14. The Child
658 Words
How do I respond to that question, exactly? Do I tell him about my abusive mother who deems herself worthy of tormenting my life how she sees fit? Or about my cheating ex who is trying to worm his way back into my personal life by calling me every chance he comes upon?
I think I'll be upfront and honest with him. Being upfront with people tends to keep the drama away and I happen to love life when it's drama-free.
"The talk I had with my dad earlier is still kind of branded in my head," I begin, running a hand through my hair.
He looks uncertain about how to respond. "It didn't go well," he says as if he's stating a fact and not asking a question.
I shake my head. "Everything's fine between us, but I think we need to have a conversation about my mother soon."
His hand tightens around mine and I look up at him, noticing the concern that highlights his eyes. "Are you okay?"
The tone of his voice turns on the waterworks. Fat tears roll down my cheeks and I attempt to wipe them away, only to be forced into Tucker's arms. He holds me through body-wracking sobs and uncontrollable sniffling, soothing me with his deep voice. Just as I'm beginning to fall asleep with my head on his shoulder, he speaks in my ear.
"You wanna talk about it?" He asks.
"My mother is an abusive woman," I blurt, and he tenses as if preparing himself for what I have to say.
I continue when he squeezes my hip. "I moved here to get away from her and the guy I was with. She kept me from my father just to spite him because he didn't love her as he loves me. My entire life - up until I left Tampa - had been nothing, but a cesspool of criticism and disappointment. I'm not perfect and I know that. I don't want you to think I am."
He pulls back, fixing his fierce blue eyes on my blushed and tear-stained features. His hands cup my jawline as his thumbs wipe away the remnants of tears. My hands span the tattoos of his forearms, my pale fingers a deep contrast compared to his tanned skin.
"I know you're not perfect," he says, his hands tightening when I try to move away. "What I do know is I don't want perfect. I know that you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. I know that I want you more than anything in this world and I have since I saw you standing in your dad's kitchen that day. And I know I'm not going to let you go, no matter what."
My eyes well with tears once again and I look away, embarrassed. "Please, don't cry, baby."
"I'm sorry," I tell him. "I'm such a wreck."
My crying is over instantly when he squeezes my hip a certain way, the tickling sensation eliciting a laugh out of me. He stops afterward and leans in to kiss me, his growing facial hair scratching against my face. Before I know it, I'm under him on the couch with my hands under his shirt, feeling the smooth, warm skin of his stomach. His hands move along my thighs as he wraps my legs around his waist.
When we pull away from each other, my breathing is heavy and unsteady. My n*****s are budded with want for this beautiful man and the air around us is thick with desire. You could cut into the s****l tension with a butter knife.
He places a last kiss on my neck before looking me in the eye. "There's one way to cheer you up," he teases. "I didn't know you were ticklish."
I giggle and run my nails along his sides. "It's a curse."
He growls through his teeth at the sensation, making me laugh harder. He sighs and drops his head on my chest. "What are you doing to me?" He says through a groan.
- Writer
