Page 103 of Fragmented Illusions
My hands yank at my hair desperately, ripping the strands from my head but the sharp bite of pain isn’t enough to satiate me. It doesn’t distract me from the worry I feel crawling its way through each individual vein, tainting my blood with its dark depravity.
Soft hands wrap around my biceps, and I freeze, spinning to face her. Fallon regards me carefully. I can see her concern etched across every facet of her face. Her head is tilted back so she can stare me directly in my eyes, and she maintains contact as she steps up to me, plastering her front to mine.
I can feel the soft brush of her breasts through the thin material of my black T-shirt she’s wearing now she is out of that fucking hospital gown. Her red hair is darker from her shower, and it hangs down her back, some of it brushing over her shoulders as she grows closer, still.
She opens her mouth to speak, before closing it again. Her brows pinch together as she thinks, and I find myself tracing the small wrinkle etched into her freckled forehead. Her eyes flutter closed at the contact and my worry-laced heart beats heavily having her touch against me.
“What can I do?” she asks timidly. She keeps her voice low, almost whispering the words.
“There isn’t much. Just be here with me,” I tell her. That’s all I need because right now, I’m breaking. Spencer is gone, and I’m stuck here waiting.
Everything is out of my control and it’s eating me alive.
“I can do that,” she whispers back. She wraps her small, frail arms around me and presses her entire front against me. Every inch of her small body touches mine, igniting me. I wrap my arms around her and hold her to me, sucking in her warmth. Feeding off of her strength. Strength I desperately need.
“How long do you think he will be?” she asks, her words muffled as she speaks into me.
“I don’t know.”
We stand for what seems ages. Me holding her—or her holding me, I’m not sure which.
We hold onto each other. Giving each other strength the other doesn’t possess.
I feel weak, disproportionate without Spencer.
“Come on. Let’s sit on the bed and wait for him. He will be back soon.” She soothes me with her voice as she whispers words of hope. I allow myself to believe her, to listen to her. She pulls my hand to lead me to the bed.
The blanket appears to be worn down, but everything smells clean enough at least. She presses her hands onto my shoulders to push me down onto the bed. Once I’m sitting, she pats the pillow near the headboard and I follow her instruction, scooting back until I’m leaning against it.
I shut my brain off and allow Fallon free reign over me. There is no other way I would survive this lack of control.
I shouldn’t have fucking listened to Spencer when he told me to drop him off at the local hospital by himself after we got the motel room. I should have stayed with him.
“He will be back soon,” she reassures me. She climbs onto the bed, and I get a flash of her pale white thighs heavily dusted with freckles as the shirt rides up. When she catches me staring at her nude skin, she blushes beautifully. She looks down as settles next to me, straightening the shirt so it rests back at her mid-thigh.
I close my eyes and arch my neck until my head thuds against the wall at my back. I reach my hand down and grasp her thigh, squeezing tight. I feel Fallon’s legs press together at my contact and I smirk.
“You anchor me, pretty girl.” And with that, I hold onto her for dear fucking life.
The creak of a door has my eyes snapping open in a flash. I shoot up in bed, my heart pounding, as I reach for the nightstand to grab the knife. With it in hand, my eyes fall to the front door of the room. The only light emits from the open door and a small lamp in the corner of the room, but it’s still enough for me to see.
Spencer.
My lungs deflate as all-consuming relief flushes through me, so powerfully, I could drown in it. The door clicks shut behind him and the light from the streetlamps disappear with it. He shuffles through the room. His steps are leaden and sluggish as he strips his clothes from his body, heading straight for the bathroom.
I gently press my fists into the mattress, carefully maneuvering myself off of the bed so as to not wake Fallon. When my feet hit the floor, I hurry to the bathroom. I open the door, and the splash of water hits my ears. A white cast sticks out from the cheap plastic shower curtain as Spencer’s silhouette moves gingerly.
My throat dries as I watch his shadow shower, never so fucking relieved to be in his presence. Even when I was locked in that closet for days—or even weeks at a time—and I finally saw Spencer after… Not even that can top the way I’m feeling at this moment.
I desperately yank my clothes off of my body and pull back the curtain. Water splashes against my skin as I stare at Spencer. His brown hair is darker from the water, and I watch a few drops drip from the ends and down to his chest, disappearing into the other rivulets of water.
I want to run my tongue along each drop. No. Ineedto.
I step into the shower, crowding the already small space. Spencer watches me through heavy lids as I press myself against him. Our wet skin rubs together, eliciting my darkest desires.
My cock twitches and grows heavy between us until it throbs. I shift, aching for relief. Spencer hisses as our cocks rub together, so I swivel my hips again. This time, a ragged moan is drawn out of him, spiking my blood.
His casted arm remains outside of the shower, so he only has one available, and with that one, he reaches down to wrap his shaky fingers around both of our lengths. The second his fingers make contact with my cock, I groan and thrust into his awaiting hand.
