Chapter 8 #3
“Liv,” he moans, moving onto pressing his lips into my neck, tossing the scarf from my head. My eyes roll back in pleasure. The feeling of his warm kisses moves to my chest as he tugs the neckline of my dress down, surely stretching the fabric.
My own hands wrap around his shoulders, nails digging into his shirt, pulling on him.
He sits up in compliance with my urging so I can slip his shirt from his body, running my fingers up his sides as I do so.
The goosebumps raised prickle against my arms as I press my whole self against him, both hands on his cheeks.
As I try to control my breathing, I pull back to fully drink him in.
“Don’t stop,” he pleads, leaning forward to kiss me once more.
“We can’t,” I rasp, looking away to avoid his gaze.
Sawyer pulls back, hands loosening on my sides. It isn’t that I don’t want that sort of intimacy with him, because some nights I can barely hold myself back when I think of it. But it is far more complicated than attraction. And I have explained such to him.
“Liv, I understand,” he says, sliding me from him onto the wood. He remains sitting with his knees bent, arms resting on them. “Anything, with you, it is enough.”
In this position, I can truly take him in. His muscled arms spread tight against his shirt, his hair unruly, skin dusted with dirt, scar-covered forearms. This life he has been subjected to, not by choice, is not forgiving.
“Thank you for understanding,” I say. I scoot closer to him and rest my head on his shoulder, breathing in the early spring breeze.
There we sit for what feels like hours, his arm around me as we drink in the peace of this spot.
We eventually have to go back. Trentin surely would drink his pockets empty in a short amount of time considering how long it’s been since the last market.
The need for alcohol surpassing the need for decadence.
Sawyer’s breathing hitches and he coughs, waking me from my trance. His hands massage his temples and he slowly comes to stand.
“Come on, let’s get that necklace on you,” he says, voice soft and quiet. I hesitate, looking at his unreadable face but I take his hand and let him pull me up to stand, a sense of urgency in his movements.
We’ve been on the floor for so long, my head spins. Sawyer steadies me, leaning his head down to meet my eyes.
“You okay?”
“Yes, I just stood up too fast,” I say, shaking my loose hair from my shoulders.
From up here, the tree towers even higher than before, and I realize how unsteady the structure really is. It surprises me that the wood can hold us both with how worn and chipped it looks.
He moves his hands up to my shoulders and turns me around. With my back to him, I can now see the variety of trees in front of me. It really is beautiful out here, so I make a mental note to come back next week.
Sawyer reaches around my head, holding the necklace in front of me from each end. “Your hair,” he murmurs, close enough to my ear that I can hear a shake in his voice.
“Afraid of heights, Sawyer?” I tease, holding my hair up over my shoulder.
In silence, he pulls the necklace close to my chest, clasping it with ease behind my neck despite the largeness of his fingers. The cool silver rests upon my skin as if it was made just for me. A breeze goes by, picking up the scent of the flower once more.
I turn around and rub my thumb across the locket, the small thing so precious to me. Sawyer’s expression of sorrow catches my attention and I step closer to him, rising on my tip toes to meet his face.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, yet his gaze avoids mine. He merely steps forward for a hug, my arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.
His warm embrace is both tight and desperate. His deep breathing communicating so many things. With a slow beat building, one that feels internal, he sways us side to side, a slow dance, taking small steps backwards.
I hear a sniffle, muffled, but clearly there.
Pulling back, our eyes finally meet. A tear escapes from his eye, tracing a line down his cheek and past his jaw. A clean line in the faint layer of dust.
“Forgive me,” he whispers low.
“Wha—”
Sawyer’s hands remove my arms from around his neck at a lightning speed before pushing me backwards from my wrists. My heels, being only a mere inch or two from the edge of the platform, tip back into the spring air.
My body falls.
And falls.
I flail my arms, reaching for a branch, anything to grab.
But there’s nothing.
Just me, the ground and the space between us.
A pocket of existence, reserved for this moment, stills for me as I descend. Time slows and through my panicked movements, I see Sawyer is upon the platform, staring down at me as I near the ground.
A loud roaring fills my ears, thundering with a ferocious bass. Like beasts tromping on hollowed ground. Sound pierces and warps, builds a bass like no other as a vignette pulls in like the covers of a duvet.
Then darkness.
It washes over me like a welcoming, painless, warm bath. I drown in its waters, never moving to resurface.