Page 71 of Only the Small Bones
“Don’t exaggerate.”
Ryan gazed up at me, waiting out my deflection.
“You and I have more than Xavier and I ever had. Sex doesn’t equate to love.”
He propped himself up on an elbow, searching my face. I waited for him to call me on what I’d said, to ask if it was a general statement or something more. Something deeper. He didn’t.
He sat up and urged me to do the same before fisting the hem of my shirt. He paused, waiting for me to grant or deny him permission. I raised my arms, allowing him to pull it over my head.
My heart raced, knowing what would come next. Ryan touched my shoulder, motioning for me to turn around. I swallowed my uncertainty. He’d seen my back before. Somehow, though, this time felt different. This time I got the sense he was looking for greater understanding.
I settled onto my stomach, the cum cooling in my underwear feeling unpleasant. I gritted my teeth through it, relaxing as best I could.
His fingertips landed on my shoulder blades, tracing the dense foliage of the tree canopies. His touch felt both condemning and absolving, both a reminder and permission to forget.
His fingers shook as they skated past the tree line to the field of colorful wildflowers and lush blades of grass. The view was attractive from a distance.
I closed my eyes with a sigh of surrender when the beam of Ryan’s flashlight app clicked on. His breath tickled the middle of my back as he leaned in. Right under my rib cage, hidden beneath the soil and in between the beauty, lay the bones of everything stolen.
He tugged the waist of my pants lower. I lifted my hips to make it easier. Through the reflection in the floor to ceiling window, I watched as his light moved down my spine to my sacral region—to the mountain of skeletal remains holding up the field.
“That’s the place where promises were broken,” I whispered. “The place where innocence was lost.” The smallest of the bones lay atop a wooden miniature coffin engraved with a name, a date, and my plea to Gargantuan.
Bring him back.
I shivered as he smoothed his hand over it.
Ryan’s phone light went off, and he eased back. The loss of his touch and the warmth of his breath against my skin left me feeling cold and alone.
“What are you thinking?” I whispered into the silence, my heart racing.
His pensive gaze moved to the window where I watched his reflection with my hands folded under my cheek. Ryan licked his lips, and my mind clouded with negative thoughts, assumptions of what he must be thinking of me.
“Do you think it’s morbid?”
He shook his head, and I licked my own lips nervously.
“Do you want to know who he is?”
Ryan appeared indecisive before looking away.
I wouldn’t push him if he wasn’t ready, because I wasn’t ready either.
“You have to tell him.”
“Do you think it’s beautiful?”
“Yes,” he mouthed.
I turned over, sitting up to cup his cheek, brushing my thumb over his beauty mark. “Does it make you feel sad for me?”
“Yes,” he mouthed again, gently sweeping his lips over mine. He regarded me, his fingers outlining my sorrow. His lips formed a hard line of determination as he grabbed his phone again.
Ryan:Make love to me.
“No,” I said with vehemence. His face fell, his cheeks turning red. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.” I kissed him in apology, dragging it out so he knew it wasn’t a matter of me not wanting him. “I don’t want you to do something you’re not ready for because you feel sorry for me.”
Ryan:That isn’t why.
