Over the Edge

Ch.37-Learning to Live Again

But I guessed I was, after all. I didn't remember anything of my "old life". Did that make me a new person?

Or just a damaged version of the first?

I wrapped a towel around myself, tucking it carefully beneath my arms. I stepped into my room, unsurprised to find it empty. I thought I had heard someone clattering around in the kitchen.

I rifled around in the drawers, finding a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. That seemed safe enough. I pulled them on, in the process of braiding my hair over my shoulder when I heard a knock on the door.

"Come in," I called. Rhys entered, smiling as he held two plates of sandwiches.

"Hungry?" he questioned.

I nodded, feeling my stomach rumble. He perched on the bed and set the plates in front of him. I joined him tentatively, easing onto the mattress. He didn't seem to notice my caution; or if he did, he wasn't fazed by it. He chewed into the ham and cheese sandwich and goaded by the casual action, I did the same. Silence reigned over us. It was a painfully normal thing to do; eating lunch with a friend. Except I wasn't yet sure if he was more than a friend or not, and it was clear these were not normal circumstances.

Ugh.

"What do you think school will be like?" I wondered, as it had been one of many things eating away at my mind. But of all of them, it was tamer. A safer topic.

Rhys finished off his sandwich, setting the plate aside. "Hellish and unbearable, just like it always is."

I laughed, reaching over to slap his arm. The movement felt easy, simple. Like it was meant to be. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

"True, but I couldn't resist." His fingers moved to the stud in his ear, twirling it around. "I don't know, Emma. I guess we'll find out."

I pushed away the plate with the last bite of sandwich, the nerves of simply thinking about interacting with all those kids I didn't remember destroying my appetite.

Flopping back on the bed, I stared up at the ceiling. "This sucks," I stated flatly, pretty much summing it up.

"Yup," he agreed.

I turned to look at him. He seemed deep in thought, eyes pinned on the ceiling. He really was handsome in a bad-boy, can't-be-tamed kind of way. I poked his neck, where I could see part of the tattoo. He squirmed beneath my touch and I grinned cheekily. I poked it again, and he pounced on me that time, so abruptly he pulled a gasp from my mouth.

"Are you trying to start something?" he asked lowly, eyebrow lifting. Though I found it impossible to focus on his question, mind bouncing around between the fact that he was straddling me and his hands were pinning my wrists to the mattress by my head, and I wasn't even fazed by it. Didn't have a speck of fear.

In fact, what was scary was that I liked it.

I liked it a lot.

Rhys gazed down at me, thoughtfully, those warm brown eyes flaring with inner confliction. But I was content, almost anxious, for whatever it was he would do next.

Which didn't happen to be anything I was expecting.

He pressed his lips to the base of my throat, open-mouthed, tongue flickering out to caress the skin. My hands clenched into fists and I felt my body become rather squeamish beneath him. Not from wanting to get away, no. That wasn't my first impulse.

Closer, my subconscious nagged.

It scared the hell out of me.

But even so, when his lips trailed hot kisses up my jaw, I couldn't find the will in me to speak. To tell him off, make him stop . . .