Page 149 of Overcast

He shakes his head. “I can’t show you everything. There’s not enough time.”

Time.

It hits me like a slap to the face, jerking my head aside and reminding me of what we are, who we are without each other, and what’s coming down the line for me in the future.

“Then give me something to remember you by,” I whisper.

He doesn’t speak anymore, neither of us do. Together we take what we can, riding out on each other to receive our fill.

Marty sends me nibbling kisses as he fucks me hard and without abandon as I hold on to what we have now.

And when we crash, he holds me tightly, keeping himself within me as though he never wants to leave.

I don’t want him to, but the aftermath starts to creep up the back of my head, reminding me of what’s to come.

I don’t regret him.

I think I’m starting to fall in love with him.

* * *

Cracking my eyes open, I stretch my legs and peer over my shoulder to look at Marty sleeping next to me.

Except I’m met by rumpled white sheets and an empty space.

The sun beacons beautiful light into my room as a smile begins to work it’s way up my face.

Last night was amazing, epic, something I’ll never forget as long as I live. Marty was nothing but a crazed animal, kissing, licking, biting, and fucking me until he couldn’t keep his eyes open. He whispered things in my ears that I never would’ve imagined being strummed through them.

He was still my tormentor.

But in a way that made my body sing and hum. He made me feel beautiful for the first time in my life. That someone actually wanted me for no other reason, but because of who I am. Marty didn’t hide his imagination. He wasn’t afraid to display and show me all the things he dreamt up in his head. And he didn’t hold back on anything he said.

Sitting up, I’m sore between my legs but welcome the ache that Marty left there. I throw on some clothes—a pair of jeans and a purple tank top—and make my way downstairs, anxious to see him.

Visions of him standing shirtless in the kitchen hit my brain, making breakfast and greeting me with that heart-melting smile. That alone works my body into a vicious cycle of need to where I’d hand him over anything.

He should’ve started with that instead of growling in my face and yanking me from my home.

Taking a right off the stairs, I find the kitchen barren and not at all what I imagined in my head. I’m starving with a twinge of disappointment, but my appetite is to see Marty first before I stuff my face after burning off every calorie in my body from last night.

Striding outside, the backyard is the same, quiet in its normal way with no signs of the man who sends my body on a high. I round the house to find that his blue Chevy pickup is still parked on the gravel, along with Mills’ red SUV. I wait to hear Mills’ voice or chuckle, his always constant teasing of Marty generally around, but nothing.

The morning heat is a little more festering today, which leads me to believe maybe they went swimming?

No, Marty tries not to spend as much time with Mills as possible. Unless he wanted to drown him.

Scanning the yard one last time, my eyes catch a figure emerging from the thick woods. My heart slams into my chest in one solid beat, skidding and skipping in the next, as I back away towards the house.

But when it catches the sun’s rays, I’d know the chest of that man anywhere.

My lips curl as I march in his direction to meet him.

However, the closer I get, the more I realize how stiff he is. How his arms that sway on the sides of his body are determined, his shoulders squared off in annoyance, but his eyes, they don’t stray from me.

Instead, he beelines right for me, warming my chest but making my stomach do flips in return. On instinct, I stop, feeling a twinge of alarm through my frame.

He’s not the carefree man that was with me last night. I can see it in his posture, the way he ambles in my sight warns me that nothing is like yesterday.

And then I see it—the blood.

Crimson red splattered all over his face, his shirt and sweatpants. It’s like a punch to my ovaries, the biggest reality check of them all.

He’s a trained killer, and I have an inkling that’s not his blood on his t-shirt.

I’ve seen the way he fights.

I’ve experienced the unrehearsed rage coursing through his body. The haunted creature that lives under his skin that doesn’t like to be taunted.

“Marty,” I mutter as my body begins to tremble with the authenticity of the man who just stopped in front of me. His detached hazel eyes watch me as I say, “What did you do?”

---