Page 38 of Burn

I push myself up onto my elbow and whisper, “Adrian?”

His eyes remain shut, screwed so tight that lines form at the corners of them. His mouth, however, stays soft and relaxed. It might be the only part of him in that state. The rest of his body is tense. His left hand is clenched into a tight fist. I attempt to reach for him, but the IV tube snags, and a twinge of pain fires up my wrist.

This fucking thing.

When he moans, “No,” I move. I pick at the tape that secures the line until it lifts, and I can gently remove it.

I’ll count to three and pull it out…

One.

Two…

Adrian whimpers, “Stop,” and I rip the IV out with such force that a line of blood droplets sprays across the blankets.

Three.

My wrist throbs, and blood trickles out of the wound. I push the blankets down and lower my feet to the floor. The tile is cold, and my legs groan under my weight. Someone has helpedme to the bathroom up to this point, and this is the first time I’ve stood on my own two feet in nearly a week. My head spins, and the room tilts, so I lean on the bed to catch myself while using my other hand to reach for the heart monitor and flick it off. When I feel steady, I stand straight, reaching under my gown to pull the monitor pads from my chest. Each stings like the snap of a rubber band.

Adrian shifts in the chair, rolling to one side and groaning. The sound is pure terror, and his legs twitch as if he’s running in his sleep. I pull the oxygen tube from my nose; I hadn’t realized how much it pressed into my ears, and relief washes over me. Free from wires and tubes, I slowly walk around the end of the bed, cautiously approaching Adrian.

Don’t be afraid.

I push forward until I’m inches away and can feel the warmth being emitted from his body. I reach out and touch his arm. His skin feels heated from within, and he flinches from my touch. His head jerks wildly, shoulders locking tight; I spot a vein running down his neck that pulsates in a chaotic rhythm. Whatever he’s dreaming of has this man, who always seems in control, coming undone, and I know I need to stop this. I need to pull him back to reality.

When the moaning increases in intensity, I reach out with both hands, placing them on either side of his face, and gently call him back to me.

“Adrian.” My voice, which has been so raspy and broken, suddenly sounds smooth and soft. He doesn’t budge. I plant both of my feet, anchoring myself, and repeat it, louder, stronger, “Adrian.”

His eyes fly open, and he pushes himself back from me. The chair slams into the bed tray, knocking my water into the wall. His eyes are wild — they’re unfocused. He doesn’t see me. Bothhands ball into fists, and he lurches to his feet, moving so fast that I can’t get out of the way before he grabs the front of my gown and cocks his right hand back.

I fucked up.

A strangled, “oh god,” escapes my lips, and I brace for the impact, screwing my eyes closed. It doesn’t come, so I open my eyes, and I know he sees me now. He releases his grasp, and I stumble backward, catching myself on the edge of the bed before doubling over, coughing and gasping for air, my lungs burning. His feet move, stepping away from me, until he stumbles over the chair. I lift my eyes and can see the fear and guilt written in his expression as he pushes past the chair, past the tray table, until his back meets the wall that’s dripping water from the spilled cup.

“Lex,” he gasps, “I’m so… fuck…” He looks at his hands, holding them out in front of him like they’re a weapon, “I should never have come here.”

I’m losing him.

He’s still breathing in broken, serrated gasps, and I watch as his legs give out and he sinks to a crouching position on the floor; elbows braced on his knees, head pressed into his hands. I’ve seen this before. I’ve lived this. Adrian is having a full-blown panic attack. I rush the few steps to him, dropping down in front of him, and covering his hands with mine.

“No,” he says through gritted teeth. “Get away from me.”

I pull back. For a moment, I consider it. I consider running to the call button and hammering it for help. He doesn’t need security to haul him out of here. He doesn’t need nurses and strangers to make this more intense than it already is. So, I take a shaky breath and push myself forward, between his legs, and wrap my arms around his chest.

“Breathe, Adrian,” I soothe. “Focus on what you can feel.” He’s like stone, every muscle in his body locked tight. His heart vibrates in his chest and against my cheek. When he doesn’t push me away, I continue, “Feel my arms around you. Feel the wall against your back. Feel the floor beneath your feet.” With each word, he softens. “Feel the air in your lungs.” His hands drop from his face, and I expect him to sink back, but instead his arms wrap tightly around my body, pulling me in closer. He buries his face into the crook of my neck, and for the first time, takes a long, deep inhale against my skin.

A moment later, he collapses his weight to the floor, his legs spilling out in front of him, and pulls me into his lap so I straddle him. His hand on my back traces slow circles that send electricity through my body, and I lean fully into him, allowing my own heart to slow and calm. I hold on to him tightly, waiting until I feel his grip release, not wanting to be the first to pull away when he so clearly needs the comfort.

I count the thrums of his heart as it returns to a normal pace, and still I hold on. I hold on while his embrace morphs, and his head shifts so his lips can brush the skin of my neck, trailing soft kisses up the column toward my jaw. I hold on while I feel him growing hard beneath me, the ridge of his cock expanding against me creating heat and need. I hold on while my hips start to gyrate, slowly grinding into him until a soft moan escapes me, and my breathing picks up.

I hold on until the door opens, flooding the room with harsh light, and pulling both of our attention away from the bubble we’ve immersed ourselves in, as a new doctor steps into the room, a nurse trailing close behind.God, I don’t want this to end.They both stop short, looking from the bed, the blood, and the discarded wires and tubes, to us, tangled in each other on the floor. The doctor scowls while a mischievous grin spreadsacross the face of the pretty nurse. A low, frustrated growl reverberates through Adrian’s chest, and I laugh, relieved to be free of the haunted, broken man I woke up to.

“Ms. Donnelly,” the doctor says with a thick accent, sounding incredibly displeased by the scene he’s come upon. “Please get back in bed.”

I turn back to Adrian. He wears an expression of cool indifference, and I allow a moment to search his eyes for any sign of the desire he expressed seconds ago, but his eyes are fixed behind me, so I push myself to my feet, leaning on the chair for support. I’m barely off his lap when he stands up, smooths his hands over his pants, and storms for the door, pushing past the doctor and nurse.

The doctor tsks as he approaches me, shaking his head in disbelief, and I fight the urge to apologize for Adrian’s behavior. My heartbeat throbs in my wrist, a dull aching reminder of my hasty decision to carelessly rip the IV from it. I glance down, noting the drying trail of blood that runs the length of my hand and down my pinky finger. The doctor also notices the damage and sighs.

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