*** NEW AND IMPROVED ***
With her father missing, Shay will do anything to get him back, even if that means teaming up with a cruel gang leader and his band of psychotic men.
CHARACTER VIEWS DO NOT REPRESENT MY OWN.
***WARNING*** OFFENSIVE CON...
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SO COLD
The room was obscured in shadows, and the only source of light was a dim silvery streak of moonlight above the bed. Silence was the third person in bed with us, snugly nestled in between Cole and myself. We were occupied with our thoughts. Time backpedalled to a handful of minutes ago: Cole had slowed his pace, on top of me and he placed feathery-soft kisses all over my face, murmuring how he was sorry for our arguments, how he was going to try better and then he asked if I forgave him.
I had told him I did, I don't know if I believed myself and I don't think he did either. The sex felt great. It appeased our physical needs. But emotionally? It fucked us up. Neither of us felt good afterwards. There was no condom used, of course. We didn't come prepared. The conversation was stifling. He avoided eye contact, asked if he should pull out and then when I made a split second decision ("No.") he wanted to know if I was going to take the morning after pill.
He couldn't conceal his disappointment when I said yes – no matter how much he tried. We both wanted different things, that much was clear and neither one of us wanted to go to the end of the street to mollify each other's wants. We stopped mid-way down the street, slamming into a brick wall, too depleted and selfish to bother climbing over. Meeting halfway would be the best decision if we wanted to stay together but even that seemed unlikely, the horizon was clear of promises and the future looked bleak at one thirty-two in the morning.
Back in the hotel room with him, I heard him sigh softly. He rolled over and nestled his head in the crook of my neck, a leg over mine, his limp member against my thigh. He played with my hair absentmindedly, twirling a lock around his finger. I could sense he was about to speak and dreading what he could possibly say, I questioned. "How's your mother?"
"She's well," he paused, his voice low. "She wanted me to leave almost immediately upon my arrival. There was no threat to her but I had to see for myself that she was alright. We had dinner together. She asked how my father was and wanted to know if I was with anyone. We didn't speak about business. And then she took me to see my sister. It was...painful. And then I went back to the hotel and in the morning, I visited old friends. Before I left for the airstrip, she called me and said goodbye and that was it."
"Why is she like this?" I said bluntly. "She clearly cares for you and you care for her. She's hurting you by treating you like this."
"I've brought her too much misery and anguish to repair our relationship. She's happier alone. She's safe. I wouldn't force her to give me what I want from her. If this is the life she wants then I have no right to object."
"It seems to be that she's suffered most at the hands of your father. She's punishing you for his crimes. You're lumped together with him and painted with the same brush. Surely she can see she's being unreasonable."
"I am made in my father's image. Don't mistake me for anything other than a copy of him. We are both individuals with differences but our minds work in a similar fashion. What was your first impression when you met him?"
