When We Touch

Inside the narrow box, I’m strapped down, unable to move. A loud noise and a sudden jerk forward, my head snaps up while my shoulders are held firmly in place. Sound is muffled. The darkness is green, with only flickers of iridescent turquoise like the sun on fish scales or headlights in the rain.

I cry for my dad. I cry for my sister, but no one answers.

Then the water comes.

It streams in through the walls in smooth arcs. It rises up from the floor, a black torrent touching my feet, my ankles…

It comes so fast my breathing is tight with panic.

It’s at my knees.

It’s at my waist.

It’s at my chest…

Strong hands grip me, pulling me out of the watery grave. My eyes squeeze tightly shut, and I hold onto my savior’s neck. It’s a man. He smells like cedar and cinnamon…

Cinnamon.

It’s not a man.

It’s a boy.

I sit on his lap, my legs around his waist, and he holds me tightly against his chest. We’re both naked, and our skin is flush against each other’s. It’s soothing and warm. My fingers lightly trace the lines on his back, and I press my lips against his neck, tasting the salt on his skin.

He holds me, one hand at the back of my head, fingers threaded in my hair. The other is around my back, holding me steady.

Something incredible just happened, something powerful and life changing. Together we climbed a mountain and jumped off into the expanse. We flew through the air and touched the stars, let the rainbows slip through our fingers…

Blinking slowly, I open my eyes to a hazy awareness. In this place between consciousness and dreams, I feel him so distinctly inside of me. I taste him so clearly. My body hums with the energy of my fading orgasm, and his scent lingers in my nose. It takes several seconds to recover, to understand where I am.

To realize it was only a dream.

I blink at the painted wood walls, the fan turning slowly, the long shadows tracing up the corners of the room with each oscillation.

Reality hits me all at once like a punch to the heart. I sit up and look around. I’m dressed in a thin white tank and panties, and it’s early morning.

“Oh my God.” I drop my head into my hands with a groan.

I haven’t dreamed of Jackson in… well, a week, I guess.

Damn him.

Ripping the sheets aside, I climb out of bed and walk slowly to the kitchen area of my studio apartment. My legs tremble like I’ve just run a mile, but it’s all in my mind. He’s not here.

“Get a grip, Emberly,” I mutter, picking up the kettle and filling it with tap water. I set it on the small stovetop and flick the heat to high.

I won’t do this again. I won’t dwell on the past because my present is actually pretty great. Tabby’s idea of taking Coco to hand out samples on the boardwalk yesterday paid off, and I have five orders for this week alone.

“Five!” I whisper to no one.

I should get a cat…

Either way, one woman asked for a three-tiered chocolate-pepper cake with elaborate, buttercream rose decorations for a dinner party of thirty. That’s three hundred dollars plus a seventy-five dollar delivery charge!

Two other people wanted simple six-inch rounds for the week’s dessert. Another man wanted a fruit tart. Combined with Betty Pepper’s penis, I could make a thousand dollars this week. Granted, my profit after supplies wouldn’t be that much, but still.

Holding the coffee press, I do the I’m making money dance. A loud banging outside my open window makes me squeal and almost throw grounds everywhere.