Her first night home I was a maniac. I must’ve walked around the house ten times checking windows and doors before I was satisfied that it was safe.
Even after I put her to bed that night I didn’t close my eyes until I grew too tired to keep them open any longer. It was no hardship to stay awake watching over her as the past few days finally caught up with me, and reality set in.
Now that we were here in the privacy of our own home I could finally let my guard down. I could let myself relive everything from the moment I first found her crouched in the dark.
I took everything apart and looked at it more carefully now that there were no distractions. With each thought I drew her closer to me and was amazed at how natural it felt having her back where she belonged.
Even with all that was missing, all that was still left undone, this… having her home again… was almost like she’d never left, like there’d never been any distance between us.
She sighed and burrowed into my chest the way she always did in the past and I wondered how she’d slept the past two years without me there to hold her. There was a time she couldn’t sleep a wink without my warmth to comfort her.
In fact, the last few months before the incident, she’d travelled with me whenever I had to go out of town because she barely functioned without having me in bed next to her.
We’d grown that close in the short time we’d had together, and she’d come to rely on my nearness to get through each day and night. It was something I used to tease her about. How she’d gone from aloofness to being my cuddle bunny.
My heart hurt when I thought of all that we’d shared before she was taken from me. All that we’d missed. But most of all it ached for what she’d been through.
I fought back emotion as all these things and much more plagued my mind. The little things that I hadn’t allowed myself to think about while she was gone came rushing in like a tsunami now.
These are the things that had been too hard to dwell on because they only brought pain. Like how she’d search me out in a room if we were out together somewhere and we’d been apart for more than five minutes.
Or the way she had to have me inside her at least twice a day. I think it reassured her of my love and commitment to her each time I put her under me. And my baby needed lots of reassurance, though she pretended not to.
How had she endured the separation? I know it had been hell on me, but she’d had it much worst. No matter what terrors I imagined while she was gone, nothing could compare to her living through it.
I replayed the story she’d told the cops over and over again in my head, the horror of what she’d suffered finally breaking through the haze in my mind.
I’d kept a tight rein on my emotions for her sake, but now I needed an outlet or I’d go mad. Always before when I felt like this, when the pressures of life started getting to me. All it took was a few hours or so spent between her thighs and I’d be good as new.
That wasn’t an option this time around. She needed to heal in body and mind before I even thought of taking her. But as was to be expected, being this close to her had the usual effect.
Even with the worry of what happened to my children playing heavy on my mind, I still wanted her. I’m not sure if that made me some kind of animal, but I have no control over my body’s reaction to her. I never did.
In the morning I awoke to find her staring at me. For the first few seconds time and place disappeared and it was such a familiar sight I drew her in and covered her lips with mine without giving it much thought.
And while the dregs of sleep still clouded my brain I dug in and feasted on her lips. Reacquainting myself with the taste of her. It was the first time since she’d fallen into my arms that first day that I’d touched her for something more than to offer comfort.
The feel of her soft lips and the tentative touch of her tongue against mine jolted me back to the here and now and I jerked away as reality came crashing in. What the fuck am I doing?
I berated myself, calling myself ten kinds of fool, an animal who couldn’t control his lust. I thought for sure she’d think less of me for my actions; and then I finally looked at her and hated myself even more.