Page 89 of Until You Found Me

He squints. “Of course I do. Why?”

Her answer is a kiss that catches him off guard. Desperate and needy, closer and closer until she’s ready to crawl into his lap. “Please, I need- Please, please, please.”

They went from nightmare confessions to…this, in the span of a few seconds, and it has him hesitating. His body responds to her quicker than his brain does. At his core, he always wants her. The slide of his lips moving with hers is as automatic as the squeeze of her hip under his palm and the moan of her name from deep in his throat.

If she needs him, then he’s only too ready to offer whatever he can to quiet her sorrow, but he isn’t prepared for how different she feels tonight. Every time they’ve been together, it’s a gradual dance of give and take. Gentle, soft, safe. This time, she’s trying to find herself through him, and the fierceness in her touch is overwhelming.

When she urges him onto his back and her thighsbracket his hips, it’s quick and disorienting. His cock twitches as all the blood in his body moves south. He slots eagerly up against her as she rolls her hips above him with a practiced effort, hard enough to coax an orgasm through their clothes if she keeps up the pace. The sweep of her tongue into his mouth has a dizzying pressure, her one-handed reach into his boxers skilled and purposeful, and every second of it isnot her.

Not the woman he knows. Not the person he’s slept with before.

She is another being now. A mashup of a previous life mingling with her current one and the past is trying its best to make its way into their bedroom.

He freezes as she grinds down on him, his lips going slack along hers. His own memories of moments like this where he had little choice in what happened next flood in before he can stop them.

He knows Tessa. He trusts her. He tells himself this even as his brain turns into a muddled mess. He’s still hard and throbbing because all he wants in this life is her, but it’s still too much. There’s not a damn thing he can do to fix himself before she notices that he isn’t participating anymore.

She pulls back and tilts her head with a worried furrow of her brow. “From behind instead? How do you want me? Whatever you want, baby. I can make you feel good. I know you’ve had such a hard day at work. Whatever you—”

He doesn’t answer, can’t when he’s preoccupied with watching her journey from confident and certain, to confused.

“I’m sorry. Shit, I’m sorry.” Her hand shakes as she covers her mouth, and she slips off him quickly. “Oh my god. Oh my god. Fuck. I can’t be here right now. I’m gonna take the dog out.”

And then she’s gone, darting from the bed and leaving him aroused and befuddled.

“Wait, take the gun.” He grabs it from under the pillow, meeting her halfway to offer it, knowing that he should be doing more right now, but he hasn’t got a single clue what. “Always take it.”

She only nods, unable to meet his eyes before disappearing out the door and onto the front steps, where he watches her sink down to sit from the window.

Her stare travels off into the woods as if she’d like to vanish deep inside them. The thought makes him shiver.

It’s a double-edged sword, all this remembering. He knew that despite her reassurances, she would emerge fractured - not the woman he knows, not the one she used to be. He fears this new Tessa has already begun to push him away.

* * *

They tell Carl Rose’s name before heading to the clinic on Christmas Day and remain on standby for any news while his blood cycles in and out of his body.

He feels guilty for letting her share his burden when she has so much to carry already. Insisted she didn’t have to come, but he’s secretly glad she did. He might have returned to an empty house, as far as he knows. It’s difficult not to jump to conclusions when everything has changed so drastically since last night. Even now, she’s quiet and shut down, hardly says a word unless prompted, and that worries him more than their failed sex ever could.

Tessa hesitates at his bedside after the nurse leaves, gesturingto the empty space beside him. “Can I?”

“Yeah, yeah, come on.”

She kicks off her shoes and climbs in, resting her head on his shoulder, curling her arm up his chest where his heart beats beneath her palm. They often play cards or watch TV during his treatments but today there’s nothing but the sound of the machine and their combined breathing to fill the silence. This closeness eases a few fears, but not all of them. He holds her tighter than he should and commits her weight against him to memory in case one day that’s all he has left.

“I’m so sorry about this morning,” she whispers.

“Don’t be. I’m the one that’s sorry. It’ll be better next time. I won’t fuck up again.”

She lifts her head and finds his eyes, her voice firm. “You did nothing wrong. Nothing. Understand?”

He replies with a nod. He hates that he needs to hear this reassurance when it isn’t her job to offer it. Assuming blame is a habit for him, especially when it comes to sex. He will beg forgiveness all day long as a default reaction to any presumed failure. Despite his progress, some things persist, still deeply rooted despite his efforts to banish them.

“It’s me,” she continues, laying her head down again. “I can’t even explain what I was thinking. It felt out of body, like I wasn’t all there. I couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t. I was back there for a moment and I couldn’t get out.”

“Your brain is working overtime and you’re tired. Yesterday was hard.”

“Every time I blink or breathe, there’s a new memory, and it’s something I wish I didn’t see.”

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