Page 62 of Back to Willow

“You silly girl.” He laughs. “When I say I love you, I mean it. I love you and only you.” His words raise the hairs on my skin, causing shivers to run through it. They only grow into persistent tingles the moment his nose bumps into mine.

Like a fish out of water, my mouth opens up, but no sounds come out. Spring is just shy of starting, with the temperature carrying a chilly wind and the last remnants of humidity too stubborn to disappear, but I feel warm. I’m blazing hot, more so than the temperature outside.

It’s the blood being pumped frantically through my veins; I know it. Because that is what Liam Davis does to my body. He overworks and heats me up, almost causing it to break down.

It feels like he has the power to break me apart. And something inside me tells me it isn’t just a feeling.

His hand comes around my waist, pulling me even closer to him, almost as if he knows I am about to lose my strength. Then, he takes me by surprise, pushing his lips against mine.

He’s gentle at first, the soft grazing of his lips against mine, but he quickly gains momentum. His hold tightens just as his tongue peeks out, asking for permission, and I melt. Letting my body fit against his, I bring my hands to the nape of his head, tangling my fingers in his dark blond hair, opening my mouth.

Everything else but him disappears as we get lost in the sensations of each other.

Trust and safety envelop my heart in the same way his arms envelop me, ruining me for anyone else in this world. This is it. This is all I need.

When we finally separate, panting for air, he whispers, “Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

My heart swells, feeling too big for my chest, but I can’t help the smile that stretches on my face. It’s all I want.

I nod eagerly, repeating the wordyesa few times. He laughs and hugs me tight. For a few moments, rapture robs the both of us of common sense as he picks me up and starts swirling me around in the middle of the street.

Just as quickly, our loud and happy laughter ceases to exist, being replaced by a groggy and slurred voice. One I never wish to hear, ever again in my life. And yet, it’s still around, lurking from the deepest corners of my mind, ready to taunt me for eternity.

“Shit. What have I done?”

In any other situation, I’d care that he sobered up and realised the mistake he just made, but this time around, it’s too late. Some things can’t be undone. The rustling and stumbling echo throughout the large living room, but my brain has drowned out all noises.

Tears stream down my face aggressively, but I don’t dare move a finger. If I remain still, he won’t come back. He won’t remember I’m still here.

It’s only when I hear a door shut in the far distance, on the first floor of this three-storey house, do I dare breathe.

I can’t stay here a minute longer. Safety. I need safety.

So, I run. I run until that damned house turns into the safety of my bedroom, of my bathroom. I ignore the banging on the other side of the door, turning on the faucet. There’s a tiny sliver of hope that the scorching water that runs out of the tap will clean my dirty body.

It doesn’t, but I welcome the burn. It helps ease the physical and emotional pain. My knees hit my chest, and I circle my arms around my head, crying into the small cocoon I’ve made.

Everything and everywhere hurts.

But nothing hurts more than realising what this means. To me. To him and everyone around us…I can’t be the reason for so much pain. And that’s enough to make me realise this is my cross to carry. Alone and in secret, no matter how much it’ll cost me.

A sharp sting in my chest startles me, waking me up from my sleep. The safety of consciousness doesn’t seem much of a relief from the nightmare—there’s no difference in the kind of pain that consumes me.

I may be miles—and years—from what happened, but my body and brain seem to remember it as if it happened just yesterday.

“Mummy?” Dylan’s voice grounds me back to the present, away from the torments that my brain seems to find to torture me.

“I’m here, baby. Did I wake you up?” I whisper so he doesn’t witness the shakiness in my voice.

He nods and comes closer to me as I take a shaky breath.

“Sorry, my love.” I kiss his forehead before lying back down, closer to him.

Then his little hands start to wander through my shoulders until he finds my face. It may be weird to a lot of people, but he likes to do this sometimes in the middle of the night. To touch my face and make sure I am here with him, a kind of reassurance habit he gained over the years.

When he touches my cheeks, his hands freeze, and I can already imagine his frown upon realising I have a tear-stained face.

“Are you crying, Mummy? Did you have a dream-mare?” His words make me chuckle lightly.

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