Persimmon Kiss

Chapter 4: Butter It Up

Chapter 4: Butter It UpIt was almost four A.M., but here I was, sitting up in bed with a glass of cognac, listening to the audio book Les Misérables on my phone. Because of my severe dyslexia, I’d never been able to read books, and that had always been a huge source of embarrassment for me. Then a few years ago, Derek had set me up with an Audible account and my world had busted right open.

In the book I was listening to, this character named Fantine was thinking of having her teeth ripped out, so she could sell them and send the profit she made to those Thenardier jerks supposedly taking care of her little girl. This whole part of the story was making me emotional and my throat got tight, but then beside me Derek stirred, and I plucked out my earphones, glancing down at him.

He turned to his side, slipped a warm hand under my T-shirt and cuddled up against me. “Nightmare,” he said.

Derek had the kind of nightmares that would make Clive Barker sleep with a night light on. The scenes Derek conjured up in his sleep were nothing short of stupefying. He’d kept journals all his life, and his output was phenomenal, but still, his subconscious spilled into his dreams, and the sad thing was, they were never good ones. He was traumatized, that was the problem. As a kid, he’d slept in an unfinished basement with cobwebs and hardly any heat—his mother, locked up in her bedroom, depressed. His old man always off on some job somewhere. Derek didn’t admit it to anyone, not even me, but he’d been sorely neglected.

Except for his Aunt Fran. She’d been good to him. Then cancer had gotten her years ago. I knew he missed her, especially these days.

Maybe some of his nightmares were my fault, too.

“There…there was this bridge,” he said, “and we had to cross it, but it wasn’t finished, and it was on an incline, getting closer and closer to the black water underneath us, and there were pieces of ice and snow floating by, and then you told me you’d swim to the other side to get help. You left me.” He clutched my shirt. “You left me and I didn’t know how to swim and I fell into the river. I kept sinking and sinking, looking up at the surface. It was cold. Really dark.”

The basement thing. His coma. Emotional abandonment. My leaving for Norway soon.

All of the above.

“I kept hoping to feel your hand in the dark.”

I grabbed his hand and squeezed it hard.

“But I knew you couldn’t find me even if you tried.”

Derek was a strong man. He was a survivor. The more mature of the pair of us. But he was also a child sometimes. A hurt kid in need of reassurance. Sometimes, he was both those people at once.

He raised his head, moonlight catching his eyes. “Wha-at if I came with you to No-orway?”

Oh no, he’d stuttered. Derek’s speech impediment only reappeared when he was nervous or insecure. It melted my heart. But he couldn’t fly. Up there, with the pressure change, no. His neurologist had warned him: He could have a seizure over the Atlantic. I put my drink down on the night table and the phone, too. I turned to my side to stare at his shadowed face on the blue silk pillow.

Sometimes we didn’t need to speak. We could almost hear each other inside our minds. He was scared. Maybe even ashamed, though none of this was his fault. I’d pissed him off the night of his accident. It’d been raining. He’d gone for a ride. Had slid off the road and been knocked off his Ducati. Five days in a coma and now this. We’d been so happy he’d pulled through, that for months, the TBI symptoms had been downplayed. Until the migraines and confusion.

“It’s okay,” Derek said, squeezing my waist. “I know I can’t go.”

“I worry about you.” I stroked his red hair, my heart beating faster. Last week, he’d left the popcorn on the burner. The smoke alarm had gone off and I’d rushed upstairs like a maniac. Then two days ago, he’d forgotten he was running himself a bath and the water had reached the kitchen area before he’d noticed.

“I should have stayed in that coma,” he whispered almost inaudibly.

But I heard him. “What the f**k did you just say to me?”

He knew he’d messed up, because he pulled me close before I flew off the handle. “I’m sorry, Nick,” he said, before kissing me. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it, I pro-o-mise.”

His mouth was so silky and inviting, I forgave his stupid careless words.

“I’m being ridiculous,” he said, trailing his lips mouth across my shoulder. “Forgive me, Nick.”

It had been a few weeks since we’d connected under the sheets, so when he stripped his tank off I immediately gripped the nape of his hair, kissing him deeper and harder. Man, he smelled so good. Tasted so sweet. Then he straddled my thighs, sitting on my groin, and the friction of his swollen d**k on mine was enough to cause me to lose my breath. I jerked his briefs down in a hurry. “Oh, come here,” I groaned in his ear, gripping his round ass. He was already working my boxers off, rubbing up against me, making me crazy. The lube was within reach, and condoms we’d stopped using years ago. Lying under him, I gazed up at his perfect face. He was so goddamn beautiful, his pale skin bathed in moonlight, and I reached under him, spreading his ass cheeks with my lubed fingers. With a sigh, Derek pushed his face into my shoulder, widening his thighs, and I fingered him so slow and deep, until he started to twitch and moan. Everything I’d been thinking of, vanished. I wanted to slap his lily-white ass or bite it, and yet at the same time, I was almost afraid of him, of the power he held over me. He always managed to strip me of reason when we got this close.

Suddenly he made this sound—this sound he’d never made in bed before. It turned my blood cold. “What’s a matter, ba—”

“Oh, God,” he groaned, not in pleasure, but in pain, pushing me off. “Nick…my head.” He sat with his back against the disarray of pillows, holding his head in his hands. “That stabbing right behind my right eye again.”

“Hold on.” I jumped out of bed, tripped on the sheet, cursed under my breath, and went to the bathroom. The light glared at me and I rummaged through the medicine cabinet full of Derek’s dope, trying to find the right pill. He was on so much crap. Was any of this even helping? “Which one?” I asked, poking my head out of the bathroom.

“The—the ones—the big pink ones.” His voice was thin with pain. I hurried back to him with a glass of water and his pills. Shakily, he popped the pills and drank, then handed me the glass. In the darkness, his eyes were like two green stars. “I’m so-sorry,” he said, pulling the blankets over his naked body. “I have to knock myself out before the migraine hits or I won’t sleep.”

I lay next to him and wrapped my body around his. “Shh,” I whispered in his ear, stroking his hair.

“Oh, Nick.” He turned around and pushed his face into my chest. “I can’t be this guy. Can’t be like this. You deserve so much more than me, than who I’ve beco—”

“What do I deserve, O’Reilly? Don’t tell me what I deserve. I don’t give a s**t about that. I know what I want. I know what it takes for me to get from point A to point B, that’s all. And I can’t get anywhere without you.”

“But listen to me.” He looked up, his face young in the moonlight. For a second, I remembered him at age twelve, that scrawny little redheaded kid I used to try to reach.

“What?”

“Don’t ever stay with me out of pity.”

Man, he could piss me off. I felt my jaw harden.

“No, promise me, Nick,” he insisted, his eyes turning almost feral.

It was such a stupid promise, anyway. How could I ever pity a man who was ten times the man I was, traumatic brain injury or not? Jesus, even when Derek had been in a coma, he’d been more awake than I’d ever be. “Yeah,” I said, flatly. “I promise to leave you when I start pitying you.”

Derek frowned. “That doesn’t sound like what I was asking at all.”

“Oh, well. Too bad.”

“You always get your way with me, Lund.”

I pressed up against him, putting my head over his heart. I was much taller and wider than he was, and yet, when he held me like this, I felt small. “How’s your head now?”

“The stabbing is gone. Just nauseous.” He caressed my arm. “I’m sorry…”

“What did I tell you about apologizing?”

“It’s bad for my health.”

“Exactly.”

We were quiet.

“You’re gonna go to Norway,” he said, after a minute.

“Well, I’d like to get the ball going, yeah, but I don’t wanna leave you if you’re—”

“No, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’ll ask my cousin to stay with me for a few days.” There was a slight hitch in his breath. “All right?” he asked, in an unsure voice.

Myles and Derek were like Damon and Pythias, those two best friends in Greek mythology who’d inspired countless tales and plays. Devoted to each other as few people were.

“He’s gonna spend some time with Violet-Rose, too. That’ll be good for Lene, right?”

Myles defined himself as gay with a straight-curious streak. He was my niece’s father. He and my sister Lene had had a one-night stand four years ago and Violet-Rose was the happy result of their physical connection. Myles wasn’t around much, but he always made sure my sister had everything she needed and treated her fair. Lene had never wanted more. She was content with being on her own, raising Vee on her terms. We were all happy she hadn’t chosen a jerk to father her child. And besides, now the O’Reillys and Lunds were linked together forever.

“It’s not a bad idea,” I finally said.

“We’ll take care of each other while you’re away.”

“He’ll be staying here? I mean—at our place?”

I wasn’t insecure. No, not me.

“In the guestroom.” Then Derek turned to his stomach, sticking his arms under his thighs. That was his going to sleep position. “Good night, Nick. I love you.”

I kissed his shoulder. “Sweet dreams, babe.”

Seconds later, he was asleep, and I went back to Fantine and her teeth.