The Beginning of Always (25 page)

“Hold this.” She cajoled my fingers to press the towel in place. When she was satisfied that I wouldn’t pull away, she let go and reached over my shoulder to drape a blanket back over my shoulders. Her hair glided over my face, and God help me, I couldn’t help but inhale like an idiot. She smelled amazing. An intoxicating mix of faint floral smells and a clean sweetness that I could never describe in any way.

In her room, we were surrounded by it. In this moment, there was no escaping it.

Crushed apple blossom petals underneath.

My cock twitched and I mentally tamped it down.

I would never be good enough for her.

I could never be with her.

Florence took a step away and her essence went with her. She gifted me a small smile, thanking me for my cooperation.

I did not deserve her kindness.

She stood up and subconsciously wound her hair around one finger and then let it go so it spilled all around her. She had blow-dried and brushed her hair before I got out of the bathroom. She was twisting her hair around her finger when I’d emerged. She’d always had this habit and seeing it now drove my senses crazy.

I wanted to touch her, to dig my fingers into that hair, bury myself in it. Bury myself in her.

As Florence walked away towards the door, my throat opened and words found their way out.

I finally asked, “You’re not going to say anything?”

Florence paused at to the doorway, resting her long, elegant fingers against the wall. She turned to peek at me over her shoulder. Her large eyes puzzled at my question and I watched her as she blinked them in thought. Then she shook her head, her hair gently falling back over her shoulders.

My fingers itched to touch it. To touch her.

“No,” she said with finality. “Kevin is a jerk. I’m sure he deserved it.”

She hesitated. And when she spoke the following words, it was in such a quiet voice I had to strain to hear.

“I’m just happy you’re okay.”

With that fleeting remark, she disappeared around the corner.

The cop stretched his legs out in front of him, and the edge of a knife sheath flashed beneath his pant leg. I stared at the knife handle and its pronounced grip, and only darted my eyes away when he gave a pointed cough.

“The guy you attacked was a pretty well-known drug dealer in town. We’d been trying to find him for months, but he disappeared every time we swung around his neighborhood.”

“Well, lucky for you, now you know where he is,” I answered flatly.

The cop considered me for a second after I answered. He wasn’t mad at my impudence. Instead, he seemed concerned. “True. He’s wanted on pimping charges, not to mention the street bags of crack cocaine and meth we found on his body during the ambulance ride.”

I remained silent. I couldn’t care less about this.

“What I’m saying is he deserved that beating more than anyone, so you got lucky. However, you still assaulted a man. He’s not awake at the moment to press charges, but you better prepare yourself. Who can you call?”

I looked over the cop’s shoulder at the plain cement wall. My arm was starting to hurt again, but damned if I’d tell anyone.

The cop’s voice took on a sharp edge. “Kid, if you don’t call someone, you’re going to have to go to the penitentiary. You need to get a lawyer. You put a man in the hospital. If he dies, you’re going to jail for a long time. No matter who he is.”

I didn’t say anything.

The cop sighed.

“You’re a runaway, out of town. That much is obvious. You don’t look like a street kid. You probably have a family somewhere that misses you a lot; you should really call them. Let them know you’re okay.” The cop paused. “Well, you know, considering you’re in police custody. But still, you’re alright. They should know.”

I finally looked straight at him. I made eye contact. His eyes were blue, an almost pronounced blue underneath the blinding fluorescent light above us. The color unsettled me, but when I answered, my voice was firm. “I don’t have anyone. No one gives a shit.”

The cop stared back at me, unflinching and unblinking. “Are you sure?”

I glanced away.

My jar sat next to her side table. Fireflies died easily. Most only lasted a week, maybe two if they were lucky. The one I had given Florence had long since bitten the dust.

Florence’s footfalls gently padded down the hallway. She entered and slipped back besides me.

She worked with quiet efficiency. She murmured soothing words to me when she pressed peroxide against the wound on my leg. I didn’t flinch.

None of this hurt anymore, at least not in any way that mattered.

“Luckily this isn’t too deep,” she said. More peroxide. More numbing non-pain. “But you should get a tetanus shot, just in case it was a rusty nail.”

As she slathered ointment on my skin and wound gauze around my calf, I said, “You don’t have to do this.”

Florence’s fingers stilled. She was silent for a long time, the gauze slipping just off her fingertips, my calf half-covered.

I couldn’t even look at her, lest she gave me the same wounded expression.

“You’re hurt,” she finally said quietly against my leg. “I want to take care of you. I know you’d do the same.”

Our eyes met.

“You’d take care of me when I’m hurt. I know it,” she whispered.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

From his position at the closed door, Bill’s expression flashed a warning at me. “Watch your language.”

I ignored him. Bill closed the distance and sat down across from me. His metal chair made a screeching noise of protest as he pulled it out.

“They found your school ID in your wallet and called the principal. The school got ahold of me and I’m here to take you home.”

“I have no home.”

Bill shook his head. “Look, I know why you’re here. I’m guessing it didn’t go well, but Sandra and everyone are waiting for you to come home. We were all worried sick.”

Bill paused and then leaned against the table with his forearms. His gaze bored straight into me and after a tense couple seconds, I diverted my eyes downwards to stare at the table.

Bill continued, “Florence hasn’t stopped crying since you left.”

My nerves gave a small leap at the sound of her name, but I shook it aside. “Like I give a shit,” I mumbled towards the steel. I readjusted my arms because the handcuffs suddenly felt incredibly heavy.

Silence fell, and for a hopeful moment, I imagined Bill was at a loss for words.

There was a rustling sound and a loud bang.

Bill had thrown my journal onto the table. It landed with a hollow thud and skidded to rest two feet in front of me.

Rage flared through me.

“Like I said, Florence has been crying for three weeks straight. She’s barely eating, can’t sleep. You better get your ass home before you kill the poor girl.”

A sliver of fear sliced through the anger. An image flashed of Florence curled up in bed, just like the last time her mom was in the hospital. She was so fragile, so weak. I wouldn’t put it past her to waste away and disappear.

I rolled my shoulders back and yanked my wrists back to rest upon my lap. “She’ll get over it. She’s not that bad off,” I mumbled.

Bill sighed. He leaned back and waved a palm in the air. “Forget it. Just forget it. Okay, well, I’m going to tell you how this is going to go. I got you a lawyer and you’re going to cooperate with him. Listen to every damn word he says. Then we’re going to get you out of here and you’re getting on the plane with me, all obedient-like, and we’re going back to St. Haven. You got it? I’m not leaving without you, so just shut up and let’s get this taken care of.”

Bill shoved the chair away from the table with another metallic shriek of protest and walked to the door. His footsteps suddenly stopped, but I didn’t hear the door open.

I glanced up.

Exhaustion and weariness were etched in every wrinkle, but he still threw a sad smile at me.

“I’m glad you’re okay, son. We’re all relieved.”

“I’m glad you came back.”

Florence spoke again as she bandaged my bleeding forehead. Her fingers, her hand, her arm had run over every part of me.

I was already wound up and tense, and still my chest seized up at her words.

Florence’s voice trembled. “I missed you when you were gone.” The gauze quivered in her grasp and she pulled her hands back, pressing them against her chest.

A single tear spilled down her cheek and she quickly ran the back of her hand across it.

“I’m sorry.” She turned away from me and her shoulders began shaking. “I told myself I wouldn’t cry in front of you. I promised myself I’d be strong, but when you disappeared, and now to see you hurt …”

The sound of her tears filled the room, and if possible, her essence enveloped me more completely. I watched her as she pressed her palms against her eyes, trying hard to stifle her soft sobs.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She kept on repeating her apologies.

I should say I’m sorry. I should be the one apologizing
. But my words were caught again and I couldn’t get them out.

My voice wouldn’t work, wouldn’t respond, wouldn’t function.

But my hand did. It reached out for her and tightened around her upper arm. It pulled her up towards me. She gave a small sharp inhale of surprise as my arms wound around her, crushing her against my chest tightly.

I was drowning. I was dying. I needed her as badly as I needed air. I needed her heartbeat to stir mine. I needed her lips to revive me. I needed her breath if I wanted to live.

I wrapped my arms around her and pressed my face against her hair. Her hair that was so smooth and that smell, that smell that was inexplicably her, it flooded me as deeply and completely as any drug ever could.

Florence’s body shuddered slightly with a shaky breath and her hands hesitantly fluttered over my abdomen. My palms traveled up along her exposed shoulders, her smooth neck, and settled to cup her cheeks.

Both our breaths were coming out hard and my mind couldn’t process anything else besides her and now.

I turned her to face me. We gazed at each other for a moment and I fell.

I fell in her eyes.

I was lost.

I fell in love even more.

I couldn’t stop.

I gently guided her to meet me.

Our lips met. Florence was so soft and plush beneath me. Her cheeks against my fingers. Her body pressed up to my body, her lips gliding so slowly under mine.

I pulled at her tighter to feel her yielding body; she melted into my arms and it was so perfect. As small as she was compared to me, she matched me one-to-one.

It was so right, we were so right, down to the shape of our lips, the angles of our bodies to mold into each other.

I pulled her knees to the sides so she ended up straddling my hips. The pressure of her center against my erection was mind-blowing; I couldn’t help but grind up against her jeans. Florence’s movements were unsure, tentative, shy. Her hands stuttered as they traveled upwards. She paused, unsure, but then gripped my shoulders lightly. This innocence made me want to push up against her again, to relieve this crazy intense desire.

A small moan vibrated from her mouth and I swallowed it. I ran my tongue against the seam of her lips, and hers came out to meet mine.

Florence stroked my hair with her fingers. It was then I realized this was what I craved. Her touch relieved that anger, that fire in me. It made me hope. Her smell that allowed me to forget everything, made me feel like I was something else besides dead.

I kissed her harder.

I wanted her even more.

We remained there, locked together in an embrace, on her bed. No sounds could be heard besides our desperate pants. Occasionally, Florence would moan, or whimper, or sigh, or emit a faint breathy groan. Each variant of sound spurred my body even stronger and soon, I didn’t know if I could stop. The pressure in my cock was insurmountable and I was desperate, so desperate to connect and to know and to dominate.

I needed Florence. She had to be mine and there was no way I’d let anyone else have her.

My fingers tightened behind her neck and Florence gave a small gasp.

She needed to submit to me. I needed her to.

“Wait,” she murmured against my lips. I ignored her and kissed her harder, held on to her tighter. She responded to my lips, but still tried to pull away.

“Alistair.” Florence placed her hands against my shoulders and pushed. I fought for a second, but then slowly drew myself away.

Florence fell forward to rested her cheek against my shoulder, her soft breaths billowing against my neck.

Slowly, the fog of lust lifted and conscious thought leaked reality into the moment. Emotions boiled within me and my head was spinning.

I wanted this moment to last forever. Nothing in this world had ever felt as good as this—the soft pliable give of her skin beneath my fingers, her hair sliding over my face, her breath glistening down my neck.

I fought hard to savor the moment. To make it last. I clutched her harder in my embrace and buried my face deeper into her essence.

Then Florence murmured in my ear, “I’d been waiting for that for a long time.”

A single emotion surfaced to the top of the heap—disbelief.

To my utter surprise, I laughed. I laughed in disbelief that Florence, all beauty and purity and innocence, would wait for me, would want my lips against hers.

If only she knew of those perverted thoughts I’d have at night, the disgusting things I wanted to do to her body. The places I wanted to put my hands and lips. Images flashed before me, her hair spread out against a pillow, her eyes heavy with her pouty lips smiling up at me. The feel of her breasts under my fingers and her legs wound around my waist, heels digging into my back.

How it’d feel to have her pussy surrounding my cock, the slick sensation I only dreamt about.

Her voice deep and husky as she begged me to fuck her harder.

She could have no idea how badly I wanted just now to throw her down on the bed, her bed, and violate her in so many ways and not take no for an answer.