Red Moon Rising

39. rest

Chapter Song: Civilian - Wye Oak

XX

When Isaac returns, the smell of grilled hamburger wafts in after him, and the sky beyond his bedroom window is dark save for a fading afterglow of sunset. True to his word, he's holding two styrofoam containers in one hand while his other arm is cradling two bottles of wine. My shoulders relax when he smiles; his trip to town went well, at least.

"We'll need to get you new boots soon," he says, eyeing the pair I've left on the floor by the door. "The snow is getting deep."

"It's pretty, at least," I offer, folding myself into his arms. I have secrets too, I think, but I let him kiss my hair and pull me close. He'll be the last man to ever hold me like this, but maybe that isn't such a bad thing. I'll be happy to be done with men.

We eat the burgers sitting in bed, watching one of the Die Hard sequels on a shitty laptop that whirs so loudly with the effort that Isaac turns the volume all the way up. When we're finished with dinner, I settle into the arm that wraps around me, and there's a strange comfort to it when I know I'll be able to leave it soon enough. When I'm not fighting it, I relax into it, and I think Isaac feels that acceptance too as he pulls me closer and presses his lips to my temple. I don't want to consider how fucked up it is that I'll miss this feeling. It won't be long and I won't have to consider it.

Halfway into the movie, we've each already had two glasses of wine, and Isaac pours the last of the first bottle into my glass. His wine- heavy hands linger when they touch me, and I don't mind it as much as I should, because in this moment it feels good to be touched gently, it feels like something I've missed and something I won't have again. I'm beginning to feel pleasantly sleepy, resting my head against his shoulder, when I register with a lurch in my stomach the fingers stroking along the inside of my knee. My wine buzz disappears and a painful clarity takes its place. It was easier to give into it yesterday, when I was so high on fear of him. But there's no fighting the desperate urge to shove him away from me now.

I just don't know what to say to him, or when to say it. His hand slips higher, and Isaac kisses the corner of my mouth, turning my face to him with his other hand. I kiss him once, then a few times, but the urgency is causing my heart to race. And that hand is only working its way higher up my leg.

"Isaac," I whisper, breaking away as he sighs against cheek. The fear makes my tongue heavy, makes the words sticky when they stumble out. "I don't want to...tonight."

His hand pauses its ascent but doesn't leave my thigh. "Okay," he breathes. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm just not feeling it." I press my lips gently against his, running a hand along his collarbone. It shouldn't be this terrifying to tell someone 'no.'

Kissing me deeply again, his hand moves to the outside of my thigh and he squeezes. "I just want to kiss you," he says softly. "I just want to be with you."

"Okay," I manage, and I hate the word as soon as it leaves my mouth. My neck and ears feel hot with panic when he kisses me hard and leans me back until I'm lying beneath him, the Die Hard movie already a forgotten thing. I can make out with him; I can make him feel like I'm not rejecting him. But it doesn't take long before his hand is wandering beneath my shirt and along the waistband of my leggings, while his lips trail down my neck and across my collarbone. When he pushes my shirt up, he pulls my bra below my breasts and kisses the top of each.

"Isaac."

"It's okay," he soothes. "I've got you, Layla. I won't do anything."

I won't cry; I won't fucking cry. It isn't all bad; as much as my muscles are melted with terror, it does send a spark of arousal between my legs when he takes a nipple into his mouth. But it isn't the same fear as it used to be, the anticipation of the unknown. This is the anticipation of the known, of the understanding that I don't know if I am safe with him in this moment.