32. Nik
Nik
“Nikki. Hey, Nikki!”
Peeling my eyes open, I find Shane sitting on the edge of the bed. Dark circles rim his eyes.
“Doris called the shop. She said you’ve missed two shifts. Are you sick?” He lifts a hand to my forehead.
“What day is it?”
“Tuesday.”
Tuesday? I’ve been in bed since my appointment on… What day was that? Friday? Holy shit.
Grabbing the water bottle from the nightstand, I try to take a drink but it’s empty. My mouth is like the fucking desert.
“Nikki?”
“Huh?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh.” I shake my head, trying to get out of bed, but it feels like trying to move against the current. “Nothing. I think I’ve just had a cold or something.”
His brows pinch as he takes me in. “How long have you been in bed?”
“What?”
He motions to my head, and I run my hand through my very matted hair.
“Oh, uh… a couple days?”
“Jesus! Why didn’t you call me?”
Because you wouldn’t have answered anyway. “I’m fine.”
“Nikki. I would have come home and taken care of you. You can’t just lay in bed for days. When’s the last time you ate?”
Who knows? I haven’t really been doing much eating lately.
When he realizes I don’t plan on answering, he says, “Okay. Just—stay here. I’ll get you some water.”
As he leaves the room, I flop back into bed. I’m so tired. I’ve been tired since…
My throat constricts, and I dig my nails into my palms hard, feeling the grip around it loosen.
I have to get out of this bed. Shower. Call work.
But I’m so fucking tired.
When he comes back with my water, he drops to his knees beside the bed. “I started the shower.”
Lifting to my elbow, I suck down the water, letting the coolness soothe my scratchy throat.
His eyes are focused solely on me. Is he clean right now?
I can’t tell, but he’s at the very least not completely fucked up.
It’s been so long since I’ve seen this side of him.
The side that’s here with me. Present. Mine.
If my body weren’t so weak, I’d probably fling myself from the sheets and into his arms.
“Come on. I’ll help you,” he whispers, brushing my tangled hair from my face.
It’s slow, but I manage to get upright. “It’s okay. I’m good.”
With an arm under my shoulders and the other under my knees, he lifts me off my feet. His eyes don’t leave mine as he says, “Let me help you.”
I let my weight melt into him as he carries me to the bathroom. Breathing him in is the most like myself I’ve felt in days. Probably longer, honestly.
As he puts me back on my feet in the bathroom, my hands start to shake. It feels like the ghost of the girl I was a few days ago—the girl from before—still haunts this room.
His fingers brush my hips as he takes the hem of my shirt and lifts it over my head before helping me out of my sweats.
I stop him when he tries to remove my panties. “I’m uh… on my period.”
His brows pinch in confusion. “Okay?”
“Okay, well can you just give me some fucking space? Jesus!”
His face falls. “I’m just trying to help.”
“I don’t need your fucking help!”
Taking a step back, he throws his hands up. “Sorry.”
My hands tremble at my sides, and there’s less malice in my voice when I say, “Just get out.”
He hesitates before giving a curt nod and leaving the room.
My butt hits the vanity as I sink back, sighing. What the fuck is wrong with me? He was just trying to help.
I finish getting undressed and climb into the shower.
The warm water pounds down on my stiff muscles, and my hands twitch with the urge to turn up the temperature, but I don’t know that I can handle that.
Sometimes the heat makes me a little lightheaded, and the last thing I need is for Shane to find me on the shower floor.
It takes longer than normal for me to finish my shower and untangle my hair, but I’m surprised when I come out of the bathroom to find Shane in the kitchen with a cup of coffee in his hand.
“Hey. I made you a peanut butter and jelly. That’s about all I could find.”
“That’s fine. Thank you.” Sliding onto the barstool, my wet hair soaks into the back of my giant T-shirt, and I inhale the sandwich wordlessly. “They’re probably going to fire me.”
“You can’t help if you’re sick.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t even call in.” Tossing the last bite down on my plate, I groan and run my hands over my face. “Fuck!”
“It’s fine. We’ll figure it out.”
That’s nice of him to say, but we both know where all of his spare cash goes. He makes plenty of it through the club, but that doesn’t seem to make much of a difference. The more he makes, the more drugs he buys.
I hate even thinking that because it makes him sound bad. Shane’s a good person. If he were in the driver’s seat, he’d be so different, but his addiction’s in control most of the time.
For a few weeks, Shane sticks around, and things start to feel like the old us. He didn’t even push when I avoided having sex with him.
Which I did for a while.
It just didn’t feel right after what happened. And even when I did give in the first time, I felt guilty after.
We should probably talk about what happened, about the way we left things, about… what I did.
But we don’t.
Instead, it’s like nothing ever happened.
And maybe it makes me a chickenshit, but I think I might kind of like it that way because I don’t know what will happen when we put it all on the table.
I think everything might all fall down.
So, last night as I watched him sleeping in our bed, I decided it was time to try and get back to normal again. Even if it’s just for the short time he’s here with me because I’m not foolish enough to think he won’t disappear again, and I don’t want to waste the time I have with him.
“What are you playing?” I ask, sitting on the floor in just his shirt as Shane lies on our bed strumming.
“‘It Ain’t Me Babe’ by Bob Dylan,” he mutters, continuing to play.
I nod. “I like it.”
He winks, sits up, and places the guitar to the side before grabbing my arm and pulling me to him.
“I missed you last night.”
“I made so much money.” I grin.
My cousin Kara got me a job at the bar after I was fired. It’s been a blessing in disguise honestly because I make so much more there than I ever did at the diner.
“So, you like it?”
“I love it.” I nod. “They even said I could fill in on the weekends if things keep going well.”
“That’s awesome!”
His hands find their way to my ass, and he tilts his head up to me. My heart picks up. These moments are the reason I can’t walk away. If there’s even a slim shot in hell he’ll come back to me, I’ll wait.
I lean down to kiss him, and he catches my bottom lip, lifting me to straddle his lap. Rolling my hips, I exhale.
“I’m gonna have to set up shop there when I’m not working just in case some drunk bastard gets the bright idea to hit on you.”
I giggle when his lips meet my neck, and his hands move up my sides under my shirt. His fingers on my bare skin send a chill up my spine.
“Or heaven forbid, tries to put his hands on you,” he whispers, catching my ear between his teeth. “I’ll just pile up the bodies behind the building.”
Pulling away, I swat his chest. “Shut up.”
A bright smile spreads across his face, and I get drunk off it.
“You know, hot bartenders make better tips.”
“Then, I’m sure you made a killing.”
I grin as he captures my mouth. He flips me onto my back, and I squeal before he tears off my panties and palms my legs, holding them apart.
He skims his lips up my thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, and I arch off the bed. When he finally reaches my center, his tongue darts out, just barely touching me. I writhe, needing more.
He hums. “Fuck, Nikki.” Placing a big palm on my stomach, he grins wickedly and adds, “Hold still, or I’ll stop.”
I lift my head. “If you stop, I will murder—” My words turn to a moan as his mouth finds my clit, and he circles it with his tongue. Focusing on not moving, I fist the sheets and practically whimper.
“Very good, Nikki. Keep doing that, and I’ll let you come on my fingers before you come on my cock,” he says before dipping one inside me. He curls it, then adds another and puts his mouth back on my clit.
It takes all of about sixty seconds for me to come. Unable to hold back anymore, I rock and grind against his hand.
He pulls his fingers free, and hovering over me, slips them into his mouth without taking his eyes from mine, then takes off his pants and briefs. Holding onto my ankle, he yanks me to the edge of the bed.
Shoving my legs apart, he sinks into me with a groan.
I gasp.
His hand slides into the back of my hair, and he pulls my head back. “That’s my girl. You’re so fucking perfect like this.”
Those words threaten to send me over the edge again, and my legs tremble.
“You’re already shaking. So. Fucking. Needy.”
I narrow my eyes, and he fucks me harder, causing me to throw my head back, arching off the bed. It’s almost too much.
Raking my fingers through his hair, I dig my nails into his scalp, and he grins.
“Little fucking Mantis. It’s a good thing I don’t mind ‘em mean, huh?” He pulls out, leaving me feeling empty. “Stand up and bend over.”
I used to hate that name. It’s not an insult when he says it. He loves even that part of me, no matter how fucked up that might be. He sees the bad and broken parts of me and loves them harder than the good, making it a lot easier not to hate myself even when I want to.
Deliberately slow, I rise, turn, and stretch my arms across the bed as I bend over in front of him, smirking over my shoulder.
He steps forward and pops my ass hard enough to make me flinch before yanking my head back by my hair and grabbing my chin to look at him. “You’re so goddamn beautiful, Nikki. That’s why any man in that bar would be lucky to have you.”
He lets go of my face and slides into my soaked pussy. “But none of them get to see you like this. Only me.”
He thrusts into me harder with each pump.
“And tell me, Nikki, why is that?”
I groan, my eyes rolling back in my head as his cock hits in the perfect spot.
“I can’t hear you, baby.”
“Because I—” God, I’m so close again. “Fuuuck.”
“You’re what?”
“Yours,” I pant.