Our Wild Spirits

Chapter 2: My Own Salvation

Dad's red 2016 Honda Elantra was the only car. Sadly I had a driver's license, but he never gave me a vehicle. The good news was that Tom's house was a twenty-minute walk and was right next to a 7-11.
I reached the gas station, sitting on a bumpy bench, texting,

Babe, where r u?? I'm at the 7-11 rn.
Come get me! I get antsy real quick!

"I will as long as you will stop texting me," said a calm voice behind me.
I jumped and turned around to blew out a relived sigh.
"You scared me," I said.
The guy was Tom.
His denim shirt was a bit messy like his cropped, mousy brown hair. Though he looked rough, he was pretty well-clean and neat with his house and especially his appearance. His huge eyes were saucers of a bright sapphire that sometimes deepened to an indigo when angry or illuminated to ice-blue when scared. His beard was another good part of his face: just a stubble kind of beard with the hairs covering his creamy skin.
In his left hand, he gave me a Slurpee.
I shivered from the pleasurable iciness.
Coca-cola, my favorite.
"Sorry that I kept blowing up your phone," I apologize.
"It's not your fault that you do. It's that psychotic son-of-a-bitch you call your 'dad'," Tom said, crossing his arms.
"I'm not proud to say that, y'know," I whispered.
"What the hell did he do this time? You didn't say anything about it on the phone," he inquired, lifting me up from the bench. We started walking to his house with my bag in one hand, my Slurpee in his.
"He"- I began, already tears in my throat.
They fell down my cheeks and then plinked on the pavement of the sidewalk.
"What's wrong, Emily? Tell me anything and all of it. The whole truth; you always tell me the truth," he said, side-hugging me.
"He...he...raped me. My own bloody, fucking father raped me. He took off my bra, biting at my breasts then took his belt and slapping me with it. I-I-I th-thought he was gonna find a way inside me, but he decided for a nap.
"That's when I thought of running away to you."
"Explains the bag pretty accurately then," he concluded.
I nodded my head, letting it down through the way to his house and drank my Slurpee.
"I feel so dirty," I admitted, wiping away my tears. "So fucking dirty."
When we reached to his welcome mat, we sat on the porch and he held me tightly, stroking my hair.
"Would you want me to fix a bath for you?"
"Please," I said. He unlocked the front door, pushing it open and I walked in, kicking my shoes off. He locked the door again after he came in behind me, then went straight to the bathroom.
Along the way, I took off my shirt then my pants. It was pretty warm in this house most of the time. Tom came back to me with a long towel and draped it over my shoulders, pulling my panties down to my ankles then removing them with my bra. He dropped to his knees, kissing the soft flesh of my stomach.
He kept kissing it fervently as my hands curled in his hair and drove him deeper into my belly. He stopped, held my hand, then helped me get in the tub.
"Can I get you anything?"
"My Slurpee," I hinted.
"Of course," he realized, cocking his eyebrows.
Before he went to get it, I said, "Hol' up, babe."
"What?"
Hiding my nose behind the rim of the tub, I murmured, "I love you."
He gave me a cheeky smile.
"I love you more."