he was tasting my tears.
"Don't." I pressed my face against my palms, hunching over, trying to hide. "Stop it."
He crawled onto my lap, turning around so he was pressed closer to me. Muzzle aimed up, he licked very lightly at the bottom of my chin, his tongue barely touching. All the time, that apologetic whine kept going.
It hurt too much. I didn't want to think about it. But he was sorry; he radiated sorriness from every pore. I let my hands go down and buried my fingers deep in his fur and held on. It was better when he was a wolf and I wasn't. It didn't hurt so much.
He was still making that crying sound, trying to lick me very lightly, with restraint, and not quite managing it. I put my arms around him and lay my head down against his fur.
Fucking idiot. Stop hurting me!
His soft wolf pleas didn't stop, and he kept giving me light, wet wolf kisses.
I wished I wasn't alive, that I didn't have to feel this way, hurt and wounded and confused and useless inside, like it would've been better if I'd never been born.
I was a shitty human and a shitty wolf.
Why did I have to be either? Why did I have to exist at all?
#
We didn't look at or speak to one another. We went back to the house, and I washed up and changed my clothes. I wasn'tthatdirty from the grass, but I felt filthy. I wanted to take a shower, too, but I decided to wait. I headed straight out to work on his brother Aaron's truck. It was a pathetic old thing, definitely in need of some work. I threw myself into it as best I could with the tools at hand. I had to do something, or I would go insane.
It still hurt; it still hurt a lot. Russ wasn't supposed to cross those invisible boundaries. His kiss had hurt; it had thrown me off-balance and stripped away the illusion of trust that had been slowly growing between us. Really, I had been a fool to ever trust him at all. Hadn't he proved time and time again that he'd find the best way he could to hurt me?
I wrenched at a rusty nut, grimacing, trying to push the hurt out of my heart. It didn't work. He had an unshakeable ability to zone in on what would wound. Mostly, that had been telling me that I was an idiot for liking Sahil so much (I knew that), and now he'd gone one step beyond. He'd kissed me. It was on the neck, while we were "wrestling," but it had made me feel violated and scared, and so deeply hurt.
He wasn't supposed to be like that. He wasn't supposed to ever cross those sexual boundaries, that no man's land that stretched long between us and always would. What had he been thinking? Sweat began to drip into my eyes, and it burned like tears. Or was it tears? I didn't have any left in me, surely.
"Charlie?" asked a familiar, chastened voice.
"Go away."
He stepped quietly nearer. "Charlie, I'm sorry about this afternoon. I'm sorry."
"You said that already. Go away."
He stopped. "Am I really that disgusting?" He sounded pathetic and sad.
I snorted. "You kissed my neck without permission. You wereholding me down, dickhead. You're not supposed to be like that. You were never supposed to."
"No. I'm supposed to be your friend. I'm supposed to watch you waste your life mooning over that man while...while you won't even look at me. Iamsorry. I did it wrong, and I wasn't planning to. I got carried away, and it was stupid and hurtful. I never mean to hurt you, but somehow I always do."
"So, maybe this isn't a good idea," I said crisply.
"This?"
"This. The visit. Working together. Trying to be 'friends.' All of it."
"You're leaving me?"
"I was never 'with' you in any sense of the word. I'm not your pal. I'm not your boyfriend. I don't want to be around you at all."
"You won't even look at me when you say stuff like that?" His voice was cracking. Was he hurting? Did the truth hurt? Good.
"What would that change?" I focused on the engine.
