Page 48 of Capacity
“Knight!” I dug my nails into his pectoral muscles and he grunted against the flash of pain. In the next second, his cock twitched deep inside of me then shot silky warm jets that made me quiver.
“Shit, Lumi…” He rasped, holding me in place while every drop of him drained into me. I leaned over, pulling his lips into my mouth one at a time while he rubbed my ass.
“Fuck, I gotta go!” I squeaked as I hopped off my golden boy. “Knight, you’re such a bad influence.” I rushed to the bathroom and washed up then threw on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. My once pristine bun was a mess of black, static-cloaked strands frizzing around my head like a halo and my skin held a well-fucked glow.
I snatched the hair tie from my waves and let them fall down my back while I tried in vain to smooth my hair down and make it behave. No luck.
Knight was washed up and ready to walk out the door with me and I didn’t miss the chance to fuss at him. “Zach probably thinks I won’t show,” I huffed, locking the door behind us.
“Zach will be there.” Before I got in my car, he snagged my hand in his and pulled me close. “I’m sorry for making you late, Lumi.” He kissed my cheek then smoothed my frizzy hair down.
How could I be irritated with him when he looked at me like that with those sapphire flames dancing in his eyes?
My defenses were useless against him.
“You owe me dinner tonight. Your place.” I poked his chest and he kissed the back of my hand.
“Deal.”
…
Zach was sitting in the very back of McDonald’s with his hood pulled all the way down and the white cord from his earbuds snaking down to the phone in his hand. I knew it was him by posture and demeanor alone. He was always so withdrawn and quiet. He sat like he was trying to curl himself into a ball, shrinking as much as possible.
I walked over and placed my hand on his broad shoulder gently. His head jerked up and his eyes went wide and startled. I immediately offered him a smile so he’d calm back down.
“Hey, it’s just me,” I said sitting down.
“Oh…Ms. Foster. Wow, you look different without your scrubs on and…your hair is really long.”
“Thanks,” I laughed a little and rubbed the back of his hand. “Hey, why the hoodie inside?” I quizzed. It shadowed his face and I could barely see him.
He cleared his throat and fidgeted nervously in his seat before pulling it off. Once his face was in the light, I saw scratches on his otherwise undisturbed brown skin and deep purple bruises on his neck. It looked like someone tried to choke the life out of him.
My stomach sank to my shoes.
“Zachary, what the hell happened?” I gasped quietly.
“I got moved into a foster home last week. Me and the guy don’t get along.” He shrugged like it was nothing but I saw the torment in his eyes. I knew what torment looked like. I knew what it felt like.
“Oh, sweetheart,” I sighed.
“I hate it there but the caseworker doesn’t come for another week. All this shit…I mean stuff will be healed by then. He keeps telling me not to reach out to the caseworker or else he’ll do something worse than hit me.” His expression was cold stone. His eyes were distant and glazed over like he was so used to the abuse it didn’t faze him.
My heart broke for him and I suddenly remembered why I liked operating without a functioning heart. I didn’t have to feel everything so deeply. How could I not feel for Zach though? Maybe my heart was never out of commission but just dormant.
“I just wanted to talk to someone because I don’t have any friends at school and I’m an only child so…” He gave a hopeless shrug. I didn’t think my heart could fracture any more but the sadness in his eyes found a home inside the breaks beneath my ribs.
“I’m glad you reached out, Zach. I’m here. Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it. I’m in your corner.”
“There’s nothing to be done,” he said, toying with the earbud cord. “If I complain to the caseworker, I’ll get pulled but not for at least twenty-four hours. That means I have to go back to that house and what if he keeps his promise and does something worse?” I saw a hint of fear in his chocolate eyes.
“No. Nothing is going to happen to you. Let me document your bruises and scratches. I’ll contact your caseworker. I’ll take all the heat.” I crossed my legs under the table and leaned in closer to block out everyone else in the fast-food joint. “I’ll request for you to be removed as an emergency. Your face doesn’t lie. You have visible scratches and bruises. Unless your caseworker wants to get fired or worse, she’ll comply.” Fire churned in my gut thinking about how often foster kids like Zach got the shit end of the stick. I refused to let that happen when I was in a position to help.
“You think it would work?” He quizzed. Hope pushed aside some of the fear and apathy.
“I’m promising you it will.”
“I still have to go back to the group home,” he muttered like it was a trap one way or another.
