Page 93 of All I Have Left

I can feel the tears coming and I’m so mad right now, but not at Grayson. I want to stop, and we probably should have but he refuses.

“Grayson, if you want stop….” Tears sting my throat and I begin to cry, for him, for me, for us, but he doesn’t stop. Every time I say we should, he shakes his head, trying to fight it through whatever it is happening inside him.

Our eyes meet, and he stares at me, eyes locked, yet I feel so far away from him despite being connected physically.

I touch his cheek. “Stay with me. You’re okay.” But he’s a thousand miles away, his eyes blank and I know I’m too late.

I want to crawl inside him and take cover, knowing his own demons are coming ashore, but he won’t let me.

“We should stop,” I say again.

He shakes his head again; the emotional struggle being played out before me hard to watch. His controlled mask of emotions slips and I can see the vulnerability and panic in his eyes and facial expression. He squeezes his eyes shut as another crack of color bursts through the room. “No,” he growls, resisting, his chest heaving with a breath. I’ve never seen him like this, so violent in pleasure and anger at the same time. “I’m gonna come.”

The room flashes with another burst of light, and then the crack. His rhythm breaks and his heart beats so fast I can feel it thumping against my chest. With his head buried in my shoulder,his thrusts speed, become almost frantic until suddenly every muscle in his body clenches and he stills on top of me. I can feel him pulsing and the way he jerks inside me, but it’s not enough to take away my fear.

I rein in the rush of emotions that flood through me at his reaction. I don’t know what to say, or do, so I wait to see what his reaction will be.

Sighing, he puts his head at my ear, kissing the lobe and whispers, “I’m sorry,” but it comes out strangled and breathless. “I’m so fucking sorry,” he says again, his body practically convulsing above mine. Easing out of me, he rolls to the side, turned away from the windows. Taking the pillow next to him, he covers his face with it, fisting the fabric in his shaking hands. “FUCK!” he screams into it, the veins in his neck bulging, every single muscle in his body tight.

The sound of his scream vibrates through me having never seen him react like this.

The sight of him so vulnerable knocks the wind out of me. I know I should leave the room and make the explosions in the sky stop, but I’m too afraid to leave him. I sit up and a chill runs down my back and it has nothing to do with the air-conditioning. Reaching for the sheet, I cover my chest. “Are you okay? Do you want me to tell them to them to stop?”

He gives no reply, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his entire frame rigid.

I’m learning a few things about these distractions. They’re good. But there’s a reason it’s called a distraction. It’s not permanent. The memories find their way through the cracks at the most inopportune times.

44

GRAYSON

Well, I’m a fucking mess, huh? You probably saw that one coming though, didn’t you? I guess, maybe I did too.

Fuck you, war.

It was the worst night ever. I fucked it all up.

I stare at the ceiling, unable to sleep as the chalky-blue sky turns a pale shade of purple. Rolling over, I watch Evie sound asleep beside me, a sheet pooled around her waist, her bare chest revealed, her nipples puckered in the most beautiful, delicious way. I fight the urge to touch her. She’s so goddamn beautiful. How’d I get so lucky to have her here with me?

She’s filled an ache inside me I can’t shake. A need so deep, it’s blinding. Tightness swirls in my stomach, a familiar stirring in my groin from seeing her tits hanging out. I look down at my erection.

Fuck you, too. You fucked everything up.

Groaning, I roll onto my back again and bend my knee, my hands in my hair. Above me, the ceiling fan swirls at a rapid pace, a flickering of shadows dancing across the walls.

I will still argue that I don’t need those pills, the ones I threw out the other day, but I will admit there is more to those clinicalterms they threw at me in the hospital. Post-traumatic stress syndrome.

Some memories you can’t control no matter how hard you try. No matter how much medication you take, they come crashing back at the least likely times.

I lost my shit last night. Like, completely lost my shit. Mind was all over the fucking place, and wouldn’t let me stop. I’d waited so long to be with her, that I couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to. So I fought through the mental instability, for a moment. It was probably horrible for her, too. And though it was the greatest pleasure I’d experienced in a long fucking time, I was numb and probably didn’t know the difference.

Now I’m here, watching a ceiling fan circle above me and wondering what I’m going to say to her when she wakes up. That I love her. That I’m sorry. That she should run away from me?

Just before the sun rises, Evie wakes up. The sky’s still tinted with lighter colors, the moon peeking out above the tree line. With a sigh, she sits up and looks around the room. I watch her. Her eyes snap to where I’m lying beside her. “You’re awake?”

“My eyes are open. Does that count?”

She smiles. “I think so.”

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