Page 17 of Caged
Me: You’ll break the window.
Kieren: That’s the point.
Me: Go away.
Kieren: This rock leaves my hand in two minutes.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Rushing out of my room, I make the hasty decision that letting Kieren inside is less disruptive than him hurling large rocks at my window.
Light chatter seeps under a few bedroom doors as I tiptoe down the hallway. Most of the rooms are silent; nearly everyone is exhausted after four marathon days of rush. It took eons to come to a consensus tonight. Our final list of bids was due by midnight since tomorrow is Bid Day. I told the girls to get some sleep because once formal invites are received and accepted, the real work begins. Yet, here I am, ignoring my own advice and on my way to rip open old wounds.
The first floor of our sorority is empty and quiet – a stark contrast to the state of these rooms twelve hours ago. It’s strange and also a relief. I quietly crack open the heavy front door. Glacial air pummels my face as I stand in the doorway wearing only thin sleep pants and a tee. Kieren wastes no time and steps inside, kicking snow off his shoes.
I put my index finger over my lips, indicating we need to be quiet, and then turn to lead him upstairs. Frozen fingers grip my wrist, and I’m tugged backward. I gasp at the feeling of his brittle, cold clothes against my skin, but when I feel his hot tongue in my mouth, my resolve turns into a puddle like the melted snow at his feet.
Our kisses start to grow hungry, because fuck, it’s been seven months of me wondering if he’s alive or not, of hating him but also wishing he would answer my calls. I’ve missed him like a recovering addict misses heroin, knowing I’m better without him, but wouldn’t one last high feel so good? Touching him,tasting him, needing him like I need air… Goddamn. I burned for this man. I burned for him until there was nothing left.
I couldn’t admit the truth to Gabi – not after what Jace did to her. I made sure the nights I snuck out to see Kieren, Gabi was either out partying with Ele and Viv or with another guy. She had a few hookups since her breakup with Jace, but none were serious. I claimed I was in the library and needed to study or pull an all-nighter. It wasn’t that hard, especially the first semester of our sophomore year when Kieren was still lucid. It wasn’t until the second semester that maintaining my secret relationship with Kieren became impossible. He was out of his mind most nights, and I knew he needed help, but I couldn’t reach him.
My hollow threats were feathers against his cavalry of alcohol and pills. Throw cocaine into the mix, and it was over. We were over. I’ve never been enough for Kieren Hunt. I never have, and I never will.
But fuck, I can’t stop. And I hate that the first thing he did upon returning was come crawling back to me. I hate that he makes me believe I’m the missing piece he needs to feel whole. But what I hate the most is how badly I want to believe it’s true.
I pull back from his kiss and cup his cheeks; his slight stubble feels scratchy under my fingertips. A lump rises in my throat. My chest clenches. If I allow myself to breathe, I’m going to fall apart.
He places his hands on top of mine, pulling one hand away from his cheek so he can plant a kiss on my palm, and perhaps unironically, it’s the palm with the band-aid.
“What is this?” I ask in reference to the gargantuan ring on Kieren’s left pinky finger. My fingertips graze over the ostentatious gold and obsidian ring that’s decorated with cryptic carvings. In a way, it reminds me of the commemorative rings professional football players get after winning the national championship.
“Later,” he whispers against my lips. “Take me upstairs.” It’s not a question, nor does it need to be, because without hesitation, I wrap my fingers around his and bring him with me.
Quietly, he pulls his coat and shoes off as I close and lock my bedroom door. I climb onto the bed and tuck my legs under the comforter. He sees this and takes it as an invitation to undress further. I clench my jaw to stop myself from gaping at his body as he strips down to only his black boxers. Whatever training regime he’s been up to over the last several months has paid off. I take in his defined abdomen and broad tattoo-covered chest and pray he can’t hear how fast my heart beats or see how flushed my skin is with goosebumps.
I hold my breath as he crawls to the top of the bed and tucks himself in beside me. He slides down until he can rest his head on my lap and begins to stroke the top of my thigh. My core heats, and I wonder if the side of his face can feel my temperature change through my paper-thin lounge pants. I run my fingers through his dark brown hair and down the back of his neck, tracing the swirls of his new tattoos. Where to even begin?
“Kieren,” I sigh softly.
“I know,” he says. “I know.”
“Just let me hold you, Monroe. I need to hold you.”
I lean the back of my head on the wall behind me and try to keep it together. Where was this need to hold me seven months ago? I try to stave off my million questions for him, but they’re searing a hole in my heart, and it hurts. It hurts so much that I can’t help myself.
I internally settle on my first question, arguably the most significant missing piece of the puzzle. “Where did you go?”
“A few places,” he responds, gently tracing his hand down my outer thigh and around my backside. I want so badly to rip off these pants and feel his skin against mine. I want to feel that stubble along his cheeks and chin rub my inner thighs raw.
“Did you go to rehab?” I ask.
“No,” he answers, pressing himself forward as he lifts my tee.
I whimper at the feeling of his lips against my stomach. He hooks two fingers behind my waistband, tugging it down as many inches as it will give in my upright, seated position.
“Kieren,” I push, as his broad tongue licks and sucks at the soft skin below my navel. “I haven’t seen you for seven months,” I say, swallowing.
