25. Chapter 25
Chapter 25
N az woke up limp and cold, laughter ringing in his ears, laughter that wasn’t real but a jumbled, haunting memory.
He shouldn’t have gone to bed in just another pair of the old man’s underwear.
Meg’s body was no longer warm and pressed against him. Orgasming had knocked him out for a long, deep sleep. His jeans were no longer a mess on the bathroom floor, and his shirt was missing.
Naz dragged on the uncomfortable clothes he’d found, the shorts too tight around his dick, making his vision dim at the edges. He wasn’t hard—he couldn’t get hard with those voices—but the tightness made his heart race and the laughter louder.
Nerves tightened his neck as he left the bedroom. The need to find Meg warred with the dread of her seeing him. She’d given him an out, agreed to not touch him, and then he’d ignored all of that and had come from just touching her.
Her happiness had made him feel something he never had before—confident, or maybe just competent. There’d been satisfaction from her delight.
The expectation likely hidden beneath that delight dragged his mind back into darkness. That, and the memory of her calling what had happened between them sex.
He found Meg sitting on the couch, so similar to the day before, with the little giraffe turning in her fingers. She wore his black shirt, her legs pulled up underneath it. Her eyes were unfocused as if she was thinking about something. He hoped she was thinking about him, though he also dreaded it.
Naz’s throat closed too tightly to say her name.
Meg noticed him there anyway. Her smile bloomed in a slow spread of genuine joy. The sight caused the laughter in his head to dim, only faint echoes remaining.
Naz stared at her. Even if she wanted sex with him, how could he run away? He couldn’t lose her.
Meg’s legs uncurled, and she rose from the couch. “Good morning! I found something you can eat. Hold on, I didn’t want to make it too early. It’d get gross, all soggy and cold.”
Food had been the farthest thing from his mind, but he followed her to the kitchen anyway.
She had found oatmeal packets, cinnamon flavored. He didn’t admit he disliked cinnamon as he watched her mix it in a bowl.
“With double the water, maybe triple, it’d be easy to drink, and the box said it had protein, like your powder.” Her smile was everything. When had she begun smiling at him like that, like she was as delighted to be near him as he was to be near her?
Meg valued him, he reminded himself over whispers that told him the opposite. She’d said she didn’t want him to die.
A tendril of darkness weaved into his heart, telling him that was only because she needed him. She had nowhere else to go, no one else to trust.
Neither did he. Not unless he wanted to drag Diego and Ramiro into danger.
Meg was in danger because of him. Julio had enjoyed fucking her. Would he have really hurt her if Naz hadn’t lost control like that?
Suddenly Meg’s hands clamped over his cheeks, dragging his focus back to her. Her smile had dropped, and she glared at him.
“Whatever you’re thinking, stop it right now.” She dragged his face down, making him bend. “I don’t like that look in your eyes.”
Naz blinked at her, the gray edges of his vision dispersing like mist.
She leaned forward, giving him a kiss that didn’t linger but was more a simple press of lips. No tingles shot through his body from it. A kernel of warmth unfurled in his chest instead, a warmth that the chill inside him fought against.
This was when she would pressure him about his working dick. Not that it was working at the moment, but she’d admit that she wanted him to fuck her. He wouldn’t be able to, and he’d lose her.
Meg patted his cheek before releasing him, turning toward the now steaming bowl. He’d missed whenever she’d heated it up.
She blew and stirred, like she’d done to the soup.
“Is it the food?” she asked, her voice lowering. “You don’t want me involved in this?”
Naz shook his head. Eating around Meg was better than eating alone.
“Then is it—” She swallowed, the spoon slowing. “Is it because you came in your pants? You’re embarrassed or—” Her eyes widened and flew to his. “Oh shit, are you worried about me? Because I don’t like cum?”
Naz hadn’t even thought about her touching his cum stains. She hated cum. He should have taken his pants to the washer the night before, but she said—
Her laughter scattered his thoughts. “Of course you’d be worrying about me.” Her lips sobered, but there was still a brightness in her eyes. “I wanted the evidence, remember? Otherwise, I wouldn’t have believed it.”
There was hope in her eyes, hope that he’d obliterate when she realized he still couldn’t have sex.
Seb’s voice joined those in Naz’s head, reminding him that Meg liked to fuck.
“And you shouldn’t be embarrassed,” Meg continued, turning to the sink and pouring the runny oatmeal she’d made into the same plastic cup as the night before. “I found it really sweet, what happened. And sexy as hell.”
The tightness in his neck duplicated in his stomach. His limp dick would show her soon enough just how unsexy he was.
Meg brought the cup to him. “It’s still a little warm.”
At least that gave him an excuse for not trying to drink it right away. His mind churned too much to focus on opening his mouth and swallowing.
“Can I ask you something?” Meg asked, sounding a little hesitant.
She’d never asked permission before. She spoke whatever was on her mind, distracting him in the best way.
He tensed at what he knew was coming. She’d ask him to try to put his dick inside her.
Her hands played with the hem of his shirt, brushing against her legs.
“Are you mad I took your shirt?” she blurted out.
Naz blinked, struggling to absorb the question that didn’t follow the path his mind had carved. Anything he had was hers. The shirt looked better on her anyway.
Meg reached for the collar of his polo shirt, frowning as she tugged on the strangling edges. “I mean, you’re so uncomfortable in these clothes. The jeans needed to be washed, but the shirt was okay. I should take it off, let you at least—”
His hand covered her mouth, drawing her eyes away from his ridiculous clothing so she’d see him shake his head.
Her frown brushed against his palm, and she made a noise before pushing his hand away. “You can tell me the truth, Naz. I know I’m being selfish. It just smelled like you, and I…” Her eyes fell.
“Meg,” he said, her name easy again.
Her eyes narrowed on his. “Why did that sound like you’re annoyed or scolding me or something? That’s not the way I like to hear you say it.” Her fingers caressed his throat. “Say it again, the right way.”
He had to focus on swallowing first, too much saliva filling his mouth. “Meg,” he said, the sound of it different, just like she’d asked.
She let out the giggle he loved. “That’s it. Now drink up.” She stepped back to give him room, her gaze returning to his clothes. “You look awful in those clothes. Maybe I can find some scissors around here. If I cut off the sleeves and the collar, it wouldn’t be half bad.”
While she rambled on about making him a better outfit, Naz drank the breakfast she’d prepared, hardly needing to concentrate at all to swallow and finishing it long before she’d finished planning out their day, which, he was grateful to hear, did not include sex.
N az’s nerves faded more and more throughout the day. For the first time in forever, he consumed three meals, each one taking less of an effort than the one before.
He’d left Meg with her scissors while he’d done a perimeter check, and again later, he’d left her on the couch for the same reason. So far, no one seemed to know they were there. Which made sense. That was why he’d chosen the location, though it had partially been an automatic pull toward Diego. Diego had become safety and freedom long ago, though those clingy defaults had eased over the years once Naz learned to hold his own.
He curled up on the couch near Meg, who took his hand, weaving and unweaving their fingers together on top of her thigh while she watched whatever rerun had captured her attention. Naz only watched her.
The way she’d cut up the polo was more comfortable, making it similar to one of his sleeveless undershirts, though a little on the short side. It molded to his chest, and left some skin visible above the waistband of his jeans. While that patch of skin on Meg drew his eyes, on him it looked ridiculous. He’d caught Meg staring a time or two.
She leaned forward, pressing the mute button on the remote as credits rolled on the screen. Her body angled toward his, and she didn’t release his hand.
“I want to talk about something, but tell me to shut up if it’s none of my business,” she said.
His heartbeat jumped as his ears rang and he waited for the inevitable.
“I want to hear your voice more,” she rushed out.
The ringing faded while he stared at her.
“I know it’s hard for you, but it makes me feel…I don’t know. Special. Like I’m the only one you talk to.”
Not the only one, but Naz never said anyone else’s name like he did Meg’s. Diego’s had too many syllables, and he wasn’t going to abbreviate to something babyish to make it easier.
Meg was a single, strong syllable, similar to ‘no,’ which he’d practiced often enough.
“It doesn’t hurt you, does it? To talk?” she asked, playing with his fingers absently.
Naz shook his head. Pain wasn’t why he didn’t do it. The massive effort it took most of the time wasn’t even why.
“Okay.” She smiled again. “You’ve said a few things, words that meant the world to me. I’m greedy.” She scooted closer to him. “I want to hear more. Talk to me, Ignacio.”
He hesitated. Denying Meg anything was the opposite of what he wanted, but the idea of talking more wasn’t appealing at all. Not when it sounded so false in his ears.
“You don’t have to rush. I know it’s slow for you. You can skip harder words. I’ll figure out what you’re trying to say.” She lifted his hand, pressing a quick kiss to it. “I get you. I’ll always manage to get you.”
He loved those moments when Meg understood him without words. Doubt and guilt warred inside him, mixed with tingles from that brief touch of her lips. He wanted to shake his head, but he was scared to.
Naz leaned forward, reaching past her, his head brushing her shoulder as he snagged his phone.
Her smile fell when she glanced down at his Notes app.
‘My voice sounds wrong,’ Naz typed.
“Wrong” wasn’t the word he used in his head. He sounded brain damaged, just like he was. The little he said around those he worked with always caused strange looks or laughter. The more silent he was, the stronger he seemed to them.
“I like the way your voice sounds,” Meg countered, reaching for his lips, her thumb stroking the bottom one.
“Meg.” Her name pinged inside his mind.
“Like that.” Her caress slid along his nerve endings. “I love hearing my name.” She licked her lips, reaching for the phone still in his hand and tossing it on the couch. “Say something else.”
“I…can’t.” Both words were a struggle, his focus splintering as she continued to touch him. His voice sounded so wrong in his head. At least only his voice was there; the voices from his memories remained silent instead of adding their own taunts.
“You can. You can do anything, Ignacio.” Meg was so close now, as if she wanted to absorb his words into her skin when he spoke. “Please try. For me.”
“For…you,” he repeated.
She didn’t grin or laugh like he expected. The pupils of her eyes grew larger as she stared at his mouth. She dropped her hand from his lips, ducking her head to rest it against his chest. “I want to hear it in here next.”
“For you,” he said again, the pound of his heart drowning out even his voice. “Any…thing for you.” Speaking was easier without the tingles rioting from his lips.
She snuggled against him, wrapping her arms around his middle. “I’m so fucking lucky to have you.”
He shook his head, but she couldn’t see it from where she was.
So he took a breath and said more words.
“No…me.”
Naz was the lucky one. He’d never thought that about himself. His heart thudded even harder beneath her ear as he tried not to think about how quickly luck like that could fade.