Page 33 of Fighting for You
“Please,” she starts, the first tear rolling down her cheek. “I don’t want to be alone.” Her hiccups are back, and I can’t handle the tears. I realize I’d do anything to never see her cry again. I also realize saying no to her might be impossible.
“Yeah… okay…”
A smile lights up her face as she pulls away from me. Her hands shoot down to the bottom of her dress and out of nowhere, she’s pulling it up her body.
I slam a hand over my eyes, giving her some semblance of privacy. “Fucking hell, Margot, what are you doing?” I cry out, trying to contain my shock while internally repeating,‘don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.’
“I just—I need—” She lets out an annoyed and muffled sounding grumble, forcing me to peek through my fingers. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed with her dress stuck over her head and her flawless body on display.
I let out a sigh as I remove my hand from my eyes. The freckles covering her face cascade down her body as well. I don’t know what it is about them, but I’mobsessed. I want to count every individual one, trace them all, see if I can make some kind of picture by connecting the dots. She’s a fucking work of art. The tone of her skin reminds me of honey. Her bra is light blue and matches the lacy scrap of fabric she thinks passes as underwear. But the color against her skin is a mindfuck, only adding to her perfection.
I never thought this would be something I’d have to deal with tonight. “Here, let me help.” With minimal effort, I pull the dress off of her and release her from the self-made sweater prison. She giggles again, falling back on the bed. The makeshift ponytail I put her hair in must be uncomfortable because she reaches back, pulls at the scrunchie, and throws it in my direction.
As it bounces off my head, a laugh falls from my lips at the ridiculousness of the whole situation, which only makes her laugh more. She’s grabbing her stomach, she’s laughing so much. Her boots hit the floor with a thud as she flings them off as well.
I shake my head, huffing out another laugh before I lay her dress over the chair in the corner and head to my dresser to gether a shirt. I pull out the biggest one I can find, hoping it’ll go all the way down to her knees.
As I walk back over, I shove the shoes out of the way and stand in front of her. “Sit up, we gotta put this on you.” She holds out her hand, and I grab it to pull her up into a sitting position. As I slip the shirt over her head, her laughter tapers off. I gently tug her hair out of the T-shirt, my fingers feeling the delicate skin of her neck, and our eyes lock. She pushes up onto her knees and wraps her arms around my neck. “Margot…” I start, but I’m rendered speechless as she stares into my eyes.
She’s pure radiance. I can’t find a single thing wrong with her. She’s completely flawless. I never knew perfection existed until I met her, and I’m constantly terrified I’ll ruin it.
“You’re not as scary as you try to make yourself out to be, but you are scary beautiful,” she says, her heavy-lidded gaze locked on mine. Her eyes intent with the truth—she honestly believes what she said.
I open my mouth to argue, tell her she’s wrong, and the best thing she can do for herself is stay away from me. But before I can, her lips are sealed on mine.
She’s kissing me.
We’re kissing.
And for a moment, I get lost in it. Lost in the softness of her lips, her sweet cherry-lilac scent, the warmth of her torso pressing into me. My hand tangles in her curls as I deepen the kiss, and the tiniest moan escapes her. I—fuck!
Pushing her away gently, she whines and whimpers at the broken connection. “Margot, I—we can’t. Please. Just… lie down, can you do that for me?”
She casts her eyes down, and her lip pushes out in a pout, rejection written all over her, but I know it’s the right call. She nods her head as she slinks back onto the bed. I pull the covers down so she can climb underneath them. Once she’s settled, Ipull the covers back up and lay on top of them. I’m only staying until she’s asleep, then I’ll go into the living room. She’ll be pissed tomorrow if I stay.
Knowing I’d never touch her while she’s drunk but also knowing how tempting it is when she’s throwing herself at me, I put my hands behind my head and stare at the ceiling. It’s got to be close to one in the morning by now, but I left my phone on the dresser, so I can’t be sure.
Not five minutes later, Margot is already asleep. I take a deep breath, not sure how I survived the last hour. Trying to make as little noise as possible, I slide out of bed and grab my phone, knowing I’ll need to send off some texts before I go to sleep. Just as I’m about to walk out of the room, my eyes land on her boots. Moving them to beside the chair where her dress hangs, I turn to leave again. I take one more glance at the woman occupying my bed and my mind. I don’t let myself linger though.
Walking into the kitchen, I grab some ibuprofen and water, intent on leaving it on the bedside for when she wakes up. I know going back into the room is risky, but I push the thought aside.
She’s kicked the covers off, leaving her legs exposed, and the shirt I put her in rides up her stomach. I close my eyes, burning the vision of her almost naked in my bed into my brain, before placing the medicine and water on the table, grabbing my pillow, and quickly leaving again.
How the fuck am I going to explain this tomorrow? She thinks she called Hayes. She had no intention of seeing me tonight, let alone sleeping in my bed.
I throw the pillow on the couch and sit down, bringing my head into my hands. I never saw this coming. Shit, I never sawhercoming. But this situation isn’t one I know how to handle.
I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts, landing on Hayes’s name. I’m about to call him and tell him what’s going on, but then I remember Margot is a grown-ass woman anddoesn’t need me tattling on her. Instead, I start a group chat with Ripley and Thea.
12/13 1:12 a.m.
Me: Next time you invite her out, maybe don’t get her plastered. You’re both assholes.
Delivered
I send it off knowing they won’t see it until morning when they wake up hungover and regretting their decisions from the night before. I lay down on the couch, closing my eyes, and hoping Margot won’t wake up with the same regret.
I’ve never truly felt addiction before. I smoke, sure, but I feel like I could quit if I wanted to. But her? Kissing her? Feeling the way our bodies lined up so perfectly? I can see it becoming my new addiction—and one I won’t ever want to quit.
