Craving Resurrection
Page 15
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“It’s late love, why aren’t ye sleepin?” As soon as I’d said the words, I prayed that she wouldn’t change her mind and ask me to leave.
“Can’t sleep.” She shrugged as if it was no big issue, but her eyes were drooping from exhaustion. “Come on, you’re falling off the bed.”
She scooted back on the mattress, gripping my hand tightly until she’d settled herself against the wall behind her. I didn’t resist when she pulled me up next to her, even though I knew it was a bad fucking idea. I was twenty-two years old and she wasn’t quite eighteen according to my mum—no good could come from sitting on a bed with her in the middle of the night, especially when she was wearing so little.
“I was in a car accident when I was two,” she told me as I got settled. “My mom says my hand went through the window—that’s how I lost my fingers.”
“Dat must have hurt like a bitch.”
“I don’t remember it. They’ve just… always been missing, you know?” She straightened her fingers in mine and looked down at her hand. “I think most people notice, but no one ever says anything.”
“Except eejits who blurt out any fuckin’ t’ing dat pops into dere heads.”
“Nah, just you.”
“Ye just proved me—” I turned my head to look at her, and she was smiling impishly. “Ye pokin’ fun at me?”
“Maybe a little.”
“When’s yer birt’day?” There went my mouth again, asking shit that didn’t need an answer and I shouldn’t be asking in the first place.
“What? Oh, next month.”
“Eighteen, yeah?”
“Yep. Not that eighteen will be much different than seventeen.”
Eighteen was very different than seventeen in my eyes.
“At least ye’ll be a legal adult by den, yeah? Ye can move away from dose manky parents o’yers.”
“Where would I go? It’s not like I have a job or any money,” she scoffed, shaking her head.
“T’ings have a way of workin’ demselves out. Ye won’t be dere forever.”
“Did you move out when you were eighteen?”
“Nah, I had to stay wit’ Mum for a couple extra years. I left for Uni when Mum got a promotion at work and could afford dis shitehole herself.”
“You work, though, right? As a mechanic?”
“Sure. Pays de rent on me flat and livin’ expenses. Doesn’t leave much after dat, dough.”
“Oh.” Her head was leaned back against the wall, but her eyes were closed and every twenty seconds or so, it was dipping a little to the side until she jerked it back up. She looked so sweet that way, with her mouth relaxed and her dark eyelashes fanning her cheeks. I imagined lying down and wrapping myself around her so I could run my fingers through her hair until she drifted off completely. I knew better, though. That road would take me straight to hell.
“Why don’t ye go to sleep, love?” I asked, causing her head to jerk up again.
“No, stay for a while. I’m not tired.”
“I’m watchin’ ye fall asleep where ye sit. Yer tired.”
“I can’t stop thinking about that guy who came to my house earlier.” She whispered groggily. “Every time I close my eyes, I think he’s going to come back.”
“Yer not at home, ye know he wouldn’t get to ye here,” I told her gently, my gut clenching at the thought of her lying in my bed afraid. There was something inherently wrong with that picture. She should never have reason to feel afraid, especially while she was wrapped in my sheets.
“There’s a window.” Her voice was so quiet I had trouble hearing her, but when I finally figured out what she’d said, I had to stop myself from cursing out loud. There was a window at the foot of my bed that I’d had to stop crawling through when I’d reached puberty because it was so fucking small. The fact that she was afraid anyone over the age of ten could slip through it was a testament to how frightened she was. She’d hid it well, no doubt about that, but the truth often comes out in the dark of the night when one’s so tired that their walls become nonexistent.
“Here, love,” I said calmly, though my blood was boiling. I wanted to find that piece of shite and kill him, but I had other more important things to focus on at the moment. I reached up with my free hand and threaded my fingers into the hair at the side of her head, pulling her sideways a bit until she was resting against my side. “Sleep, I’ll not let anyone bodder ye tonight. Ye have me word.”
She sagged into me and I had to look away from her as she curled her legs to the side. She was wearing shorts that I hadn’t seen when I’d first come in, but they didn’t hide more than an inch of her long, smooth legs. I pulled the blanket up and over her to hide them. Christ.
She was going to be sore in the morning after sleeping sitting up the way she was, but I told myself over and over again that it didn’t matter. I couldn’t pull her into my lap and cuddle her more securely and I couldn’t suggest she lie down flat. The sight of her spread out on my bed would completely dissolve any shred of decency I had left.
I didn’t sleep that night as I sat with her. And if there had been any confusion before, it was gone then. I knew without a doubt that I was completely fucked.
Chapter 8
Amy
I woke up with a hard chest under my head and fingers threaded through my hair.
“Can’t sleep.” She shrugged as if it was no big issue, but her eyes were drooping from exhaustion. “Come on, you’re falling off the bed.”
She scooted back on the mattress, gripping my hand tightly until she’d settled herself against the wall behind her. I didn’t resist when she pulled me up next to her, even though I knew it was a bad fucking idea. I was twenty-two years old and she wasn’t quite eighteen according to my mum—no good could come from sitting on a bed with her in the middle of the night, especially when she was wearing so little.
“I was in a car accident when I was two,” she told me as I got settled. “My mom says my hand went through the window—that’s how I lost my fingers.”
“Dat must have hurt like a bitch.”
“I don’t remember it. They’ve just… always been missing, you know?” She straightened her fingers in mine and looked down at her hand. “I think most people notice, but no one ever says anything.”
“Except eejits who blurt out any fuckin’ t’ing dat pops into dere heads.”
“Nah, just you.”
“Ye just proved me—” I turned my head to look at her, and she was smiling impishly. “Ye pokin’ fun at me?”
“Maybe a little.”
“When’s yer birt’day?” There went my mouth again, asking shit that didn’t need an answer and I shouldn’t be asking in the first place.
“What? Oh, next month.”
“Eighteen, yeah?”
“Yep. Not that eighteen will be much different than seventeen.”
Eighteen was very different than seventeen in my eyes.
“At least ye’ll be a legal adult by den, yeah? Ye can move away from dose manky parents o’yers.”
“Where would I go? It’s not like I have a job or any money,” she scoffed, shaking her head.
“T’ings have a way of workin’ demselves out. Ye won’t be dere forever.”
“Did you move out when you were eighteen?”
“Nah, I had to stay wit’ Mum for a couple extra years. I left for Uni when Mum got a promotion at work and could afford dis shitehole herself.”
“You work, though, right? As a mechanic?”
“Sure. Pays de rent on me flat and livin’ expenses. Doesn’t leave much after dat, dough.”
“Oh.” Her head was leaned back against the wall, but her eyes were closed and every twenty seconds or so, it was dipping a little to the side until she jerked it back up. She looked so sweet that way, with her mouth relaxed and her dark eyelashes fanning her cheeks. I imagined lying down and wrapping myself around her so I could run my fingers through her hair until she drifted off completely. I knew better, though. That road would take me straight to hell.
“Why don’t ye go to sleep, love?” I asked, causing her head to jerk up again.
“No, stay for a while. I’m not tired.”
“I’m watchin’ ye fall asleep where ye sit. Yer tired.”
“I can’t stop thinking about that guy who came to my house earlier.” She whispered groggily. “Every time I close my eyes, I think he’s going to come back.”
“Yer not at home, ye know he wouldn’t get to ye here,” I told her gently, my gut clenching at the thought of her lying in my bed afraid. There was something inherently wrong with that picture. She should never have reason to feel afraid, especially while she was wrapped in my sheets.
“There’s a window.” Her voice was so quiet I had trouble hearing her, but when I finally figured out what she’d said, I had to stop myself from cursing out loud. There was a window at the foot of my bed that I’d had to stop crawling through when I’d reached puberty because it was so fucking small. The fact that she was afraid anyone over the age of ten could slip through it was a testament to how frightened she was. She’d hid it well, no doubt about that, but the truth often comes out in the dark of the night when one’s so tired that their walls become nonexistent.
“Here, love,” I said calmly, though my blood was boiling. I wanted to find that piece of shite and kill him, but I had other more important things to focus on at the moment. I reached up with my free hand and threaded my fingers into the hair at the side of her head, pulling her sideways a bit until she was resting against my side. “Sleep, I’ll not let anyone bodder ye tonight. Ye have me word.”
She sagged into me and I had to look away from her as she curled her legs to the side. She was wearing shorts that I hadn’t seen when I’d first come in, but they didn’t hide more than an inch of her long, smooth legs. I pulled the blanket up and over her to hide them. Christ.
She was going to be sore in the morning after sleeping sitting up the way she was, but I told myself over and over again that it didn’t matter. I couldn’t pull her into my lap and cuddle her more securely and I couldn’t suggest she lie down flat. The sight of her spread out on my bed would completely dissolve any shred of decency I had left.
I didn’t sleep that night as I sat with her. And if there had been any confusion before, it was gone then. I knew without a doubt that I was completely fucked.
Chapter 8
Amy
I woke up with a hard chest under my head and fingers threaded through my hair.
