Dark Paradise - Joel Miller x OC

Love

Warning: angst, really light smut.

Photo by Kevin Noble on Unsplash

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The pages turn, her eyes glide over the paper marked with black symbols, but she can't focus. Her memories prevent her from anchoring herself in reality. As if these flashes of the past were embedded in her skin to always keep her a foot in these happy times.

His beard scratches her skin, following the path of his lips along her back still covered. His hands slide along her waist, tracing the curves as if they were mountains and valleys. Against her thighs, she guesses his beginning of erection. She laughs softly while trying to continue her reading despite the assaults of this insatiable lover.

"Babe, I have three pages left to finish this chapter.

-They will still be there after. Meanwhile I'm old, who knows how long it will last. You better take advantage of it.

-You? You have the energy of a teen who just touched his first girl. I swear, you'll end up killing me someday.

-In that world? I'd take that death"

She laughs and throws her book aside, giving up in the face of her man's ardor.

"Let's see if today is the day then."

She closes her eyes. She didn't sleep, trying to make up for the boredom by reading. Sometimes she manages to trick her brain. To convince it that it's just one of those nights he's on patrol. That she can sleep, that he will be there in a few hours, gently kissing the corners of her eyelids to wake her up. He would take her in his arms and kiss her, happy that he had once again escaped bad luck to return to her. Sometimes, she wouldn't sleep, too anxious to see him return, tirelessly waiting for his figure to appear on the doorstep.

"Why ain't you sleeping Honey Girl?!

-I was waiting for you to come home.

-Well I'm here now. Close your pretty eyes."

She turns around in bed, hoping to see him by her side. But it was only a mirage, once again. She looks at the alarm clock on his nightstand. It's already 7 a.m. It's no longer worth trying to sleep. She might as well get up and be useful. This is the only way she can forget. As she walks to the bathroom, she hears the front door slam open, Molly calling out to her.

"Chloe, get up! This is it, it happened!"

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She grabbed the first clothes she found, jeans with holes in them and one of his shirts that were way too big for her, which she had put on as she ran down the stairs. Doing the gestures he would have done if he had been there. As she strides through the streets, she remembers their return.

Ellie behind the wheel, feverish, her eyes bursting with blood and a body shaking from lack of sleep and trauma. Dina, a makeshift bandage covering an arrow wound. And Tommy, his face damaged by a bullet. How these three got back alive was a mystery.

But they were four to leave. Covered in a sheet, a body people were quick to attribute to Jesse. There was a flutter, a moment of terrified silence. And then everything fell into place very quickly, Maria started shouting orders while approaching her husband, holding his hand, telling him that he was home, that everything would be fine now. Chloe began to coordinate efforts, stretchers carrying the wounded to the infirmary.

Soon it was just Ellie and her, haggard by the car they had all abandoned. The young girl raised her traumatized eyes to Chloe. Her voice was broken, as if it came from another person.