See, most people wouldn’t know it by the looks of me, but I seriously did not like being touched.
And you know what was inevitable in an over-crowded prison?
Being fucking touched.
All the goddamn time.
I’m talking, brushing elbows with my neighbor all the goddamn time.
Hell, even before this had all happened, I’d always been very careful about how close I got to anybody.
Being in the same room with someone was acceptable. Being in the same hallway with someone was acceptable. Being within arm’s reach, however? Not acceptable.
The first day there, I’d been frisked by the guards.
I’d had to grit my teeth through the entire process as they searched me bodily to make sure I wasn’t bringing anything into their prison that wasn’t acceptable.
The first hour after the bars had closed behind me? I’d had to fight my way out of not one, not two, but six fights.
The first time someone came up behind me while I’d been in the bathroom?
I’d lost my absolute shit, and they’d put me into solitary confinement for three days.
It’d been the best three days that I’d had in that place for a solid three years.
Needless to say, I’d been touched so much that one would think that I’d be accustomed to it by now.
Let me be the first one to tell you… I wasn’t. Not even close.
When I’d been a kid, I’d first realized that I didn’t like being touched at a really young age. The moment that the choice was given to me about giving hugs and such, I’d just refused to give them. Not my mom. My dad. My brother nor my sisters.
None of them were allowed to touch me. And that was the way I wanted it.
It wasn’t that I didn’t like my parents—I did—but it was better to like them from a distance.
There hadn’t been one single person that I’d liked being that close.
Hell, the first time that I’d had sex, I’d hated every second of it because of all the touching and groping.
I’d learned the best way to do it was from behind, so that the women that I was having sex with didn’t reach back and touch me without me being able to anticipate the move.
I hadn’t found one single person that I liked being around.
Not until Wyett had come into the picture.
Now her? I wanted to touch her all the time. I still didn’t want her to cuddle with me for long periods of time, but the thought wasn’t abhorrent to me, either.
Holding her hand today had actually been quite pleasant.
“Hunt, are you even listening to me?” Wyett asked, interrupting my thoughts as she placed her hand on my forearm to get my attention.
I turned my head to stare at her.
“Yes,” I answered. “I am. I’m just thinking about how your touch isn’t repugnant to me.”
Her brows rose. “What?”
“I don’t like being touched,” I told her.
She yanked her hand back as if she’d touched something scorching hot.
“I’m sorry,” she winced.
I reached forward and grasped her hand with both of mine.
“I just said that I don’t mind your touch,” I repeated. “For some reason, it doesn’t make me feel like my skin is crawling. I think it’s because you have man hands.”
Her mouth dropped open. “What?”
I flipped her hands over to show her her hands. “You have small, compact hands that are very strong. You don’t have a light touch. It’s all heavy and even. I don’t like touches that are light. Like tickling touches. When you touch me, I don’t feel like something creepy and crawly is whispering over my skin.”
She blinked, and once again her lashes drew my attention. “Okay.”
“And the thought of you cuddling with me isn’t abhorrent, either,” I continued. “Your eyelashes are really long again. They’re still real, right? I’ve heard that it’s all the hype nowadays to have lash extensions.”
Her lips quirked up at the corner. “The thought of cuddling you isn’t abhorrent to me, either. And to answer your other question, they’re still real.”
My lips twitched up at the corners as amusement flittered through my system. “I want you to stay here. I want you to continue to live here however long you want to live here. I want you to also realize that I’m going to have trouble reintegrating into society—at least that was what I’d heard from other inmates who’d been let free and then come back—so I’m going to need you to keep me in line. Also, you’ll be a suitable buffer between my family and acquaintances.”
She was smiling then. “When’s my first assignment?”
She was teasing, but I had one for her anyway.
“I have to go talk to my parents,” I admitted. “They’ll want to know that I’m home. Not that they ever came and saw me in that place or anything. Then again, I’m fairly sure that they might’ve self-destructed if they had.”