OZZY
Regarding Fallon, I’ve been through a whirlwind of emotions, but how she’s been acting since being released from the hospital is seriously beginning to worry me.
She’s so happy all the time, and she contributes that to the dream she had of Angel, but even so, it’s very unlike her to let things roll off her back that easily.
It’s a welcome change, but I find myself waiting for the other shoe to drop, for all those darker emotions to bubble to the surface. I’m afraid that once she feels sadness or anger, everything else will hit her like a truck, and she’ll be scrambling to claw her way out of it.
It’s like an overwhelming feeling of dread looming, waiting to sink its teeth into her when she’s vulnerable.
Although I’m nervous, it’s been refreshing seeing her so blissfully pleasant. Nothing has phased her, and she’s focused more on us, than revenge on Mr. A.
What used to consume her every thought is now on the back burner, romance has been her main priority, and I’m certainly not complaining.
Tonight, we’re going to a restaurant in town, then meeting everyone else for a club night. We haven’t gone out since her birthday, everything basically going to shit right after, so it’ll be nice to let loose for the night.
Fallon’s got the shower running, the steam in the bathroom almost impossible for me to see through, but as soon as I open the door, she calls out to me in a cheerful sing-song voice.
“Hi, baby!”
“Hi, my beautiful girl . Just checking on you,” I say, doodling on the foggy mirror with one finger.
“I’m perfect. I can’t stop thinking about his eyes. That’s been front and center in my mind all afternoon,” she hums, the memories bringing her mood even higher than it’s been lately.
Every day it’s something new, and she’s not shy about sharing the littlest things she’s able to remember.
For someone who was knocked out for half the day, her memory of Angel is so vivid, like she drew him on the insides of her eyelids.
“Oh yeah? Tell me more,” I say, never turning down the opportunity to hear more about our boy.
“They’re just like yours, but full of … pure innocence. He’s never seen the ugliness of our world, and he’s never felt pain a day in his life. It’s like a brand new slate, and the most beautiful way I could ever think to be able to live,” she explains, and I’m enthralled by how sweetly she talks about him.
I’ve listened to her tales of some playground, how soft his hands and face were, and how familiar he felt, like she’d already met him.
She is convinced that she did, and even though it wasn’t my choice, body, or dream, it’s not my place to do anything but agree with her.
I may not fully believe in this magical place she describes, but I do believe in her – wholeheartedly.
If she swears this dream was real, then I choose to keep my faith in other universes alive, solely because of how beautiful it sounds when she weaves the tale.
“I can’t think of anything better, Bambi.”
She turns the water off, and I pass the towel to her, holding my hand out to steady her as she steps over the porcelain tub.
“Can we take a bubble bath together after the club? I can drop a fruity-scented bomb in the water, set out some candles and wine,” she says, making it sound sweeter and sweeter with every word.
“You’re asking if I want to snuggle your naked body, surrounded by bubbles and candlelight? The answer will always be yes, and I’ll even indulge your obsession with those face masks,” I offer, and her eyes widen with excitement.
“I have the perfect one for your skin, oh my gosh!” She squeals, nearly jumping for joy.
Fallon’s been begging to do a self care night for the last few days since her bandages came off, but the pain meds have been knocking her on her ass so hard that she barely makes it past sunset.
We’re both going sober to the club tonight, knowing that she’s not quite ready to drink in public yet, and I refuse if she won’t. In a fun turn of events, I volunteered to be the designated driver, giving Max the night off, but he’ll be staying sober anyway.
“Did you do that?” Fallon asks, nodding her head toward the foggy mirror.
“Depends on your answer,” I grin, searching her eyes for that hint of playfulness I’ve been graced with recently.
“Yes. Always yes,” she smirks, slithering toward me slowly as she drops the towel onto the floor, completely exposing herself to me.
I lift her onto the counter, pulling her lips to mine while my curious hands roam her body. No matter how many times I have her in my arms, it’ll always ignite an inferno inside me, just like it was the very first time.
She groans my name, subtly bucking her hips for more friction, and I give her what she wants, teasing my fingers around her entrance.
When she breaks our kiss, locking her eyes into mine, I dive into her three fingers deep, causing her screams to echo around us in this tiny bathroom.
“That’s my girl. Come undone for me, Bambi,” I whisper, lightly sucking on her neck as she attempts to tip her head back.
With my free hand, I cup her chin, keeping her face inches from mine as I curl my fingers into the perfect spot that causes her to squirm and dig her nails into my back.
“Is that all you’ve got?” She teases, biting her lower lip and lifting her gaze to mine.
“Oh, Bambi, you should know better than to challenge me.” I suck my teeth, shaking my head before I up the ante, raising the stakes so she has no choice but to submit to the pleasure.
I let her go, dropping my other hand to her clit, slightly rolling my fingers over her sensitive spot and watching as her back arches while goosebumps spread along her skin like wildfire.
Time seems to stand still as her mouth opens, but nothing comes out. She’s lost in what I’m doing to her, and when I feel her walls clench around my fingers, I know she’s right there, but I won’t let her finish that easily.
“Louder,” I command, and she sucks in a sharp breath, my name rolling off her tongue like she’s attempting to hold back, playing the role of a brat.
“Not gonna cut it, Bambi. I said, louder ,” I repeat, dropping my voice lower to get her attention.
“Fuck,” she whispers, a devilish grin creeping over her perfect pink lips.
I fight my own smile as I pull out of her, and she instantly crumples at the emptiness, her eyes slowly opening once she realizes that I’ve stopped.
“Baby, please,” she whines, and I slap both her thighs, opening them wider.
“Are you done being bratty?”
“Are you going to give me more?” She quips, leaning back on her elbows, propping herself up so she can watch my next moves.
“Brace yourself, my beautiful girl , I’m about to wreck you.” I drop to my knees, diving my tongue straight into her wetness, lapping up every drop she’s got to give.
Just when she thinks that’s all I have in store, I shove those same three fingers back into her core, and she screams at the sudden fullness, like music to my ears.
I don’t stop until she’s strangling me with her thighs, the sensation almost too much as she struggles to come down from the orgasm I gave her.
“That’s better.” I smile against her skin, but I’m not done.
I won’t stop until she soaks me, until she’s so spent and has nothing left in her. We love games, and I came to play today.
“Ozzy, I don’t think I can,” she breathes, her head resting on the mirror, right below the fading words I wrote through the fog.
Marry me?
I’d ask her that question one thousand different ways, in various languages, no matter when we finally tie the knot for real, and a million times afterward.
Every version of Fallon is mine, and I will claim every single one, making her my wife in every facet of the word.
I’d take her good days, the bad, as well as those moments when I’m terrified that I may lose her.
Every single piece of me loves all of her, and there will never be a day where she doesn’t know so, or feel it in her bones.
* * *
For some deranged reason, we let Pepper choose the club, and we wound up in a gay karaoke bar. She’s smart as hell, but a little dull sometimes.
The bar is called Flamingo Heights for crying out loud, if that wasn’t a giant rainbow flag, I don’t know what is.
Of course, I’m more than happy to let people be their true selves, but it’s just not the vibe I was hoping for.
The Pride flag is displayed on every wall, along with signed framed photos of what I assume are celebrities. Each drink comes with a rainbow-printed umbrella, and the atmosphere is very welcoming.
I don’t feel out of place as a straight man. Nobody looks at us differently while we dance, like we don’t belong because we’re not a part of their community.
In a way, Fallon is, but nobody bothers us or forces us to defend why we’re here, on their turf.
Even so, it’s not what I was expecting. Listening to drunk people sing terribly while staying sober is an excruciating brand of torture that I never want to experience again.
Lady Gaga, Taylor Swift, Beyonce, and Justin Bieber songs have been sung religiously, and I for one, am ready to get the hell out of here.
Fallon is having the time of her life, making friends and dancing with anyone who matches her energy.
For a few songs, she was latched onto one girl with jet-black hair and striking red lipstick, their eyes almost never wavering as they swayed with the music.
I was shocked when she made the first move, offering her hand out to the woman in a short denim mini-skirt, only because I thought Cami was her one and only.
After a few songs they separated, and Fallon has since moved onto two boyfriends who’ve been taking turns spinning her around like a princess.
“I think I’ve been hit on here more than I ever have been inside a club.” Oliver laughs, sliding into the booth beside me with a fresh bottle of beer.
“You are very pretty, Olly.” I smile, clinking my glass of Coke into his beer.
“I know that, I’m not complaining. Being hit on by a gay man is the ultimate form of flattery, and a serious ego booster,” he says, ruffling his dark hair back into place.
Since Cami left, Oliver has abandoned the boyish-look that he’s had for years, instead, opting to grow out his facial hair a bit and embrace his age.
The scruff, combined with his grown out hair has him resembling someone in his late-twenties, rather than the barely-legal vibe he’s had since I’ve known him.
“Pepper is three mojitos deep and put in a karaoke request. It’s about time to wrap it up,” Lex warns, his eyes widening as the DJ announces her name over the mic.
Fallon slides into the booth, her ginger ale in hand as she scoots under my outstretched arm.
She cheers loudly for her friend, and we all watch as Pepper stumbles up the steps, reaching for the stand-up microphone while her chosen song plays through the speakers.
“She sings this every time she drinks.” Fallon laughs, holding her drink in the air in solidarity.
‘ I Feel Like A Woman ’ by Shaina Twain starts, and every person in the place goes wild, the strobe lights flashing while the crowd sings along. Pepper is leading the charge, her vocals not the best, but they’re thriving off her.
“You almost ready, Bambi? I’m not sure how much more karaoke I can take,” I whisper into her hair, and she leans into me, her arm wrapping around my neck.
“Say the word, baby. We have a date in the tub,” she replies, and I feel the constriction growing in my pants just from her words.
She pulls her lips into mine, tempting me with a deep kiss, and I’m so undone that I’m ready to wrangle everyone back to the van with my bare hands.
“It’s not so easy, is it?” Max jokes, and I narrow my eyes at him, knowing that he’s enjoying every second of my struggle.
Before I know it, Fallon has everyone wrangled, ready to exit the club, and I’m in awe of her, yet again.
Nothing she does shocks me anymore, but I’ll always be surprised at how fucking good she is at leading us all. Once everyone is in the van, Max strong arms me, forcing me to take the passenger seat while he drives back home.
I don’t argue, knowing his past and how driving makes him feel in control, so I settle in while he does the job he’s most comfortable doing.
Before we even get home, Fallon is fast asleep, sprawled across the back seat with her head on Oliver’s shoulder. Instead of a bath date night, I think I’ll set something up for us in the morning when she’s more alert and energetic.
Once Max parks, I climb in the back and scoop Fallon into my arms, her snoring continuing as I carry her to our bed.
“Bambi, let me help you change,” I whisper, tugging at her sweater lightly but she doesn’t budge.
I slip the scrunchie from her wrist and pull her hair back, forming a loose ponytail with her thick curls.
I slip us both under the covers, holding her against my chest and listening to her breathing.
Her dark eyelashes rest against her skin, the tiny, barely-visible freckles streaking across her cheeks, and I silently thank my lucky stars. She’s absolutely the most beautiful woman in the world, and I’m the one she chooses to lay with.
Ideas of the future lure me into a deep sleep, but I can’t say how long it lasts because I’m woken up by a panicked, utterly terrified version of Fallon, the opposite of how I remember her when my eyes closed.
“Hey. Hey, Fallon! You’re okay, I’ve got you,” I say softly, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.
She’s sitting on the edge of the bed with her head in her hands, hyperventilating and crying, but not registering that I’m calling out to her.
“Bambi,” I whisper, reaching for her shoulder.
When my hand makes contact with her skin, she nearly falls off the bed, jumping as if she’d seen a ghost.
Her pupils are blown, and fear radiates off her, something I rarely ever see from her.
“Ozzy?” She stammers, her head spinning to find me in the darkness.
“I’m right here. Come here,” I say softly, holding my arms out while she sinks into my chest.
Her muffled cries are the only sound in the room, but I don’t dare to attempt to get her talking, not yet. I let her work through her emotions, and I can feel the tension leaving her body, like all the panic she had is gone now that I’ve got her.
When you hold me, it holds me together. It’s one of her signature sayings, and right now, my body against hers is what’s bringing her out of this anxiety attack.
I knew it’d only be a matter of time before her bubble popped, before she’d end up back in a place where real emotions can be felt, but it’s not something I ever wanted to be right about.
Watching her fall apart is shattering me to pieces, but I can't break down. I need to be strong enough to pull her out of this.
“How did I get here?” She whispers, finally breaking our silence.
“You fell asleep on the way home. I carried you upstairs,” I tell her while gently stroking her hair.
She doesn’t say anything right away, just nodding against my chest, and I’m mentally – and physically – in the dark on what could be the root of this panic attack.
We didn’t drink, she’s off the pain meds, but it was the first time we’ve gone somewhere public since she’s been home, maybe that’s it.
I won’t push her, though. I’ll stay up all night with my arms wrapped around her delicate frame if that’s what she needs.
Nothing is more important to me than her wellbeing.
“Waking up in bed, not knowing how I ended up here made me feel … constricted. Like I wasn’t in control of my own body, and that reminded me of the kidnapping. I was out of it, but I was scared in the hospital, too,” she finally says, her voice a low, raspy whisper that only comes out when she’s been crying.
“Maybe you have a little PTSD from the kidnapping that resurfaced. It’s completely normal, and manageable, Bambi. I think after all you’ve been through, it’s a good sign that you’re having a reaction, it means you’re ready to begin healing,” I say, and she looks up at me, those doe-like eyes shimmering in the moonlight.
“You really are better at this than I am now.” She smiles softly, the sadness beginning to clear from her gaze. “You’re right, though. I’ve been healing from the absence of Angel, but I think there’s more work to be done.”
“You’re not fragile, but you’re not a superhuman, Fallon. It’s okay to be vulnerable, and work through the things that haunt you in the middle of the night.” I brush the stray hairs from her face, watching as her eyes flutter closed and she sucks in a deep breath.
I love when she reacts to my touch in the tiniest ways, sometimes so subtly she probably doesn’t even realize she’s doing it, like muscle memory.
“I’m going to be okay,” she says, the words coming like a reiteration or a mantra.
She’s stronger than her demons, and I have full confidence that she will in fact, be okay.
“You should skip the next meeting, just until you’re feeling better.” I throw it out there as a suggestion, but immediately, her body tenses, and I know I struck a nerve.
“Absolutely not. He did this to me, all of this , and I will never miss the chance to read him, to understand him better. He will not get the best of me,” she says sternly, and I sigh, knowing that arguing with her is a waste of breath.
Her mind is made up, and there’s no going back now. I wish she’d take a break, but alas, I handed over control to her because I have faith that she can handle this, and can’t go back on that now.
It’d be admitting that she’s weak, or not up to par with the competition, and that couldn’t be further from the truth.
Fallon has always been – and always will be – the strong-willed, purple-haired little vixen I fell in love with at first glimpse. I’ve never, ever, doubted her strength, and I’m sure as fuck not about to start now.
“Okay, Bambi, okay. Let’s try and get some rest then? Dark eye circles and sleepy minds don’t win battles,” I joke, and she slaps my chest, slowly planting kisses on the neckline of my t-shirt.
“Hold me?” She pleads, that vulnerability in her voice returning, and I’d never deny a request like that.
“Come here, my beautiful girl . I’ll never let you go,” I whisper into her hair, adjusting us both until we’re comfortably tucked under the covers.
That’s one promise I know I can keep. No matter what happens next, or how this war ends, I will always be here to fight off her nightmares or anxieties, and bring the comfort she needs to maneuver back toward the light.
She’s my whole world.
One day, I plan to take her far away from here, erasing every painful memory from her mind as we start over somewhere beautiful, brand new, and most importantly, ours .