𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫, 𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫 | 𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

32. short man syndrome.

T H I R T Y - T W O
short man syndrome

Deft fingers dig into the strands of my hair, burying themselves deep, scratching my scalp gloriously. They feel so fucking good, they are the perfect pressure and a tortuous speed.

A hum of contentment leaves me as the suds are washed out of my hair with the utmost care.

The smell of sewer water rushes down the drain, but the memories of being so afraid at the prospect of dying aren't so easily taken away. They've buried themselves deep in my head, knitting into my psyche.

"You saved me," I whisper over the sound of cascading water. "I thought-"

JJ's hand angles my chin to look back at him, his own blond hair plastered to his forehead. "I told you to trust me, I couldn't fuck it up in twelve hours," he jokes. A gentle caress glides over my jaw, he's being so gentle; kinda, I'm pretty sure I have bruises marring my skin from how hard he gripped my hips about twenty minutes ago. The second I didn't have sewer water on me he attacked me like a starved lion. It was a mess of tongue and teeth. Noses hit each other and the mumble of my admitting to starting birth control changed him into some feral mode, one that I'm not complaining about.

But, just like always, the second we're done he changes.

He could be doing things that'd make a priest have a stroke, and then, after it's all said and done, he turns into someone who makes your stomach burn in a different way.

The things he murmured against my skin tonight made my eyes flutter closed. He's been so attentive, making sure to follow my instructions on how to clean my hair to the T. Right now, he's raking through the hair mask, getting all the tangles at the bottom out.

"It was all for nothing," I say quietly, but not quiet enough that he won't have heard. He knows it was all just a fucking waste of time. Money goes further than innocence and guilt ever will.

"How long do I leave this on, sweetcheeks?" His fingers work to get the last few tangles out, the pads of his fingers skate along my back making my body heat. I can't help but lean into the affection-I need someone just to touch me so badly and I didn't even realise. For so long the only way I got wanted physical touch was through sex, I struggled to ask for hugs or even fucking hand-holding and I don't even know why or when that fear started.

"Five minutes," I instruct and I turn around and-without letting myself overthink it-wrap my arms around him. My face buries itself in the crook of his neck. He smells like safety and I can't understand what that even means. How can someone smell like the thought that things are okay?

It's at times like these, when I can hide away in JJ, where I'm thankful he's only two or so inches taller than me.

For so long being a tall girl was something I felt almost ashamed of. It made me stick out and it also made filling out almost impossible. Being a girl with next to no tits had its benefits, sure, but I also can feel unfeminine. I'm all lanky legs, awkward arms and built like a twig. Turns out, no amount of subliminal message audio can make you shrink. It's only up from here.

"Am I too tall?" I mumble into his neck. It's not a new insecurity, it's one that people have made me have.

JJ's fingers delve back into my hair, he uses a small amount of pull to make me unbury myself. "The fuck are you on about?" He looks confused.

"I'm five ten, that's, like, tall." I curl my big toe under my foot and crack the joint, a nervous tick my mother hates. "I look like a little boy."

His face screws up. "No the fuck you don't, I'm not into little boys." A shudder runs down his spine. "And I like that you're tall, it means when we carry stuff I don't have to squat; it means I can't borrow your clothes, I've been eyeing up that sequin top," he winks, "I think it'd look real good on me; it also means I won't get shitty posture leaning over-I don't want a hunch back, Mabel. I can go on if you want?"