Chapter 7 #3
Never is a big word. As in, I should never allow myself to even have thoughts about indulging this.
Temptation is a dangerous game. In fact, it’s not a game at all.
Even if I thought this could work somehow, against all the odds—and there are many stacked on the wrong side—happiness is pretty much just an illusion.
I stopped believing in it a long time ago, as soon as I realized it was just a state of mind, and brain chemicals change daily.
That sounds so wrong. It sounds mopey and hard, and I’m neither of those things.
When I retreated from the world, there was certainly hurt and bitterness, but it wasn’t like I turned into a shell.
I tried to see past the pain. I’ve tried to enjoy what I have while I have it.
Am I lonely? Yes. Do I miss cooking in the capacity I was doing it?
Yes. Do I miss having someone there, the thought of a life together, of having a family and a future?
I miss the concept. That’s enough to tell me that I wasn’t truly in love with the person, but the idea of that life.
I want what my parents have. They’re rich, but they’re not famous.
Their lives are still their own. Their love is genuine and hard-won.
Not everything has been easy for them. They’ve had real moments of pain and years of hardship and struggle, but they came out the other side.
Nicole loved me for my face, the lifestyle I could provide, and for who I was then.
I knew, even at the time, that if the money or that lifestyle were taken away, she wouldn’t stick around.
Did it still hurt me when she refused to see me when she came to the hospital after hearing the doctor’s report, and later texted me that she just couldn’t do it?
Yes, but mostly because I got the text right after coming out of surgery and fully realizing what happened.
I wasn’t in a good place. A few days in, my heart was still smarting, and my pride had taken a battering, but true heartbreak? It wasn’t that.
I was scared.
But it’s not the same kind of fear now. This is a true precipice. A risk. A confession dug out and erected from my soul.
“You’re much younger than my dad,” Dulcie says softly. “He loved you once.”
“Yeah, like a fucking son.”
“Sometimes, step-siblings fall in love with each other. It’s not that uncommon.”
I cross my arms. “Yes, it is.”
“Are you sure?”
“I don’t really want to know.”
“Oh my god, is it starting to hail now… ouch!” She snaps her hand up out of the water.
Bright red blood wells from the tip of her index finger and immediately runs down toward her wrist. “Shit. Ouch!” She fishes out the offending object with her other hand.
“How the hell can a freaking carrot peeler give a cut like this?” She drops it back into the sink and cradles her injured hand.
It’s hailing for sure. It sounds like pebbles hitting the roof.
I move fast, single-mindedly charging across the room. The window might be covered by the porch, but I still want Dulcie to get away from it, and the bleeding has to be stopped.
I spot a roll of paper towels on the counter, so I peel a few off and pass them over. It’s probably cleaner than the dubious-looking dish towel hanging off the oven door.
“Thanks,” she mumbles, wrapping the layers tightly around her finger.
I search every cupboard in the kitchen, every drawer, and the bathroom vanity for a box of bandages, but there’s nothing. I have to return to her empty-handed.
“Can I take a look?” I hold my hand out. She’s pale, chewing her bottom lip hard, and breathing shallowly. I don’t think she likes the look of blood. Or maybe it’s just her own blood.
“I think it was just the water that made it look like it was so much,” she mumbles, trying to convince herself. The paper towel is tinged red and soggy where her finger was.
“That’s probably true.”
“I’m afraid to look. It’s a good thing you’re going to do it for me,” she says weakly.
I’m very gentle in revealing her finger. She turns her face away. We’re still in front of the window, but it’s gone back to raining again. There’s no longer any angry pinging against the roof or windows.
The cut is more of a gouge with a skin flap hanging off of it. It’s small but deep, and right on the pad of her finger. Even though she just had it wrapped with pressure applied, a few drops of blood still welled up.
“I think you’re right. It was just bleeding a lot because it was wet. It’s a little nick, but it should heal right up. I can’t find anything in here, but I can call Adam and ask him to bring the first aid kit when he comes.”
She gasps. “Oh my god, first aid?”
“Uh, sorry. We just carry one everywhere. It has disinfectant and bandages. It’s not like you need stitches or anything.”
She turns and looks down, then gasps at the sight of her fingertip welling with blood. “Ugh,” she sighs. “I suck at this so much. It’s not that it’s the blood itself or even the pain. I don’t know. My stomach just bottoms out for no reason. Maybe I’m squeamish. It’s embarrassing.”
“You don’t have to be embarrassed.” I should use the paper towels. It’s right there on the counter. Instead, without even thinking, I raise her hand and bring it to my mouth. I lap gently at the wound before pressing her finger to my lips and sucking it in.
She gasps. Not in pain, but from something else entirely. “What are you doing?” she gasps breathlessly.
Good fucking question. Is surrendering to all my base instincts an acceptable answer? “I read somewhere that saliva has coagulant properties.”
Her eyes clash with mine, the pupils so wide that the normally soft brown is dark as night. “If you have a thing for blood, you could just say so. I won’t judge you.”
“I’ve never wanted to be a vampire.”
“Okay.”
“I’ve never had a thing for blood. I promise. I only… it seemed…”
“Yeah,” she breathes, but her breath turns into a whimper.
She shivers as I fold a piece of fresh paper towel and wrap it around her fingertip. Then, I gently press her other fingers closed around it. “There. If you apply pressure, the bleeding should stop. It’s a deep gouge, but not that deep.”
I’m still holding onto her hand as she watches me from under the thick sweep of her eyelashes. She doesn’t even try to hide the fact that she’s aroused. Her eyes, the flush on her cheeks and neck, her rapid breaths… They all tell a story.
Her gaze drops to my lips, and her breaths shallow out further.
I have no right to want to kiss her, and I have even less right to lean in and angle my face down. I need to let go of her. It’s ridiculous that I’d even entertain the notion of wanting to be in her life and wanting her in mine. You can’t possibly bond with someone after two fucking days, right?
You can want to, though.
Dulcie is the kind of person who sparkles so brightly that she can’t help but draw people to her.
She’s magnetic. I don’t know her well, but I’d wager just about everything I have that she’s the kind of woman who lives life noticing all the small details.
She has a passion for living that radiates from her.
It’s not just because she’s young or beautiful.
Her compassion, kindness, intelligence, and that special energy she has make her gorgeous.
She’s the kind of person who has a heart that wants to do more than just endure life.
She wants to live it, and that alone makes her so alluring. It’s her own special brand of magic.
I’ve already fallen into her orbit.
I want to stay there and gravitate around her and let her teach me how to fall in love with life again.
My hand shifts down hers, my fingers resting against the pulse point in her wrist. It thrums madly beneath my touch. She sucks in a breath and holds it, but it doesn’t change the frantic tempo.
Her lips part, and she leans in. Our faces are just a fraction apart. My lungs refuse to work, and I’m burning up. I don’t have enough oxygen to kiss her, but if this is how I die, then what a sweet death it would be.
She tilts her face up and closes her eyes. I bend down just a little bit further, my breath skating over her skin. Her lips are so enticing, so plush and perfect and delicious.
A flash of blue outside catches my eye.
The rain has let up without either of us noticing, and there’s a car braving the flooded channels of the driveway.
Adam.
I break away, stumbling back guiltily like I was doing something wrong.
Wasn’t I?
Was I?
Dulcie tucks her hand close to her body, cradling it against her chest. “Adam probably got caught in the storm, waited it out, and came back to make sure you were okay.”
“Maybe.”
“Or maybe he was just worried about you. He looked like a rather reluctant chauffeur. Was he super angry at me for what I did?” Her face is pained, shadowed with guilt. She looks so sweet like that, so guileless and honest, that I could stare into her eyes all day long.
It’s official. I’ve been sucked into her orbit, and I’m drowning.
Also? I’m fucked.
“Nah.” I take a step back, putting much-needed distance between us.
It’s me. I don’t trust myself. Not when I was just close enough to kiss her.
Not when I wanted it down to my very bones.
“He would have been hurt if I was hurt and angry if I was angry, but I went straight from the kitchen out into the woods with the jewelry to hide for the birds. I pulled weeds in the garden when I was done with that, then went straight to the gym, grabbed some leftovers out of the fridge after, and went to my room. Adam is used to me preferring my own company. It’s usually because I’m all up in my head, and by head, he’d probably say head up my arse. ”
She smiles. It’s small, but soft and a little bit shy. “I like that you say arse. It’s very exotic of you.”
“The music rubs off, I guess. I’ve been watching a lot of old interviews too. I wish I had a cool British accent. It sounds very exotic.”