20
Kevin
Itake a deep breath before turning the doorknob to go inside my apartment. I spent the last two hours being berated by Mr. Andrews about why I still haven’t reached out to my family. I continue to wonder if he could see the guilt on my face from last night. From having my face between Skye’s thighs as I made her come. He would tell me she’s too young. She’s fragile. She’s too damaged, as if she may shatter and break from my touch. He won’t understand that I did it for her because it was what she wanted.
Even if it ended up being what I needed as well.
I walk inside and flip on the light. Skye looks back at me.
“How was therapy?” she asks.
Her question makes me want to head for the bottle. We unpacked a lot today, and I feel like I’m dragging it behind me like a boulder. The weight holds me back instead of freeing me.
“Fine,” I say.
“Just fine?”
“Please stop asking me.”
Her words crawl under my skin and make me want to rip it off. I’m not used to being forced into interactions when I want to be alone. I don’t want to say something or do something I may regret. Not with her.
I walk away from her and head toward the bedroom. I want to be alone in my head, suffering through a battle by myself. I want to wage a war on my sanity. But I don’t want Skye in the trenches with me.
I sit on the bed with a sigh and drop my head into my hands. Mr. Andrews and I talked quite a bit about my traumas and recurring panic attacks. He always says facing them will make the burden feel less heavy, but now I feel buried by the weight.
“Hey.” Her small voice makes me jump. She plays with the fabric of her sweater.
I wipe sweat from my forehead. “What do you want, Skye?”
“I just wanna see if you’re okay.”
“Did you eat today?” I ask to divert the question. I don’t like leaving her home alone. I worry about her hurting herself, and it makes my mind go wild with memories of my past and present.
“Yes, I ate. But are you okay?” she asks again.
She walks over and forces my hands away so she can sit on my lap. I hesitate for a moment before wrapping an arm around her waist.
She leans her head against my chest. “Did I do something wrong?”
I brush the hair away from her face and see gloss in her eyes. I don’t want her to carry guilt over me. She’s not the reason I close up. The only one I have to blame for that is myself. I was stupid to think I could bare my insides to this young girl who’s as broken as me.
“No, you didn’t do anything.”
“Is it because I freaked out last night? I didn’t mean—”
I grab her chin and lift it. “Don’t ever apologize for reacting to my touch. Or anyone’s touch, for that matter. That’s not something you should blame yourself for. It’s involuntary.” I fight back the heat behind my eyes. “I know.”
“I feel like I ruined my chance.”
I take a deep breath. The warmth of her on my lap comforts me. “You didn’t ruin anything. You just aren’t ready.” I lean into her and kiss her. “And that’s okay,” I say as I pull away from her lips.
Skye wrings her hands on her lap, her body tense with anxiety.
“You haven’t done anything to yourself, have you?”
She shakes her head at me, but her gaze drops.
“Skye?” I ask more firmly.
I pivot my body and lay her on the bed. She doesn’t fight me. A tear falls down her cheek with a numbness I’ve felt myself. There’s no sobbing heave of my chest, just the warmth of a stream of tears that leaves me expressionless. I see that on her face.
I grab the waistband of her sweatpants and pull it past her hip bones. Most of the marks etched into her body are healed and scarred over. The one from before is scabbed and healing, but a red and raw cut stands out from the others.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“Skye, I told you no more of this,” I say as I press my hand over the cut.
“It’s not that easy. I can’t just stop. Sometimes I need to feel something.”
How can I argue with her reasons? I’ve self-medicated myself for years for the same reason—to feel something besides lifelessness.
Skye grabs my wrist and pushes my hand down her pants. “I need you to make me feel something.”
“We ca—”
Her hips rise to meet my touch. I find the warm heat of her—the slick skin—with the tips of my fingers. I’m not in the right place for this. Mentally, I’m drowning, fighting to keep afloat and maintain control of myself. My thoughts race. I try to ease them by dipping my hand lower, palming her as she rocks against me. I try to focus on the arch of her back, the way her chest lifts from the mattress in pleasure. From my touch.
“Kevin,” she whispers as she pulls me into her.
I kiss her lips, trembling as she moans against my mouth.
“Can I see you?” She gestures toward the length of me pressing against the front of my jeans.
“Skye . . .” Remembering what the sight of my cock did to her last time, I want to rationalize with her.
“Please,” she whines.
I don’t want to give in to her, but the way her big blue eyes look up at me as her lips form a seductive pout, it’s hard not to.
I use my free hand to fumble with the button on my jeans. The head of me is already poking out from the top of my boxers, too painfully hard. I pull the fabric down and expose myself to her. She bites her lip and stares at it. Instead of asking her to touch it, I reach for her hand, caressing her palm with a soft touch. I watch her face as I bring her hand toward me and rest it on my cock. I groan at the feel of her warm hand around me.
Her eyes remain focused but relaxed. I lean in and kiss her as she strokes me slowly. I snake my hand around the back of her neck and bring her deeper into me. She moans as I hasten my movement between her legs, slipping my fingers inside her as I grind my palm against her. The tension builds, not only in myself but in the rigid tense of her body. Her moans echo in my ears and soothe my racing thoughts. Her thighs tremble, and she shudders against me, bucking her hips into my hand as she comes.