Drawing Blood

Chapter Twenty-six

"You're pretty tough for an English teacher," I heard Adam say, and it was hard for me to suppress a chuckle at the surprise in his voice. I was lying on my front, the sheets bunched around my hips; taking in the outside world through half-closed lids. His breath was warm in the small of my back where he had decided to rest his head momentarily; his free hand lazily moving my hair away from my neck, exposing it to the cool breeze that crept in through the open window. "I knew you were listening in," I responded, and I caught the faint scrape of his unshaven face against my skin as he spoke to me again. "Well, a handsome stranger appears from nowhere and you just expect me to ignore it?" he said.

We had somehow made it to the first-floor bedroom, our clothes left scattered and discarded somewhere between here and the stairs. I couldn't possibly count the number of times I had wished for it to happen. I must never forget this, I told myself; I must remember it forever. It was a memory I wanted to preserve, a secret that would be ours alone. "You're unbelievable," I said; though, I enjoyed his jealousy. A part of me felt smug for being right about that day. It was bad of me, I admit. But after his confession about Ava, it gave me a slight boost. He kissed the base of my spine, and I marvelled at how nice it felt, how well we fit. Everything was perfect. As though we formed a pattern. A jigsaw with no pieces missing.

"Besides, how do you even know Luke's handsome?" I teased him.

"First name terms too, I see?" He moved over me then, coming to sink his teeth gently into my neck, nuzzling me. "I see I could have some competition on my hands...."

Unable to stop myself, I yawned. Soon, sleep would overcome me, and I would lose minutes with him, maybe even hours. It hurt me to even think about it. "Eavesdropping, and spying?"

"My two best qualities."

"Depends on how you look at it." I turned my head across the pillow then, to peer at him through a fuzzy haze. His own head had come to land next to mine. "It was in your best interests, that I listened in," he acknowledged; although I had my doubts. He remained half over me, half in bed as though he didn't know which he preferred. When he breathed in deeply, exhaling softly, I could tell something was bothering him. "You know this complicates things now, don't you?" he spoke. He had said the words to himself, more than to me, and I frowned. "Things have always been complicated between us," I whispered to him. "Why should it be any different now?"

We remained like that for a while, just observing each other – neither of us speaking. There were no need for words at this point. We had said everything we could. As the sun filtered into the room, splaying across the bed, it dawned on me that if I never held him again – was never this close to him again – then this memory alone would be enough to keep me going through bouts of loneliness and solitude. I would look back on this little window of my life and know I was happy, and everything was as it should be. He was here, with me. And I would be able to recall the details, at any point. Nothing would ever be strong enough to take that away – not even Devlin. Others had failed to separate us, others liked Dan. But I had emerged the winner. I was the victor. And even if things happened to turn sour, I would always have this. This was mine. Mine alone.

I must have dozed, because when I woke, Adam's eyes were closed; his face at rest. It was satisfying to see him so peaceful, so at ease. I wondered if that was normal for him, if he looked that way usually when sleeping. Up close, I could see his every tiny detail, every tiny line. I found one of the scars across his back, tracing it now with a delicate finger almost absentmindedly. It was deep, hot and crimson where the skin had not reformed. They would have hurt him, and I had been careful with them, unsure whether the pain was still real for him. He had been ashamed of the scars at first, stopped me exploring them, scared I'd be repulsed by them. Then hesitant, when it came to me gingerly kissing them; growing bolder when he saw they had no effect on me whatsoever. In the end, he had almost forgotten about them, believing me when I said he should be proud of them. They were a reminder, I had said. A reminder he was not a bad man, like he thought he was. That he'd done the right thing. That he'd spared a man's life.