It's a long moment before he shifts and leans forward, resting his arms on his knees. Finally he glances over at me. "I found him at his place." His throat moves as he swallows. “Two empty fifths.”
"I'm sorry," I whisper. Because I am. Despite my anger at Josh, he is hurting right now. And Josh…I'd already started thinking of Josh as mine. And I hate it when people hurt those I care about. "I guess we have to be grateful that you were there for him," I say finally. Because I cannot ask him the question burning inside me.
"I don't want to do this anymore, Abby," he whispers finally. He glances up at me. "I want to get on with my life. To forget about the war. About the friends I lost. I want to be a normal college guy trying to hook up with girls who are too good for me. I want to drink too much for no f*ck
ing reason at all, not because I'm trying to keep the thoughts from coming. I want to worry about grades and tuition and whether the girl I'm crushing on likes me back."
It is infinitely stupid to allow myself to feel his pain, to care about his hurt. I wrap my arms around his waist and lean against him. He rests his cheek on the top of my head. I wish there was something I could tell him that would magically make it all go away. That would lift the burden from his shoulders and let him be all those things he wanted to be. But then he wouldn't be Josh.
But maybe if I figured out how to lighten his load, maybe we could lighten mine a little, too.
"Maybe that's not how life works for people like us," I say when I'm sure I can speak without embarrassing either of us by crying.
“Why not?” he whispers. “Why can’t we just forget all the bad shit and live for the now?”
“I don’t know.” My fingers slip beneath his shirt to press against his back. “But I wouldn’t change who you are.” His shoulder is warm and solid beneath my cheek.
“I would gladly trade who I am to be a normal well-adjusted guy with a working cock.” He lowers his forehead to mine. “I’m so goddamned sorry, Abby.”
I say nothing.
He simply sits, his body, his life, threaded with mine as the rain starts to fall around us.
Chapter 25
Josh
Fear is a powerful thing. And when you've been up close and personal to violence, it is not an abstract thing.
My stomach knots at the idea of hurting her.
Of getting hard from her pain…My skin crawls.
She shivers against a chill.
I'm stymied. I want to pull her close, to keep her warm and safe.
I want to see if I can feel anything with her, other than the arousing allure of her pain.
I do the only thing I can.
It is enough. She breaks a little, sagging against me. I am at once broken and whole.
I rest my head against her soft curls. I'm home. I'm safe.
And for the moment, so is she.
Holding her is the closest thing to peace I've found since I've been home. I cannot let her go.
But I owe her the truth. About me. About what happened.
"I panicked." God but those words are hard. My throat closes off. I can barely breathe.
Her arms tighten around me. "I don't understand."
I can't say the words. I can't admit what the fight did to me.
"Walk with me?" Because maybe the words will be easier if I'm in motion.
When she leans back, though, her golden eyes are shining bright with unshed tears.
I cup her cheek, brushing my thumb over her smooth dark skin. "Don't cry. Please don't cry."
I pull her close again.
"I'm so tired for crying over people I care about."
"Don't cry for me," I whisper. "I'm not worth your tears."
She leans back and swipes at her cheeks. "Don't talk about my friend that way."
"That was pretty corny." I manage to smile and it feels so foreign, so unfamiliar; it feels like it could shatter my face.
She shrugs. "It's the best I can do on short notice."
I kiss her because I can do nothing less. I mean it as a teasing kiss, something easy and light, to heal the wounded space between us.
But it morphs into something else.
Something that touches the dead space inside me and makes me want to try once more to step out of the darkness and into the light.
I capture her sigh, breathing her in, needing every gasp of air she breathes.
It is torture to break away but I have to do this.
Now before I lose my last shred of courage.
Brushing my thumb across her cheek, I ease back. Tucking her fingers into mine.
"You already know about my, ah, problem." God but this is hard.
We walk, down the sidewalk cast in shadows. My skin is cold and tight.
I slip my hand from hers.
"It…yesterday." I clear my throat. "Turns out I've got an S&M streak." A bad joke. Black humor to mask the pain.
Shame burns hot beneath the cold.
"Josh." A whisper.
I clench my fists at my sides. "I…I don't know what I've become." My lungs burn. "My temper. I wanted to lash out yesterday." I can't say it. The words are stuck. Lodged in my throat. "I got hard. For the first time in more than a year, I got f*ck
ing hard."