Page 243 of Rock Me All Night
He presses his body into mine. "When was the first time?"
"It was the day my parents told me about the diagnosis." I trace the light scar in my right wrist. "They were both so scared and so sad. They looked at me like they were worried I'd be scared and sad too, like it would kill them if I wasn't sweet and bubbly anymore."
I take Drew's hand and bring it to my wrist. He runs his fingertips over the line of one scar after another. Until he's felt all of them.
My body fills with the strangest warmth. It's something more than lust or friendship. Something pure and deep and impossible to ignore.
I try anyway.
I close my eyes. I arch my back to press my ass against his crotch. I turn my head to press my neck against his cheek.
But that feeling won't go away.
"And?" he asks.
"And I stayed their rock. I nodded and told them it would be okay, that I could cook dinner, and clean the house, and walk to school instead of getting a ride. I sat there with a smile on my face for the rest of dinner while they explained everything that might go wrong, that my dad might not have that much time left. They kept looking at me like they were waiting for me to break. Like it would kill them if I did."
He runs his fingers over the scars on my wrist.
"And I did. But I waited until I was in my room. I was scared and angry, but I couldn't manage to cry or scream." I push through my discomfort. "I locked myself in the bathroom and broke my compact mirror on the ground. When I was cleaning up the mess, I nicked my arm. It hurt like hell, but there was something so relieving about that. It took me out of that awful sense that my dad was going to die. I tried it again, on purpose. The pain made me feel like I was in control."
Drew slides his arm around my waist and holds me tight. "How does it feel?"
"You have plenty of tattoos. It's like that. It hurts but there's something exhilarating about it. It's like all the awful feelings inside me pour out with the blood." I play with the fabric of the sheets. "I know it sounds grotesque, but—"
"I get it." He runs his fingertips over my hips. "I've had plenty of nights like that."
"Tell me about them."
"Another time." He drags his fingertip over one of the scars on my thighs. His voice is strained. "When was the last time?"
"Before I moved to LA."
"If you ever want to do it again, you call me first."
"I won't." I hug my arms against my chest. "I'm damaged enough already."
He traces another scar. A deeper one. "Everyone is damaged."
"Not like this. Not this ugly."
Drew presses his lips into my neck. "There are no ugly parts of you." He slides his hand over my inner thighs. "Every part of you is beautiful."
His fingertips pass over dozens of scars. Even in the dark, they stand out. They're raised and rough and harsh.
He moves his hand to my other leg and traces a line from the inside of my knee all the way to the edge of my panties. He touches every scar with tender care, like he's committing them to memory. His fingers are rough, calloused, but his touch doesn't hurt. It's sweet. Gentle.
His breath catches. His hips shift, so his crotch is pressed against my ass.
He's hard.
I let out a sharp gasp.
Drew laughs. "You didn't believe me."
My cheeks burn. The heat spreads to my neck and chest. All the way to my stomach and thighs. And then it collects right between my legs.
He's not turned off.
