Chapter 18
Shadow
I shouldn’t be this morose when I know that Fawnie is on her way with my surprise.
If it was anyone but her, I would have told her to fuck right off with that shit.
I hate surprises. I hate most things, actually, but especially that.
Instead of saying any such thing, I texted her that I’d see her soon, and to drive safe.
I went straight into the quiet office, pulled out the desk chair, and started falling apart real fast.
That’s a lie. I’ve been unravelling for days.
My whole life.
But especially the past few days.
I’ve done so much thinking, allowing my brain and my body to process emotions instead of blocking them out and stuffing them down like I usually do.
I’ve come to the very obvious realization that I am well and truly fucked.
It’s Fawnie. It’s the way she looks at me, like she can see straight down to my soul, and she finds nothing black or sinful or evil there.
It’s how I know that when she curls a hand over my heart, she’s silently telling me that she’s so glad that I’m alive, that I’m in her life, that I’m perfect for her, even if I could never see myself as anything less than flawed.
She looks at me like she’d miss me until the day she dies if I went before her.
Like she’d keep our memories as her greatest treasures.
It does my head in, thinking about meaning something to someone.
After the fire, there were a few times when I wondered what the point was of surviving. Things had always been strained at home, but it went from bad to worse. I’d like to say those were my lowest lows, but they haven’t been.
I know some of that is bullshit. Maybe a lot of it. I know I’m hard on myself. Many of my problems are self-made. Loneliness is self-imposed. What I’ve been doing isn’t healthy. It’s just taken me until right now to actually give a shit.
The fire might have changed my life, but inside, I was all ice. It hurts thawing out.
It hurts even more to realize that I had this someday dream in the back of my mind that I never allowed to drift into the front, because if I did, I thought it would take me apart, dismantle me down to bare bones, and break me.
Someday, I might have what other people have. Someday, there might be a person out there who could look past the mess I am. Someday, I might have what could pass for a normal life. Someday. But unlikely.
Someday was a pipedream.
Shit.
I’ve been sitting at my desk like a total loser, thinking about all of this, raw on the inside, and raw on the outside. My cheeks are itchy and when I bring my palms up, I find them soaked.
Again. Jesus.
My phone dings on the desk at the worst possible moment.
Fawnie: I’m here.
I told her to text me and that I’d come unlock the door for her.
I quickly scrub at my face, smearing tears all over the place.
What the hell is wrong with me? This is only going to make me look extra pathetic.
It’s bad enough that she caught me awake, thinking about darker, shittier, more pathetic things at her house.
I cried then too. A lifetime of it is finally pouring out of me and I can’t seem to stop it.
I want to wash my face in the bathroom, but the club hasn’t been cleaned yet, so that’s a hard pass, and there’s no way I’m leaving Fawnie outside at this hour.
I walk straight to the door and flip all the locks. She slips inside, lovely in a high ponytail, her usual signature heavy eye makeup—this time in shades of purple with heavy black wings, and a lowkey outfit. She looks like she could be going jogging, in yoga pants and a pullover sweater.
Not to say that’s not sexy. She’s gorgeous.
I’d love to rip those pants straight off of her and feast on her delicious pussy.
I’d love to be inside of her even more, making her take my thick cock, craving her struggle and also the rightness of the fit when her body adjusts, hanging onto a thread at every single one of her sexy whimpers.
It’s what I should have done last night at her house.
I hate that I didn’t worship her the way she deserved.
I hate it even more that she had to take care of me.
I hate that there’s this part of me that wants to make me see sense.
It wants to tell me that this isn’t going to work.
I need to shield myself against the inevitable disappointment.
That voice screams at me that someday is never going to be a thing.
I need to stop hoping. Stop trusting. I need to bail on this before it hurts so much that it shatters me into tiny little dust particles that blow away on the wind.
Where’s the point where I take a hard stand and tell her we can’t do this anymore? Where I shut it all down, including myself?
Right. There isn’t one.
Fawnie is Fawnie and I can’t. I. Can’t.
Especially because the first thing she does is throw out her hands out to clasp the sides of my face. Her touch as gentle as always.
I never used to like being touched. I’d never been touched with kindness before.
I realize for the first time in my life I can bear it, it feels better.
And how much of the other stuff—my gut, my head, my chest, my heart—feels so much worse.
Heavy. Shaky. Off balance. Like I’m going to trip and tumble and literally shatter.
I can only hope that it’s the classic worse before it gets better bullshit.
That’s possibly the strangest, most painful part of it all. Hope. The fact that it’s there, and that I want to grasp onto it and not let it go.
“Finn…” She breathes, blinking at me with nothing but concern. “Are you- we- I- are you doing okay?”
“Fine,” I respond, going for sarcastic, but it comes out watery. Not watered down. Like, wet sounding, in my throat.
She winces. If she was anyone else, I’d put on my usual fuck it face, but Fawnie isn’t just anyone.
Already, she’s not.
“I don’t like the idea that you’re in here, telling yourself things that aren’t true. Intrusive thoughts are one thing, but they can get too far. They can get mean and ugly. You don’t deserve that.”
“What do I deserve? Only good things? Hmm? Should I talk to someone? A therapist? Your dad? Someone at the club? Should I tell them all the whiny dumb ass things that my brain likes to cycle through? The whole boring poor me, blah-blah-blah bullshit?”
She rolls her eyes, but her lips twitch too. “It’s not boring. And if you want, I know my dad would love to talk. So would anyone from the club, I’m guessing. Loreena told me she talked to the club’s therapist and he’s great. Very revolutionary.”
“Is that the surprise? You came all this way with some sixth sense as to how I like to beat myself up and you wanted to tell me to see a therapist because talking will make me feel better? Don’t you think I’ve tried all that before?
” Her brows crash together, creating a little crease in her forehead that makes me pissed off at myself for having caused it. I want to smooth it away.
“I brought you this surprise, and it’s me. I have a butt plug in, which I thought would be cool and kinky, but we don’t have to do anything. I can just go and take it out and—”
“I’m sorry, you have a what?” And where? I guess if I needed to be taken out of myself then Fawnie just did it in one fell swoop.
Fawnie believes in me. If only I could believe in me too. If only I could look at myself the way she does. Is. Right now. Her blue eyes burning bright, deep enough to fall into and get lost in.
I’m always burning. Always in pain. But when she touches me, she’s like the depths of her eyes. A soothing balm to the ache. A gentle buffer against the hot sandpaper that is always scraping me raw.
My hands come up to frame Fawnie’s. I press them down harder on my face, closing my eyes, savoring the warmth of her palms against my skin. They’re so smooth and perfect, just like the rest of her body. She’s pristine. Flawless.
Unlike me.
“We can just talk instead. Or sit quietly. I could keep you company while you do the books and stuff.”
Awesome. She edged the shit out of herself just to come here and give you a sexy surprise. Nice work ruining it by totally being yourself. Again. Way to offer her very mediocre sex and then no sex after she blew you and fucking swallowed.
I grind my teeth together. “No,” I hiss through them. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to ruin the surprise.”
“You couldn’t ruin anything.” She’s sincere because she’s sweet.
My mind goes straight to stripping those leggings off of Fawnie, bending her over my desk, and finding out just how wet and ready she is after edging herself all the way here.
I imagine the plug and what her sweet asshole would look like puckered around it.
Would she come harder if I tapped that plug while I stretched her wide open on my cock?
I twist our fingers together and lead her straight to my office. I don’t know why I hesitate once we’re inside. She offers me yet another lifeline.
“I could sit on the desk and get myself off while you watch. If you’re not feeling so good tonight.”
I refuse to let my brain go to town with this.
Also, I don’t want to be someone she feels she needs to tiptoe around, treating me like I’m fucking glass.
I know it’s my fault and not hers. If I keep going to pieces every time she peels off another fucking layer, then I’m just making things worse.
I need to get out of my damn head. “I’d really like to participate. ”
“I’d love that too, but only if it makes you happy.” She grazes a kiss over my lips. “You can always talk to me. I’ll always be here.”
I know it’s true, even if it shouldn’t be. I don’t deserve Fawnie in the least. I don’t deserve her kindness or her devotion.
Understatement of the damn century.
“I’m not going to leave you alone. Not ever.”
“That’s rather obvious,” I grunt. If I could turn off my asshole game, that would be great.