Chapter 21 #2
I manage another step on the ladder before a stabbing pain shoots through my body. Wyatt bends over me, puts his hands under my arms, and lifts me up into my room.
I make a face as the edge of the floor grazes my hip. He quickly steps to the side, helps me up, and leads me to my bed.
“It’s not that bad,” I mumble, lying down and rolling onto my good side. “I’ll be okay in no time.”
Wyatt goes to the bathroom. I can hear him opening various drawers, then a cabinet, before coming back with disinfectant, tweezers, and cotton pads.
He clears his throat. “Nothing’s changed.”
I think, What on earth are you saying? You blind? We’ve both changed, Wyatt!
“Well, you know my OCD.”
“Yeah.” With slightly trembling fingers, he lifts my sweater up a bit higher to see the full extent of my trip down the stairs. “If the disinfectant hadn’t been at the bottom of the cabinet anymore, I’d have been worried.”
I rest my cheek on my hand and focus on the window. “Damn straight. Anything else would likely be the work of a demon or something.”
Wyatt takes the tweezers to look for splinters. He pulls one out. “You always say that.”
“What?”
“That thing about demons.” Another splinter. “I have no idea what that’s all about. Every time something doesn’t go right or isn’t normal somehow, you say it’s got to do with demons.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is.” He puts the tweezers down, unscrews the lid of the disinfectant, and pours some onto the cotton pad. “When Will fell asleep three years ago and opened The Old-Timer late, you were convinced he was possessed.”
The skin of my hand tickles as I smile. “Cause that wasn’t normal!”
“You bought an exorcism set from some dude online, Ari.” Warmth envelops my shoulders as he places his large hand on them, leans his head forward, and looks down at me. “This is going to burn a bit, okay?”
“Okay.”
He runs the cotton across my ribs, and I take a sharp breath. Holy shit, it really does burn. I kick my feet, crumple the sheet with my fingers, press my eyes and teeth together, and stifle a cry.
“It’ll be better in a sec.” Wyatt’s voice is soft and comforting. He hesitantly puts his thumbs to my temples and begins to make circles. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
He repeats his words in a whisper, and though I know he’s referring to the wound, lying there, my eyes closed, his hand on my head, his lips close to my ear, I can’t help but think he means us.
What a bittersweet illusion. Us. Some things are so broken they can’t be repaired. Wyatt and I are one of them. The thought tears me out of my fever, this heat that wants to burn me up, feeling his body against mine.
I freeze. And because Wyatt knows me and can read every gesture, every movement, he knows that it’s too much. That he’s too much. His fingertips leave a burning trace on my scalp when he takes his hand away.
He carefully adjusts my sweater. “You’re probably going to have some bruising. It’d be a good idea to let it cool.”
“Okay.”
“Wait till tomorrow to put cream on it. It’s still open in a few places.”
“Good.”
“Really. Wait until tomorrow, Ari.”
“I will! Why wouldn’t I?”
“I know you. You’re the most impatient person on the planet.”
“Whatever.”
A tense silence spreads out between us. Wyatt knows that it’s time to leave, and I know that it’s time to tell him to leave.
But I don’t say anything. Instead, I listen to a series of banging sounds that seem to be coming from the walls, then a scratching noise that goes up to the roof before the banging starts again.
“Got to be a demon,” I say.
Wyatt’s eyes shoot to the roof. “Those martens.”
“Maybe we’re a demon, too.”
He looks at me. “What?”
“You and me.” I turn onto my back and meet his eyes. “We’re not normal. An anomaly. Something’s not right with the two of us. Maybe we’re a demon that’s been cut in two, and that’s why we can’t let each other go.”
“I don’t want us to be a demon, Aria.”
“I think we’re the ones who made it, Wyatt.”
“I don’t.” His voice is husky and soft and, damn it, makes me break out in goose bumps again.
When he reaches out to run the tip of his index finger across my collarbone, I hold my breath.
In the bright light coming through the window, I can see the hungry look in his eyes.
“But even if we were, it’s not a big deal. Want to know why?”
“Why?” I whisper.
His index finger moves farther, exploring my jaw, my lips, and then back down my throat again. “Because demons are fallen angels. We were good once, you and me, and we could be again.”
I gasp. “Wyatt.”
His face moves closer. He looks at me, his gaze lowered, his next word only a whisper. “Yeah?”
My eyelids are flickering. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know.” His lips brush mine, wandering farther down as his hand disappears under my sweater and moves across my good side up to my breasts. “We’ll find out.”
His fingers hook into the cups of my bra. As he slowly pulls down the fabric to stroke my nipple with tip of his thumb, I let out a heavy breath. Instinctively, I dig my hands into the linen. My breath starts to come more quickly. “Wyatt…”
“Huh?”
“God.”
“I know.”
He leans over me. I feel his breath on my skin just a few seconds before he takes my nipple into his mouth. I toss my head back, close my eyes, and fight against the storm of thoughts in my head that are telling me to put a stop to this while at the same time telling me not to stop it WHATSOEVER.
“I’ve missed this,” Wyatt whispers. “Doing something just for you, something that you really want.”
The tips of my ponytail brush the back of my hand as I tilt my head and, between deep breaths, look at him.
“We can’t… This… I mean…”
“Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop immediately, Moore.” His lips kiss a warm path down my ribs before they begin to nibble at the button of my jeans.
“You… Us…”
His hoarse laughter spreads across my skin. “Personal pronouns don’t count, Ari.”
It’s really easy. Just two words and he’ll go. Why can’t I just say them?
The answer is simple and heavy, undeniable and obvious. Because I don’t want to.
Wyatt’s mouth moves off my skin. He looks at me while he clasps the waistband of my jeans with both hands, a silent question in his eyes, and I curse myself, curse myself so hard for wanting this, for the fact that my limbs are trembling with desire, for the fact that I’m looking at him and thinking how special this moment is, every touch.
“Lie down,” he says, softly, affectionately, just like before. I feel like I’m starting to get a fever. As I let myself fall, I can feel the comforter very clearly against my skin; every single centimeter of it is extremely sensitive.
Wyatt peels my jeans off my legs really slowly. I look at the ceiling, concentrate on the wooden beams, and think about everything in the world just to avoid thinking about how much I like this, how much I need it.
His thumbs run across the lower part of my stomach, moving beneath my panties just a bit. I can feel my pulse beating against his palm, quick, intense, and full of anticipation.
Then his fingers move again, brushing across my panties, right where it’s starting to grow moist. Noticing, he breathes in sharply before moaning softly. “And I’ve missed this, too, Ari.”
I dig my fingers into the bed even more and stifle a moan.
He’s not even really touching me, just the fabric of my panties, and yet I’m about to lose my mind.
Agonizingly slowly, two of his fingers hook into the sides of my underwear and pull them down.
When he sees me bare before him, he moans again and moves closer.
I can feel his breath on my naked skin. “Just say the word, and I’ll stop. ”
“Not on your life.” My breathing grows slow. Everything in me wants this. Squirming with desire, I drive my hips forward, and before I can even think of anything else, his lips move onto my clit.
I explode. It’s hot, overwhelming. It’s so intense I even manage to ignore the pain I’ve felt in my ribs up until now. At the moment, I don’t feel a thing there. All I feel is Wyatt.
Wyatt, moving his mouth skillfully across the middle of my body.
With a moan, I dig my fingers into his hair, looking for something to hold onto because I can barely handle how good this all feels, how right.
My body reacts to his caresses, making my thighs shudder as his tongue electrifies my nerves and makes me quiver.
“Show me,” he whispers. “Show me how badly you want this, Moore.”
Everything in me contracts. My leg muscles are trembling with tension as all my desire collects in the middle of my body and starts to pulsate more and more intensely until I hardly have myself under control at all and am cursing, moaning, and begging for more, more, more.
He bathes the middle of my body with soft kisses, and the sound melts into the excited noises gliding off his lips.
It’s mesmerizing, and then I feel his warm mouth at the opening to my body, and his tongue slides into me, moving to the rhythm of my thrusts.
All of a sudden, I see colored lights, the world tilts on its axis, or maybe it’s just my bed, maybe it’s just me.
In any event, everything grows blurry. And as his lips tenderly suck at me, the waves of desire reach their apex.
I can’t hold back anymore, and with a loud groan I come against Wyatt’s mouth.
My muscles relax. Only vaguely do I check his fingers moving away from my panties and moving the fabric back into place. Breathing heavily, I stare at the ceiling as what just happened slowly becomes clear to me.
Just like that. Completely unplanned. Out of the blue.
Then his broad stature appears in my field of vision as he lies down next to me, turns his head, and grins. “Just like before, huh?”
Better, Wyatt. Better.
The blanket rustles as I turn to look at him.
He reaches out a hand and runs a finger down my nose. “We could have this all the time, Ari.”
No. No, we couldn’t. Because things aren’t like what they were anymore. Things happened that put everything in the shade and ensured that something like what just happened should never have happened.
I close my eyes for a moment and wipe my hand across my face.
“No.”
He blinks. His grin disappears to be replaced by a look of uncertainty. “No?”
“Things between us, things… No.”
He blinks again as he slowly realizes what I’m telling him. Sitting up, he lets out a dry, joyless laugh.
“Got it. What just happened is okay, but nothing else?”
I put my hands behind my head and take a deep breath. “No. That…shouldn’t have happened. I was… I couldn’t…”
“Resist.” He snorts. “I got it, Moore. Things between us are over. No big deal. I’m cool with that.”
His words are like a fist to my stomach, which is paradoxical, because that’s exactly what I wanted; that’s precisely why I’m, well, rejecting him. But that’s not what it feels like. It doesn’t feel right.
Wyatt looks at me for a long time. Then he reaches into his pocket and hands me my phone, which I’d lost on the steps.
The chat with Paxton is still open. Suddenly I fall, quick, deep, and ruthlessly, and it hurts so bad because he can see that I’m moving on without him and thinks that I can.
My chest tightens as I take my phone with trembling fingers.
“That’s Paxton,” I say unnecessarily, as Wyatt can read and it’s right there on the display. PAXTON. “We, umm, well… We’re getting to know each other, and I…like him, you know?”
I don’t know what kind of reaction I expected, but I definitely didn’t expect Wyatt’s face to light up and for that glimmer that used to be there when we were a couple to appear in his eyes.
Then it happens. At the very moment I look at him and understand that he wants the relationship to happen.
He wants me to meet someone else. I feel like I’ve just been punched in the chest by a steel fist, which aggressively and mercilessly shreds my heart (or what’s left of it) of everything I’ve built up to protect it.
“Nice,” he says, cool and relieved, as if the mountain of stupid concerns regarding his ex-girlfriend that are only there when you’ve hurt her had finally been lifted off his shoulders. “Nice, Aria. Good to hear. I mean, Paxton, wow. Cool dude, good hockey player.”
His cheerfulness kills me. It’s terrible.
Just now I thought he really wanted me, and I was the one rejecting him (even though I didn’t really want him to turn away from me, of course).
But now he is. Suddenly I am fourteen again, opening up my locker and hoping to find his yellow Post-its telling me strange and charming things like how my freckles embody the beauty of concentrated melanized cells, weird stuff like that.
But there aren’t any Post-its anymore; my locker’s just empty.
Wyatt is almost at the ladder when his eyes come to rest on my bookshelf, and he pauses.
He moves closer, reading the spines of my college books, then takes one.
He slowly turns it over, reads the jacket, and leafs through the pages with a look on his face as if that was precisely what he’d been looking for.
“Can I borrow this?” He turns to me, holding up the book. Yellow letters, blue background. Myofascial Relief Therapy. “Umm, just for a few days?”
I nod. I’m not really able to do anything else right now because I still have to process the fact that he wants this book more than me, that he wants everything more than me, and that just sucks because I don’t want to have to process that at all.
He cheated on me. I want to hate him and to not care about him anymore.
I want everything to be gone, just gone. No Wyatt.
He smiles. “Cool. Thanks.”
Thanks. Like everything was cool. Thanks. I want to tell him to get out. Get out, you stylish asshole, in your skinny jeans and your Timberlands, and leave the book behind, my friend. You piss me off. My God, how much you piss me off.
But I just lie back down instead, smile, and say, “No problem.”
No problem. As if there wasn’t one. But honestly? Wyatt and me, we’re not a problem personified; we’re A PERFECT CATASTROPHE.