Old Wounds: Little Battles Part 21

He rubbed his fingertips in light circles near my ear, and my stomach tightened.

I suddenly felt gentle knuckles along the line of my cheek.

Just like that I was back on my bed in Florida, and I felt like all of the air in my lungs had suddenly left and my whole body was on fire with fear and confusion and helplessness. He wasn't supposed to be in my room. He was supposed to be with my mother.

His voice was dirty in my ear, his breath too hot and sticky.

He didn't keep his hand on my face for long, but moved it to my chest and pressed hard until I was immobilized. His hands were big and his arms were well-muscled. It hadn't mattered what I did, the weight of him kept even my arms and legs from acting on the impulses my brain was shooting at them.

I gasped for breath as I felt like I was going to pa.s.s out from lack of air, and I quickly backed away from Elliott, going over to his books. He must have just read The Pearl by Steinbeck, because it wasn't pushed back as far as the others.

I had to work hard to control my breathing, and I was glad that he hadn't followed me. I already felt like I was suffocating. I didn't think I could handle drowning in his light right now.

I took the green rock from my pocket and squeezed it, enjoying the painful jabs it shot into my hand. At the same time, I pinched the hair at the base of my head and tightened my grip. The heat that radiated from the tinge of pain woke me up a bit.

"I have to work the whole weekend, but maybe we could do something Sunday night or whatever. I mean, I'm still grounded, but Tom would let you come over."

"W-why did you t-take that p-pill?"

I went to the couch, sat down, and curled myself as tightly as possible. "Because I knew that she was going to ask me about s.h.i.+t that I didn't want to talk about."

"A ssssalad isn't en-nough, SSSophie."

I sighed, annoyed. "I know it doesn't seem like it, but I can take care of myself."

I'd been doing it for a while now and I knew that from his perspective, I must've looked like a ma.s.sive screw-up who couldn't manage to feed herself properly, but I'd gotten this far without anyone giving a s.h.i.+t about what or when I ate.

"I kn-know you can, b-b-but I just w-want to help." He came and sat next to me, and even though there was nothing more interesting to look at than him, I turned my face away.

Sometimes it just hurt to look at him.

He was so hopeful that it made me ache. Hadn't the hope been beaten out of him? How was it that he could just keep on going as if the universe hadn't stacked all the cards against him? How could he be shut down so many times but still try?

I didn't know the details of his past, but I knew he was here, living with a man who wasn't his father, with two kids who weren't his siblings. I knew about his stutter and I could only imagine how that had messed with his head when he was younger, hindering his ability to connect with kids his age. I knew his stupid b.i.t.c.h of a mother killed herself in front of him, and I knew despite that, he still loved her like she was an angel.

But that was all I knew.

He didn't talk about his father, but the man looked like an a.s.shole, so I could understand.

Elliott wasn't comfortable talking about his brother either.

But he was so... I didn't know how he could keep going to school every day with the weight he carried around. The weight I felt pulled me down constantly, and the only thing that kept me going most days was the buoy of the constant stream of numbness I got from pot, or whatever else was on the table.

I wasn't quite sure how it happened, but I was leaning into him, resting back against him on his couch. The heat of his body felt good and right. He was always so warming, and not just in a s.e.xual way either, although it was becoming much more difficult for me to keep my hands off of him. The only thing that helped was the fact that he always stopped, as if we'd crossed some line of "too much," when in reality, it was never enough.

"How are your hands?"

"B-better."

"Do they hurt?"

"N-not really."

"Chris hasn't been in school all week. You should kick the s.h.i.+t out of him every Monday to save us from having to see his stupid face."

I s.h.i.+fted and twisted, turning to look directly at him now. He was fine with me taking him in for all of twenty seconds, and then when I didn't say anything, he fidgeted, looking away as he tensed up.

"Why do you do that?"

He shook his head, his lips pursing together as he tried to say something. I a.s.sumed he wanted me to clarify my question.

"Why do you think so badly of yourself?" His eyes widened, but then he looked down at his hands. "I mean, you know that you're better than what you think you are, right?"

It was a stupid question, because obviously he didn't.

I turned so that we were face-to-face, and then got onto my knees to get next to him. I was close enough that my b.r.e.a.s.t.s brushed his shoulder. "You act like you're an ugly guy who was born with a face that no one wants to see, but that's not you."

He turned toward his wall of music as he scratched the back of his neck.

"You're s.e.xy."

Elliott drew in a shaky breath and then it looked as if he was going to get up. If I had to guess, it was to put on some music to calm himself.

I didn't want him to, so I straddled him as had become my custom. As he began to breathe deeper and quicker, he put his hands on my hips and I suddenly realized that because they were injured, he wouldn't be able to control my movements.

His breath was accompanied by a low groan.

That groan was s.e.xy as h.e.l.l and it made everything inside of me vibrate.

As I kissed the line of his jaw, I loved that he hadn't been able to shave, leaving reddish-blond whiskers to tickle my lips and tongue as I ran it along his flesh.

I needed him. I needed him to want me like I wanted him. I needed him to need me this way, so when he used his still-injured hands to push me away, it wounded me as much as it had the first time.

Like always, I pressed myself into him more. "No one will know, Elliott. You don't have to tell anyone." I sucked his earlobe. "Or you can tell everyone, I don't care, just...just..."

"SSSSoph-phie," he gasped.

I bit my lower lip and squeezed my eyes shut. I wanted him, and he kept pulling this s.h.i.+t despite the fact that I could feel how much he wanted me. "Please?" I practically begged.

"SSS-SSS-SSSS..."

I pulled away, getting off of him. "Yeah, I know, 'we can't'."

He reached out and kept me from getting up. I fought against the urge to yank my wrist out of his loose hold. It would have injured him even more. "SSSSophie, p-please don't be mad."

I wasn't mad. I was disappointed. I wanted him and I needed him more than I should have.

I felt a feathery touch on my cheek and instantly I jerked my head away. It took a moment, but I forced my jaw to relax and I kept myself from batting his hand away.

He knew that I didn't like my face touched, and yet he did it anyway.

"Stop," I said quietly, and got up. I went over to his iPod and fiddled with it until music came out. "I'm not mad, Elliott."

I heard him get up, but I didn't look at him. I felt him next to me, but I didn't react. "You ssssseem m-m-mad."

I crossed the room to get away from him very deliberately, because he needed to know that if he was going to reject me like that, I needed at least a few feet of distance in order to redirect the l.u.s.ty thoughts I was having. I glided my fingers along the spines of the books on the lowest shelf. They were his art and music books. "I'll tell you when I'm mad."

"T-tell mme w-what you're thinking r-right now."

"You don't want to know," I said with a sigh.

"I d-do."

Fine. I supposed if he wanted to know, I should tell him. "I want to have s.e.x with you, and I'm trying to be good because you deserve someone who's good, but I can't seem to find the right balance. I want you, but can barely manage to get you to let me stick my tongue in your mouth."

Unfortunately, my bluntness caused him to choke on air and I spun around to see him practically gasping for breath. I couldn't do anything right, and I realized in order to be good for Elliott, I needed to stop being so blunt, because he obviously couldn't handle it.

But it was hard to keep my hands off of him when I was near him. He was over there nearly panicking and I felt like s.h.i.+t because I caused it.

So I went over to him, deciding to touch him the only way he would allow me to without freaking out, gently ma.s.saging his scalp as I softly held his bandaged hand. After a moment, his breathing returned to normal and his heart rate regulated itself to a normal pace. He expelled a breath and I moved away from him, because the closeness was suddenly suffocating.

"I have to go, Elliott."

"D-d-don't." He grabbed for my hand, but I was too quick.

"I have to work in the morning."

"Y-y-you alw-ways lllleave, SSSSophie. D-d-don't llleave."

He had a point, but I wasn't about to concede. "I have to go."

My hand was on the doork.n.o.b and I stopped for a moment, contemplating staying in his room until I absolutely had to leave, but when he came closer, my body and mind reacted. It was time to go. "So, yeah, you can e-mail me or whatever, and maybe we'll do something Sunday."

It was the last thing I said before leaving the room, and Elliott, behind.

My whole body registered that it hurt to be so far away from him, but I couldn't go back now.

"Hey, don't touch that!" I spun around, immediately pulling my hand away from the powered pallet jack. Brody leaned in closer to me. I hadn't realized that he was even in the backroom. "You're not eighteen yet."

His smile was much too smug, and I couldn't help but smile back, my initial fear fading to nothing. "I wasn't going to use it or anything, but that flas.h.i.+ng green light just kept taunting me." I shrugged.

"You're h.e.l.l-bent on doing things you're not supposed to, aren't you?"

I shook my head. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"That thing would eat you alive. I know this guy on third s.h.i.+ft who nearly lost his foot."

I looked at him. There was a sparkle in Brody's eyes that told me he was actually a nice guy, and not just someone who wanted to bend me over the pallet of sugar cookies. I'd liked him from the first moment I met him, but after working with him a little longer, I appreciated having him here. An entire eight-hour s.h.i.+ft probably would have driven me crazy, but he made it fun.

"You're just f.u.c.king with me. I bet I could handle it better than you do."

His smile widened and he took a step back, fiddling with the back-stock product on a cart. "I have no doubt you'd be able to operate that equipment, Sophie." He paused and looked down the other side of the backroom, and then to me. "But you're not eighteen." He s.h.i.+fted, angling himself away. "Want to go throw some milk?"

I could think of a million things that I'd like to do more than fill the dairy case, but I supposed if I had to do it, at least I would have Brody for company.

I kept thinking about Elliott and how he was steadfastly denying me. I glanced at Brody as he used both hands to bring four gallons up to the top rack. He had beautiful arms. I could watch him work all day and would often have to force myself to stop thinking about him and his beautiful arms.

He was so fine. I could totally do him.

His status of bangable hottie aside, he wasn't Elliott, and just as much as I'd been looking at Brody's arms, I'd been thinking about Elliott's hands even more.

I had an e-mail waiting for me after work on Sat.u.r.day and just like always, I felt a shot of excitement. This one made me even more excited than usual, since Elliott and I hadn't e-mailed lately.

Hi, Sophie, How was work? I'm not sure whose turn it is (if we're keeping track), so I thought I would just start.

What do you do all day at work?

If you had to pick one or the other, would you rather be blind or deaf?

If you could win anything, other than the lottery or money, what would it be?

Why didn't you live with your father when you were little?

Why do you always run so far away when we spend time together?

Bonus: We never really set plans for Sunday, if you still want to hang out. When do you work?

Elliott.

Before I could hit reply, a little box popped up.

EDalton123: Hi.

YoSoph: What's up, Elliott? I was just going to reply to your e-mail. How are your hands?

EDalton123: Better. How was work?

YoSoph: Work-like. They changed my s.h.i.+ft for tomorrow because I have to help build some stupid holiday display. It's not even a few days after Halloween and they're already putting up Christmas s.h.i.+t.

EDalton123: Don't you like Christmas?YoSoph: No, do you?

EDalton123: I don't know.

YoSoph: You don't know?

EDalton123: Since they changed your schedule, does that mean we won't get together tomorrow?

YoSoph: Yeah. I work 1 9.