𝓦𝓱𝓸𝓵𝓵𝔂 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼

❃ Chapter Twenty Three - Productive Morning

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Zoe
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We made love the whole night.

Soft and slow and easy and warm… he kissed every inch of my body, lingered over every tinkly spot, nipped at every hidden skin. He cherished me like no other, loved me without using any words, just gentle caresses and warm whispers that held long life promises. And I did the same to him. I made him feel just as safe as I felt in his embrace. I made him feel just as loved through words that held nothing compared to what I felt, through touches and kisses too soft to even be felt.

The whole night felt… magical. The whole time until we just cuddled and snuggled and said stories never to be told, secrets we kept from everyone else, things we never found right to speak to anyone. He told me about his mother who died when he was three years old and his father who remarried a cruel woman that abused their family. He told me about how he used to make her suffer for hurting his siblings, how betrayed he felt every time his father chose her instead of them. How alone he felt… and tired of killing people and enjoying it.

It was at that moment that I knew I fell for him. My heart never ached more, not when I had practically been abandoned by my own mother who chose to just stand and watch my sister and I get abused by father. Not when I listened to others share terrible stories. Not when I thought of all the suffering in this world, similar or completely different from mine. All the racism, the homophobia, the discrimination of people who… were just different.

It hurt thinking of all the cruelty in the world, but thinking of him keeping all that inside for thirty years? Hearing him hide because he barely could trust people? People like his father, who would always chose who they considered better.

I comforted him, assured him he could trust me with anything, assured him I would never judge him for whatever his choices were. And that was the mere truth.

I told him about the times my father beat me after I'd snuck out of the house. About how my mother always stood and watched his cruelty, not once doing something to stop it. About how I always tried to get my hands on something to read, because the books were a fantasy I could afford. A fantasy I could use to escape from this cruel reality.

He promised and swore he would get me out of here and I believed him. Because I trusted him. And something told me I always would…

Feeling his palm running up and down my back, stroking my terrible scars, that was what woke me up. With my lids sealed, my hand wondered over his tattoo, the beautiful design of the black cobra that represented his gang and the devotion he held towards it.

"Good morning, Jerry…"

A low groan, a little growled as it sounded from deep in his chest, "Just Jer."

"Oh, okay," I paused, smirking slowly, "Jerry…"

"I'm not getting rid of the nickname, am I?"

"Am I getting rid of kitten?"

"Uh, no," he said in a duh tone.

"Then, there's your answer."

His fingers stilled on the line of my spine as the rumble of his laughter shook the both of us, "Say it again."

"Jerry?"

He snickered more, "I feel like a truck driver."

I laughed with him at that, raising my leg over his hips under the sheets. As the silence in the room quickly swallowed our laughter, I settled for just running my fingertips over his hard pectoral. His hand began tracing circles and signs I couldn't comprehend between my shoulder blades, just mere fondles that warmed my heart.