Page 54 of Unloaded
I drop my head, because he’s one hundred percent correct as always.I’m so fucked!This has become my mantra.
24
RACHEL
“Shit! Fuck! Damn!” I exclaim loudly, sticking my index finger in my mouth to cool the burn. Hurrying to the sink, I turn on the cold water and stick my hand under it. That skillet was hot. I curse myself for being so careless as to burn not only my finger, but also the palm of my left hand on the skillet.
My mind isn’t on the job, and that’s how you end up getting hurt. I know this, but I’m still trying to cook breakfast and pretend that everything is fine, when I know full well that it isn’t, not even close. I had hoped we’d be able to just enjoy our time together no pressure or expectations. But like the rest of my life, nothing ever goes my way.
Why is him pulling away so upsetting? Especially knowing I’ll eventually have to leave, unless by some miracle my stepfather decides to forget all about us, and I know that won’t happen.
Instead of being thankful he’s making this easier for me, the selfish part of me wants to have my cake and eat it, too. To have him love me like I love him but not be devastated when the boys and I disappear.
The front door closes, and I brace for whatever is about to happen. I’d known going into this that I’d end up with a broken heart either him pushing me away or me having to take off and never return. Leaving him will be the hardest thing I’ve ever done, including laying my mother to rest.
I take a couple of deep breaths to center myself. I’m not going to cry. I repeat over and over in my head, all the while feeling the burning, stinging pain behind my eyes. At least I can blame the burn on my hand for any tears that might slip out.Yeah, that’s a good excuse!
It’s not that I think he’ll care about breaking my heart…Oh! Who am I kidding?He’ll care, but he thinks he is doing right by me, so even if he feels bad about it, he’s still going to do it. There’s no other way around it.
“Something smells good,” Rosco declares as he enters the kitchen. I don’t turn to acknowledge him. I’m not ready, but I know I need to get ready and fast. Turning off the cold water, I reach for the hand towel, but it’s snatched away. “What happened to your hand?” I force myself to look at him, but mercifully his eyes are on my blistering skin.
“I burnt it,” I answer. Ever so gently, he takes my hand in his, patting it dry. I do my best not to grimace or cry out, but damn if it isn’t beginning to hurt badly. Tears sting my eyes as I fight to hold back the pain.
It must have stunned the nerves, because after the first searing pain, it hasn’t hurt. But now the burning sensation is setting up in earnest throbbing pain. Rosco must sense just how badly it’s hurting me, because he looks up, catching my gaze. I try to pull my hand free, but he holds on tightly.
“I’m sorry, angel,” he mutters, moving closer to me. “That’s got to be hurting like a bitch.” I nod, willing myself not to break completely down. Yes, my hand is burning like a son-of-a-bitch that’s on fire, but my heart is what is hurting the most. Justlooking at his handsome face, knowing I can never truly have him like I so desperately want is devastating.
A sob escapes, unexpectedly. I quickly cover my mouth with my other hand while trying to pull out of his grasp. I need some distance if I’m going to keep it together. He wraps me up in his arms, not letting me get away.
“Shhh, angel,” he murmurs. “I’m so sorry. It’s going to be all right.”
I get the feeling he is talking about more than the burn on my hand, but I don’t ask. And I don’t pull away. I let him hold me because, let’s face it, I’m weak when it comes to him. I’m going to take whatever comfort he wants to give for as long as he gives it, but I won’t beg or manipulate him to get it.
He turns off the eye that I’d left burning, at least I’d removed the skillet from it. He pushes me into a chair, then takes off down the hall. He returns minutes later with a first-aid kit in his hands. I’ve managed to get myself somewhat under control.
He sits the kit on the table, popping it open and begins to pull out items. Taking my hand once more, he applies a burn cream with a numbing agent in it to my poor burning flesh, which blessedly calms down the pain significantly. He places a non-stick gauze pad over my palm and a smaller one on my index finger then wraps my hand with a roll of gauze securing it with a piece of tape.
Neither of us speak, even after he finishes wrapping my hand. He just stands there holding my hand, staring at his handy work. I should pull away, finish our meal, continue to pretend everything is normal, but I don’t.
I wait, wondering if this is the moment he tells me he made a mistake sleeping with me. The moment he tries to convince me last night and this morning didn’t mean anything. It was just sex.
He kneels in front of me, taking both of my hands. His eyes fixated on them. My heart stills in my chest as I wait, fearing what’s to come. It doesn’t matter that I’m leaving, for his own protection. I don’t want him to shatter my heart. That’s my job.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” he begins. When I don’t comment, he lifts his eyes to meet mine. I can see the conflict still raging in them. “I let myself feel more for you than I should.”
My heart begins beating a wild, rapid rhythm. Hope tries to bloom, but I tamp it down. I don’t have enough information to know where this is going to go. Obviously those feelings scared him, and that’s why he bolted. Now more than ever, I fear he’s going to push me away. I’m praying he can’t read my thoughts, my wants, my desires as he stares into my eyes so intently.
What am I thinking? The best possible scenario would be him rejecting me. It’ll make leaving easier.So why does my heart want him to choose me, to choose us, instead?
“This…us”—he lifts our hands—“isn’t a good idea.” My heart drops into my stomach. I pinch my lips together to keep from throwing up. I blink rapidly to dispel the tears that want to fall. Even if it’s what’s best, I don’t want to hear him say it.
“Look, I—” Rosco silences me with a look.
“I should stop this before either of us gets in any deeper,” Rosco murmurs, still holding my gaze. “But I can’t, angel. I can’t walk away from you, not now. Maybe not ever, even though that is what’s best for you.”
I swallow hard letting his words sink in. I’m certain my heart has stopped beating entirely. He thinks he should leave me alone, but he isn’t going to. It’s what I’ve wanted to hear for the last six months. Relief like I’ve never known washes over me, but it’s short lived. If only my stepfather hadn’t found us, but he has.
Rosco stands, and I follow. I don’t tell him everything will be fine. I don’t say anything. I just kiss him, conveying all my feelings, all of my love in that kiss. Yes, I’m in love with him. I’vebeen drawn to him from the moment we first met and having been in his bed has sealed the deal. I don’t regret it for a second. I’ll have the memories of our time together to hold onto when I’m lonely.
