Page 29 of Decked By The Grumpy Golem
IwaketangledinGideon's sheets, his body radiating heat like a furnace beside me, and panic hits me like ice water. The pale morning light filtering through his bedroom window illuminates every detail of the bedroom. Images from last night burst through my mind, his hands on my skin, the way I melted against him, how completely I surrendered to feelings I swore I'd buried forever.
My heart hammers against my ribs as I lie perfectly still, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. In sleep, his face is softer, younger, achingly familiar. The harsh lines of worry and work havesmoothed away, leaving behind traces of the boy I fell in love with all those years ago. One arm falls over his head, partly obscuring his relaxed features while the other massive arm is thrown protectively across my body, as if even unconscious he's trying to keep me close.
The vulnerability of seeing him like this, combined with the memory of how thoroughly he claimed me last night, sends terror racing through my veins like poison.
What have I done?
The rational part of my brain, the part that's kept me safe for a decade, starts cataloging every reason this was a mistake. I'm leaving after New Year's. My life is in New York. My career, my apartment, my carefully constructed independence. Everything that matters is hours away from Saltford Bay. And Gideon… Gideon belongs to Saltford Bay the way granite belongs to mountains. Permanent. Immovable. Eternal.
But it's not just the logistics that have my pulse racing. It's the way he looked at me last night, like I was his entire world. The reverence in his touch, the desperation in his kiss. The way he held me afterward, like he was afraid I might disappear.
If he breaks my heart now, after I've given him everything again, I won't survive it. I’ll never be able to write again.
The thought hits me across the brain, squeezing my chest with an iron grip, stealing my breath. Last night felt like coming home, like finding the missing piece of myself I didn't even know was gone. But what if it was just nostalgia? What if it was just good sex with a familiar face? What if I wake up to another morning of silence, another decade of wondering why I wasn't enough?
I can't do this again. I can't be the girl who waits by the phone, who makes excuses for his silence, who slowly dies inside wondering what she did wrong.
Moving carefully, I slip from the bed like a thief, my bare feet silent on the cold wooden floor. Each piece of clothing I gather from where we scattered them feels like evidence of my stupidity.
My hands shake as I dress, and I have to bite my lip to keep from making noise. The floorboards seem determined to betray me, creaking ominously with every step despite my efforts to stay silent.
Gideon shifts in his sleep, murmuring something that sounds dangerously like my name, and I freeze by the door. For a heartbeat, I'm tempted to crawl back into that warm circle of his arms. To wake him with kisses and pretend that love is enough to bridge the gap between our worlds.
But then I remember the morning after prom, how empty and cold my bed felt when I woke up alone. How I waited weeks for him to return my calls before I finally understood that he wasn't going to. How I came to his home, only to be met with a door that wouldn’t open anymore. How he just vanished from the face of the Earth and left me behind.
How I became a shell of myself. The days crying, the weeks barely speaking to anyone, barely living. How every breath came with a stab of pain. The memory hardens my resolve like ice forming over water.
I won't be that girl again.
The grunts of the old wooden staircase sound like a symphony of gunshots in the morning quiet. I wince at each creak, pausing to listen for sounds of movement from above. The house feels too familiar, too much like coming home, and that's exactly why I need to run.
The kitchen still smells like last night's fire and Martha's herbal tea, scents that wrap around me like a hug I don't deserve. I grab my coat from where I'd draped it over a chair, my movements sharp and efficient.
Outside, the December air cuts through my coat like knives. Snow from last night's storm has piled against the porch railings, pristine and untouched in the pale morning light. My breath forms clouds as I dial my father's number with numb fingers.
"Dad?" I whisper when he picks up, trying to keep my voice from cracking. "Can you come get me? Please? I'm at the Flintman house and I need—I just need you to come."
There's a pause, and I can practically hear him processing the desperation in my voice. But he doesn't ask questions, doesn't demand explanations. He just says, "I'll be there in ten minutes," in that steady, reliable voice that's been my anchor my whole life.
The soft sound of the front door opening behind me makes me spin around. Martha stands there in her robe and slippers, her gray eyes knowing and infinitely sad. She doesn't look surprised to find me fleeing her son's bed at dawn, and somehow that makes everything worse.
"Oh, sweetheart," she says softly, stepping onto the porch despite the cold. "Are you okay?"
Guilt floods through me as I stammer apologies, trying to explain why I can't stay.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Flintman. I can't do this. He'll break me again, and I won't survive it this time."
My voice cracks on the words, and tears I didn't know were falling freeze on my cheeks. Martha steps closer, her expression infinitely gentle.
Instead of anger or disappointment, she takes my hands in her warm ones. The heat from her palms seeps through my frozen fingers, and I have to fight not to collapse against her like a child seeking comfort.
"I understand your fear," she tells me, her voice soft as velvet. "Love is terrifying when you've been hurt before. But running away won't protect your heart, dear. It will only guarantee that it stays broken."
She doesn't try to convince me to stay, doesn't make excuses for Gideon. She just holds my hands and looks at me with the kind of maternal love that justknows.
"He's not the same boy who hurt you," she continues quietly. "And you're not the same girl who got hurt. Maybe it's time to find out who you could be together now."
The wisdom in her words hits its target in my mind, but I'm too scared to listen. Too terrified of hoping again.
