Dreams of 18
I don’t even say goodbye to the girl who’s staring at me with confusion over my ‘not my boyfriend’ comment, I think.
I push my cart across the space, keeping my eyes on him. Our carts bump together when I reach him and leaving it, I approach the man I love.
The man I live in my dreamland with.
“Hey, Mr. Edwards,” I greet him.
“Hey,” he rasps and yup, his eyes are dark.
Then he glances over to the girl I was talking to. “You okay?”
I tap the front of his sturdy left boot with my sneaker, playfully. “I am.”
He frowns slightly. “She bothering you?”
I shake my head, tapping his boot again. “No.”
He looks down and shakes his head at my playful gesture. “You sure?”
I smile at him.
He always thinks people are bothering me. In fact, he hates the stares more than I do. Because he knows how triggering they can be for me.
Two years ago when he came back for me and I chose to go to the cabin with him, I was in a really bad place. But Graham, along with my old therapist, Nelson, found me a new person I could go to: Kate.
She’s helped me a lot over the years but in the beginning, it was really hard. I’d get triggered so easily. I was afraid of everything in the Outside world. Going to restaurants, parks, movies, taking a walk, everything.
It’s been a long road and Graham has been with me every step of the way. So he knows.
He knows how freaked out I can get, and my man hates that.
He hates it so much that he glares at everyone who tries to look at me. He’s even gotten into fights with people a couple of times.
Which might happen in about five seconds if I don’t put his aggression to rest.
I step toward him, then.
I put my feet over his and wind my arms around his neck, kissing his beard. “Yeah, I’m sure. In fact, she said that my dress is pretty.”
His hands settle on my waist as he bows down to get our faces close together. “It’s not.”
“It’s not?”
He shakes his head slowly, his eyes all dark and beautiful. “You’re prettier.”
God.
My fingers fist in his shirt as something inside my belly flips and tightens. I still can’t believe that he finds me beautiful. That he finds me pretty and breathtaking and all the other things he murmurs when we’re in our own world like this and he’s being sweet to me.
I mean, I believe him but sometimes it’s hard.
I’ve always been insecure and shy and on top of that, I have a doomsday brain. So it’s hard to believe positive things about myself.
It’s hard to believe that I’m pretty and I’m loved and I’m accepted the way I am.
I try though.
I try because I’m brave and because I trust him with my whole heart.
“I told her you bought it for me,” I say, my one hand coming down to his chest and pressing over the spot where his heart is.
“You did?”
“Yup. I told her your favorite color is red but mine is pink, so you bought me a compromise.”
“What’d she say?”
“She asked me if you were my boyfriend.”
At this, he massages the flesh of my waist. He does it so forcefully and deliciously that I feel every inch of his hardness pushing into my body. “What’d you say?”
“I told her no.”
“You did, huh.”
I nod, kind of squirming against him. “Because you’re not my boyfriend anymore.”
“I’m not? So what do the kids call it these days?” he rumbles, all arrogant-like.
I roll my eyes at him. “I think it’s husband.”
His heart thunders under my palm. Not only that, his eyes flare and the hold he’s got on me tightens.
He’s actually gotten more possessive and protective ever since he stopped being my boyfriend and became my husband. You’d think that since I’m legally his now, he’d relax a little. But nope.
Marriage has had the opposite effect on my husband.
Even so, you can’t tell by the casual tone he uses. “Ah, okay. Husband it is, then.”
I narrow my eyes at him. He can be such an ass.
His smirk turns into a dark chuckle.
“Take me home, Mr. Edwards,” I order, raising my chin up.
Fuck grocery shopping. Fuck everything.
I need him.
Besides we’ve been driving for hours from Denver, trying to reach the cabin for the really big day tomorrow.
Oh yeah, we live in Denver now because I go to college.
I started in the spring of last year, when I was able to withstand crowds, and I’m actually liking it. I don’t have a ton of friends but I do have some, and all of them love Bukowski. We even have discussions about him.
Isn’t that awesome?
“Let’s go home,” I tell him again, going up on my tiptoes and kissing him on the lips.
Because I can’t wait.
Okay fine, marriage has had an opposite effect on me too. I’ve become greedier for him, hungrier. Maybe because I know he’s mine and I can have him whenever I want.