^^^She’s always harassing me for an update. =P

Also to @kewkiess for the cute banner on the side, love it. =)

 

 

Christy’s POV

 

Safe.

The word kept repeating through my mind, calling to me like a neon bar sign flashing the word ‘open’ beckons to an alcoholic.

Not the most flattering comparison, but it was the most fitting one my traumatized mind could conjure up at the moment.

As I stood there clutching at James, taking in his warmth and the scent of him, I couldn’t remember the last time I wanted so badly to be held by anyone. I needed the comfort it provided like that drunk needed his next sip of a tonic. He needed the oblivion that alcohol provided, while I needed the safety an embrace provided.

I could feel my heart rate calming as my bruised lips throbbed to the beat of it. My tears were most likely mingling with snot at this point, but I was still too upset to care that I was probably wiping both of those, along with traces of blood from my battered lips all over James’ white button down shirt.

Screw it, he was a professor. He probably had a butt load of them waiting in reserve back in his room.

My sobs began to turn into sniffles as I nuzzled my face into his chest further, in hopes that it would just absorb me into him and I could become him and forget all of my own worries.

He had one hand threaded through my hair, holding my head against his heart that was still pounding a bit erratically, and the other was rubbing small circles up and down my back in a soothing fashion.

Taking a deep breath in preparation, I spoke the words that had been longing to come out. The words that don’t always fix everything, but at least show you’re trying, “I’m sorry.”

His hands stilled as he stiffened slightly, before slowly relaxing again.

“Christy, after what just happened, which you will be filling me in on by the way, the last thing you need to worry about doing is apologizing to me,” he ground out, sounding unbelievably frustrated with me.

“I just had to say it,” was my only explanation as my fingers let up on their death clutch on his back, and began to dance across his taut muscles in hopes of comforting him as he had been comforting me. 

But the safety of his embrace was quickly turning into need; I needed this man before me whether I wanted to or not. He had become an integral part of my being somewhere along the way, and I was not willing to lose him. I wasn’t willing to let him go. We could hurt each other a million times in a million different ways, and I’d still come back, time and time again ready for another round and another make up.

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