Page 19 of Ravens
I’m so fucking sore. I pull the pill bottle out of my jacket pocket and hastily swallow a couple as my shoulder throbs in time with my pulse.
“Bored?”
“Tired,” I correct and slip the bottle back into my jacket.
“How tired?”
I let my head loll to the side and regard him. “Why?”
“I’m hard as a rock.” He shifts with a groan.
It takes every ounce of self-control in my body not to punch him. “I already told you, I’m not—”
“Mm hmm,” he interrupts me, “and I might believe you if you weren’t so hungry for it.”
“Are you fucking serious?” I shift toward him and freeze, swallowing the pain of moving my shoulder too quickly. I exhale, letting my eyes close, and the next thing I know, his hand is slipping under my coat.
“Don’t.” I grab his wrist and pry his hand away. “Don’t ever touch me without asking again.”
“Just show me,” he says quietly.
I throw his hand off and lean back into the window. I didn’t get kicked and tossed around the back of a fucking truck this morning just so I could choke on a dick in the back of a seedy bus the same night. Even if I suck it up and admit to myself that I enjoy sex with him, it sure as shit doesn’t mean I’m going to let him take care of me. The look of concern on his face right now is making me uncomfortable.
“Enough.” He grabs my wrist.
Hissing, my eyes fly back open, and I look down at his hand and then at him. Pausing, he clenches his jaw and turns my arm over and slides the sleeve of my jacket up, revealing the bandage. He lets go and takes my other hand.
“Are these all?” he asks calmly and releases me.
Rolling my eyes, I lean back into the window and cross my arms over my chest.
“I asked you a question.”
“Yeah, only because you want to know how much of a liability I am.” I peer out the now dark window and stare at my own reflection. “Don’t worry, I can take care of myself.”
Grabbing my chin, he turns my face toward him. “What else?”
I search his stern face momentarily and pull my chin away. I don’t have the energy to fight with him. “Wrists, forearms, right shoulder, and the back of my head.”
His eyes flick to my hairline, and then he grabs my jacket and pulls me forward. I try to resist, but he forces me down until my head is in his lap.
“Get some sleep,” he says softly as his fingers sift through my hair.
I grunt when they brush against a tender spot, and he stops. Turning myself onto my good shoulder, I pull my knees up and hide my face in his shirt. It’s hard to tell what’s real and what isn’t with him, and I don’t need any more confusion in my life right now, but it’s more confusing in fleeting moments like this, like in the airport today, when I felt a degree of safety with him.Comfort. I shouldn’t feel those things with this man, and he shouldn’t offer them. It’s easier when he’s rude and mean and short-tempered.
I understand that from him.
I don’t understand this. I don’t understand myself right now.
Ten
The bus is stopped, and I find myself leaning back up against the window with my jacket draped over me, alone. Rubbing my eyes as I search out the window, there is a gas station off to the side. A rest stop. The sun isn’t up yet.
Sluggish, I get up and head off the bus to find the washrooms. The few other passengers are milling around, stretching their legs and sipping cheap coffee from foam cups. The sign for the washrooms is at the side of the building, so I follow it, stepping aside as a few women come out the door.
When I emerge, York is sitting on top of a picnic table under the nearby trees.
“Will you teach me?” I ask quietly, sitting on the bench next to his feet.
