Lie In The Grass, Next To The Mausoleum
Lie In The Grass; Next To The Mausoleum- Eleven
Later that night, we were at Siobhan's, watching Sleepless in Seattle. Once again, Casey and Siobhan were curled up on the left side of the bed (I don't know what happened with them after I left; and at this point, I didn't really care), while Pete and I were on the right side.
I was lying almost completely on top of Pete, except that my left leg was hanging slightly off of the bed, so I was straddling his right.
My right hand was tracing random patterns on his shirtless chest, and his was doing the same on my upper back.
I sucked in my breath and barely stifled a yelp as Pete's fingers ran over the spot my father had kicked, and I felt Pete stiffen.
"Are you alright?" He asked quietly into my ear, kissing it and nuzzling my hair.
"I'm fine." I said, a little too quickly. Pete sat up.
"Siobhan, turn on the light, will you?" He asked, and Siobhan flicked on her antique lamp, sitting up to look over at us curiously.
I didn't even try to stop Pete from looking. It would be useless, and I'd just end up letting him see anyway. He pushed up my shirt hem and froze.
It scared me a little, the way Pete breathed "Oh my God."
I tried to crane my head to see, but my neck wouldn't twist that way, so I resorted to burying my face in the pillow and willing back the tears gathering in my eyes.
I heard the muffled sounds of Casey cursing as delicate fingers (Siobhan's, I was sure) traced over the throbbing spot; and hot tears slowly dampened the pillowcase pressed against my face. A moment later, my back exploded in pain, and I cried out, trying to wrench away but feeling Pete's hand close around my arm, rooting me to the spot. Tears sprung from my eyes freely as I tried to pull my arm away; Pete's hand was squeezing the brutal damage my father had done earlier. Finally, I managed to lift my face from the pillow enough to croak a few words out.
"Pete," I sobbed. "My arm; you're hurting me!"
The second the words left my lips, Pete released me.
I looked up to find him staring at me with wide eyes, his hands pulled back as if they had just been burned.
I watched, horrified, a tear drip down his cheek, before I realized.
Telling Pete he was hurting me was not the best way to put it. It was awfully reminiscent of my father.
I knew Pete would never harm me on purpose, but that's not exactly at the front of your mind when someone is pressing an ice pack onto your mangled back.
"I'm sorry." Pete whispered, his voice in danger of cracking.
I didn't reply; instead crawling up over his knees and pressing my lips against his. I could taste my tears as I sucked his bottom lip, and felt him kiss me back gently, lovingly, bringing his hand up to push my hair from my face.
Only after Pete's tongue began to tangle with mine did I remember that we were not alone. I pulled back and glanced at Siobhan and Casey, both of whom were wearing identically confused expressions, before laying my head on Pete's chest.
"You can put the ice on now." I said calmly. "I won't move."
As Casey once again laid the ice on my back, I flinched, but the pain seemed dulled by the silent presence of Pete's hand, stroking my own.
I squeezed my eyes shut as my body ached and throbbed, but eased as I breathed in Peter's scent.
He was my drug.
I was lying almost completely on top of Pete, except that my left leg was hanging slightly off of the bed, so I was straddling his right.
My right hand was tracing random patterns on his shirtless chest, and his was doing the same on my upper back.
I sucked in my breath and barely stifled a yelp as Pete's fingers ran over the spot my father had kicked, and I felt Pete stiffen.
"Are you alright?" He asked quietly into my ear, kissing it and nuzzling my hair.
"I'm fine." I said, a little too quickly. Pete sat up.
"Siobhan, turn on the light, will you?" He asked, and Siobhan flicked on her antique lamp, sitting up to look over at us curiously.
I didn't even try to stop Pete from looking. It would be useless, and I'd just end up letting him see anyway. He pushed up my shirt hem and froze.
It scared me a little, the way Pete breathed "Oh my God."
I tried to crane my head to see, but my neck wouldn't twist that way, so I resorted to burying my face in the pillow and willing back the tears gathering in my eyes.
I heard the muffled sounds of Casey cursing as delicate fingers (Siobhan's, I was sure) traced over the throbbing spot; and hot tears slowly dampened the pillowcase pressed against my face. A moment later, my back exploded in pain, and I cried out, trying to wrench away but feeling Pete's hand close around my arm, rooting me to the spot. Tears sprung from my eyes freely as I tried to pull my arm away; Pete's hand was squeezing the brutal damage my father had done earlier. Finally, I managed to lift my face from the pillow enough to croak a few words out.
"Pete," I sobbed. "My arm; you're hurting me!"
The second the words left my lips, Pete released me.
I looked up to find him staring at me with wide eyes, his hands pulled back as if they had just been burned.
I watched, horrified, a tear drip down his cheek, before I realized.
Telling Pete he was hurting me was not the best way to put it. It was awfully reminiscent of my father.
I knew Pete would never harm me on purpose, but that's not exactly at the front of your mind when someone is pressing an ice pack onto your mangled back.
"I'm sorry." Pete whispered, his voice in danger of cracking.
I didn't reply; instead crawling up over his knees and pressing my lips against his. I could taste my tears as I sucked his bottom lip, and felt him kiss me back gently, lovingly, bringing his hand up to push my hair from my face.
Only after Pete's tongue began to tangle with mine did I remember that we were not alone. I pulled back and glanced at Siobhan and Casey, both of whom were wearing identically confused expressions, before laying my head on Pete's chest.
"You can put the ice on now." I said calmly. "I won't move."
As Casey once again laid the ice on my back, I flinched, but the pain seemed dulled by the silent presence of Pete's hand, stroking my own.
I squeezed my eyes shut as my body ached and throbbed, but eased as I breathed in Peter's scent.
He was my drug.