Page 68 of Beg Me Angel

My fingers worked over his, tracing the long strokes and curve of vowels. I followed his path, word for word, feeling what he wrote and not just reading it.

“Morning, Honey.” My mother's bare feet softly tapped the floor as she came around the corner. “How did you sleep, any better than the past few nights?”

My first night home was rough, I spent most of it twisting and turning. I could see in her eyes when I told her the next morning that she thought it was from bad dreams, from hidden memories eating me alive while I slept.

That wasn't why.

It was everything else. The street was too noisy, the lamps on the sidewalk were too bright. Every car made my ears perk up, each flash of headlights washed over my lids keeping me awake.

I missed the quiet of the cabin, and the clear sparkling sky lit by bright stars and the glowing moon. I missed the crackle of the fire in the distance and the way it felt when Pax wrapped me up in his big strong arms, holding me tight and keeping me safe.

I had thought about him every minute of every day since I was torn from him. His face would light up behind my lids when I shut my eyes. I could still feel his hands on my body, his warm breath on the shell of my ear.

It wasn't going away, it never shut off, it never stopped.

I'm losing my damn mind. I'm craving my captor over my freedom.

What is wrong with me?

Snatching the letter, I stuffed it into my jeans. “Better, I slept better.” I lied, not wanting to worry her anymore than she already was about me. Twisting against the island in the kitchen, I leaned back, crushing the paper in my back pocket.

“Oh, Lord, I forgot these were here. I don't need them anymore, that's a blessing.” Grabbing the stack of fliers, she dumped them into the recycling bin. “I should have done that days ago, you don't need to see them.”

“It's fine, they don't bother me.” Crossing my arms, I smiled. “Honestly, anything that might shock my memory is welcomed.”

Her eyes smiled as her lips raised up. “It'll come back, I'm sure of it. But for now, how do pancakes sound?”

“Delicious.”

“Excellent, you want me to make regular big ones or do want those small sand-dollar ones you used to love when you were little?”

Tilting my head, I let my eyes search the ceiling. “Um, sand-dollar.”

Giggling, she grinned as she started to pull all the ingredients from the cupboard. “How did I know you would say that?” Rocking her head, she smugly let the corner of her lip lift to her ear.

“Because you know me.”

Watching my mom pour the bag of flour into the bowl, she went to the fridge and grabbed a couple of eggs, letting the fridge door close on its own. It felt weird to see that, to get hit with cold air from inside, to see how easy it was for her to just have what she needed right at her fingertips.

I missed the simplicity of Pax's world. The way it felt to watch him work up a sweat while cutting logs, the feelings that would bubble up in my chest when he would go out and come back with fresh garden vegetables he foraged from the world around us.

I felt more vulnerable now, more at the mercy of others and what they wanted from me. The phone had been ringing off the hook from reporters wanting to know what happened, the sounds of the television gave me a headache.

Detective Deacon wanted me to come in and tell him more of my story, more of what happened after I woke up. And I just kept putting it off, telling him I wasn't ready yet.

Those memories were mine and mine alone. Pax had been my safety, my savior, my only.

Stop it.

If he did do this, then that safety was a mask.

It wasn't real.

But the feelings I had for him were real, they were as real as me telling this story, as real as reaching your hand out in the rain and feeling the sharp sting of heavy raindrops.

It hurt to even think that maybe the only feelings I had felt in years, the only hint of lust and throb of love might have been nothing more than a single man playing for an audience of one.

The whisk sparked against the inside of the metal bowl my mother was holding, each swirl of her hand forced a sharp ping into my ears. “Have you thought about the therapy the doctors want you to do?”

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