20
Rayne
Washed Away
W e stayed until the festival closed at midnight.
Floodlights lit the path back to the ATV, their harsh glare offering a little protection against the smothering darkness.
I listened for any hint of the crying voice Salem claimed she heard, but only the crickets’ song filled the night.
I hoped desperately that it was only the teenagers playing a prank on her, and not something worse.
Salem rested her head against my back as I drove, and I wondered if she could hear how hard my heart was beating with her hands holding tight around my waist.
I wasn’t at ease as we drove through the dark roads, but I felt strangely calm.
Maybe it was just the alcohol in my veins, but I let myself fantasize.
I let myself imagine tonight truly was a date with Salem, the first of many.
I thought about taking her to my favorite cafes, bars, and lookout spots, sharing with her my little sparks of joy.
I envisioned trips to the mainland with her by my side, knowing I’d spend the night with her instead of a stranger.
They were fantasies outside of my reality. Because I still scanned my surroundings as we drove, watching every shadow, listening for any strange calls. I still felt relief she would be leaving in the morning.
Salem stayed close to me as we walked up to the house. She talked about everything and nothing, her words wandering as much as her steps. She bumped against my side, and her arm brushed mine, her fingers meeting my own in an accidental touch that felt like so much more.
Was she drunk? She’d only had a couple of drinks. But she laughed so easily at every stupid thing I said.
She was still wearing that pink hat with the googly eyes. I tried to convince myself it was only the hat I was staring at, the silly costume distracting me—not the soft light in her eyes, or the flush on her cheeks, or the breathlessness of her words as we climbed the stairs to the third floor.
She stopped at her door, yawned, and stretched before she turned the knob. I didn’t mean to stare, I really didn’t. The way her nose scrunched up when she yawned and her soft sigh of contentment when she stretched made my chest feel like it was caving in. My lungs forgot how to work.
“Good night,” she said, and smiled at me. It was softer than the wide, wondrous grins she’d been flashing all the way home. Her lips parted with a soft inhale, like she was about to say something else—
“Good night, Salem.” I disappeared into my room before the words could come out. Pressing my back to the closed door, I cursed myself silently until I heard her door click shut a few seconds later.
I was a coward.
She was just a woman. Just a gorgeous, intelligent, optimistic ray of sunshine in my dark existence.
“Fucking hell.” I rubbed my face as I trudged to the bathroom, casting off my cardboard cat ears on the bed. They were a little damp and slightly misshapen from driving through the foggy night; I could have just thrown them away.
I was going to keep them. The thought of throwing them in the garbage made me irrationally angry.
I turned on the faucet, steaming hot water filling the tub.
Gripping the edges of the sink, I stared at my tired reflection.
Cat whiskers and a black button nose looked back at me, and my mouth twitched into a smile before I caught myself.
Everyone in town had stared at me like I just grew a second head, but I didn’t care.
It made Salem happy.
Splashing warm water on my face didn’t wash away the makeup; scrubbing it with my hands just smudged it around. But I stopped myself as I reached for the bar of soap.
Maybe Salem had a trick for getting this stuff off...
Maybe I was looking for an excuse to go knock on her door.
When I stepped into the hall, however, she was already there. We almost collided, and both stepped back with awkward laughter. Then she saw my face and snickered, hiding her mouth behind her hand.
“I should have warned you: It’s waterproof,” she said. She held out a bottle of makeup remover and a cotton pad. “This will help.”
When I didn’t take the items immediately, she said, “Do you... want me to do it?”
I didn’t need help removing makeup; I was capable of washing my own face, even when it involved potions I wasn’t familiar with.
“Yeah, uh... yeah...” I nodded, leading her back into my bedroom, into the bathroom. The tub was nearly full and I hurriedly turned it off, the steam fogging up the mirror and making my skin sticky. Salem was looking around, observing the half-empty bottles of shampoo and jars of bath salts.
My room suddenly felt depressingly barren and boring.
“Skincare can be intimidating,” she said, dabbing the pad with makeup remover.
She probably said it to put me at ease, to reassure me my helplessness in this area wasn’t anything to be ashamed of.
But I was distracted by her hands: one tucked behind my neck to tip my face down toward her, the other gently swiping the cotton across my cheeks.
Her eyelashes fluttered, and she met my gaze for just a second.
Surely she felt me gulp. Did she feel my breath stop too? Did she feel my pulse race?
She had to stand close to reach my face.
The inches between our bodies were a chasm I wanted to throw myself into.
She’d changed out of her costume, so her hair was mussed, and a little pink glitter gloss remained on her lips.
Her shirt was oversized, covered in a muted floral print.
The fabric was buttery soft when I pinched it between my fingers, but I was oblivious to my action until she leaned closer.
Her whole body pressed to mine as she wiped the makeup off the tip of my nose. I was suddenly achingly aware of exactly where my hands were—and where they weren’t. How they were painfully absent from where they wanted to be.
“You don’t need to hold your breath,” she said softly. Could she really not see what she was doing to me? I didn’t have a choice in whether or not my stomach fluttered, lungs froze, and hands broke out in a sweat. Air didn’t seem important when she looked at me like that.
Like I was worth paying attention to. As if I was worthy of something so simple as having my face washed by gentle hands.
She lowered her hand, tossed the pad away. But she didn’t take a step back, didn’t break the warmth between us. A thousand jumbled sentences fought to make it out of my throat, but all that came out was “You’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Yeah.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes this time, and I wasn’t sure why. “What are you going to do all winter?”
I traced my finger around the shell of her ear, over the studs pierced through her cartilage and the pink bauble dangling from her lobe. “Think about you.”
The moment I saw the longing in her eyes, I wanted to snatch the words back. I was selfish and a coward. I wasn’t supposed to want her to stay.
But...
Her hand remained on the back of my neck, fingers stroking slowly, etching her emotion into my skin. She rose up slightly, on her tiptoes, leaving a kiss as light as a feather on my cheek. Her breath tickled my ear; her face pressed close to mine.
I slid my hand up her side, under her shirt, over the soft curve of her waist, and around her back. She pressed her nose into the soft indent below my ear, her breathing slow but her heart beating hard; I could feel it in her chest pressed to mine.
My hands were too cold against her warm skin. She was the Persephone to my Hades, the summer warmth that could chase away the winter’s frost. She didn’t flinch away from me; she took my other hand in hers and laced our fingers together, sun and moon intertwined.
“I want you to think of me too,” I said, whispering the words between her parted lips. Her kiss was deep, it was slow and divine. Like she was committing it to memory, exploring lips and tongue as if to learn them by heart.
Or maybe that was only my foolish hopes, clinging to a forever that was already at its end.
I couldn’t have her...
But she was mine.
I couldn’t keep her...
But my heart would never let her go.
I wanted to live in the warmth of her kiss. Her hands cupped my face and she mumbled something into my mouth, words lost in the heat of lust. She tugged at my belt loops, breathless, and said, “I want to taste you, Madam. One last time.”
She ducked her head down, went from kissing my mouth to my neck, my chest, hands exploring under my shirt.
God damn , she was perfect, and it wasn’t fair. The way she said the title gave me goose bumps—not because it carried any imaginary authority, but because her voice made it so much more intimate than it was ever meant to be.
Her arms encircled me, slid under my shirt up my back. She unhooked my bra and traced her fingers over the skin beneath. She kissed my jaw, her breath so warm, her doe eyes gazing up at me with an unspoken plea.
A plea I couldn’t deny.
I kissed her, pressing her back against the wall, molding my body to hers.
Her tongue slid past my lips and met mine, caressing in a dance that made me see stars behind my closed eyes.
Her hands kneaded my hips, then slowly tugged my pants down.
She only got them midway down my thighs before she was gripping my ass, holding me greedily, hungrily .
We broke our kiss only so we could pull off each other’s shirts.
I scooped her into my arms and held her close, losing myself in all her sensations.
Her fingers tugged through my hair, her nails scratching ravenously down my scalp.
She bit my lip tenderly, then desperately, and groaned into my mouth.
We stripped naked and climbed into the steaming bath together. Her skin became slick as we sank into the water. She straddled my leg, moving rhythmically against my thigh. I braced one hand around her throat and her lips parted, gasping a little harder for air.