Page 63 of Make Me Sin (Bad Habit 2)
Grinning, I look up at him. His eyes shine, amber and gilt in the shadows, bright beneath the dark chocolate curve of his lashes. His hair is mussed and his smile is soft, and he’s so handsome it hurts. My breath hitches, and my heart does this odd thing where it expands and contracts at the same time. I reach up and press my hand against his cheek.
“I’d like to give you one of those every night for the rest of my life.”
His laugh dies in his throat. His lips part, his brows draw together, the expression in his eyes turns haunted.
“No,” I whisper, recognizing that look. “Stay with me. Don’t go back into the dark.”
He closes his eyes. A low, soft sound of despair escapes his lips. Gathering me closer, he presses his lips to my forehead, and leaves them there.
Slowly, with as much gentle loving as I can put into a touch, I run my fingers over his chest, his biceps, his tense, corded forearm. I don’t know what to say, or if there’s even anything that could be said to help him, to take away whatever pain he’s so obviously in, so I try to convey with my touch that he’s safe with me. That I know he’s hurting, and, though I don’t know why, I’m here for him.
With all my heart, I want to be what makes him feel better. I want him to feel as safe with me as I do with him.
Looking up at the ceiling, A.J. blows out a hard breath. I keep silently stroking his skin, listening to his jagged heartbeat, trying to soothe him. I try not to think of anything else, of what might happen next, of what tomorrow will bring. I told him I’d take only one night, if that’s all he was willing to give, and I meant it.
At the time I meant it. Now, only a short while later, getting only one night with him seems like an impossibly cruel joke.
But I won’t think about it. I’m here, he’s here, right now we’re both safe in the circle of each other’s arms.
The sigh he heaves sounds resigned. When I look up at him, he’s staring down at me with all the light extinguished in his eyes.
“You can’t go now,” I beg, terrified he’s leaving.
“No, angel, I can’t. That’s the problem.”
Without another word, he rolls me to my side and curls up behind me. Within minutes, he’s sleeping deeply, as if he’s been set free. I lie awake in the dark, listening to him breathe.
When the alarm goes off in the morning, A.J. is gone. On the pillow next to mine lies an origami sculpture. Not a bird this time.
A heart.
When I pick it up and cup it in my palms, it fans open like it’s alive. It’s blood red, the white copy paper saturated with ink from the fat red Sharpie sitting out on my desk. I lift it to my nose, inhaling the pungent, chemical smell.
I wonder how long it took him to make. I wonder if he watched me sleeping while he made it. I wonder what he thought about while he worked, folding, creating, his fingers deft and precise.
Outside my bedroom window a nightingale begins to sing, and my eyes fill with tears.
I can’t remember ever feeling this happy.
A.J. comes to me again the next night. And the next. And the next.
It’s always the same. I leave the door unlocked, and lie in bed with the lights off, waiting. He comes very late, usually around midnight. He enters without a word, takes off his shirt and shoes, crawls into bed beside me. We talk for a long time, nestled back to front, limbs entangled. Each night his questions are more serious, more intimate, increasingly more difficult to answer.
Of what in my life am I most proud?
Of what am I most ashamed?
What’s my most treasured memory?
For what am I most grateful?
If I only had twenty-four hours left to live, what would I do?
Sometimes I have to think long and hard before I answer. No one has ever asked me such things, and I’m not prone to introspection. But I never tell him anything but the entire, unvarnished truth. I don’t hide. I don’t lie. If I think an answer might not paint me in the best light, I tell him anyway. I want him to know me, warts and all.
I want him to see me, inside and out.
By the time he’s exhausted his questions, my body is so high from his proximity, so strung out with the need to feel his hands and mouth, I’m nearly squirming in his arms. He always knows when I can’t bear it a second longer. He laughs his husky laugh into my ear, then takes off all my clothes, and sates me.
