29. Of All The Ways To Lose Someone

EVANGELINE

Ican't sleep. Every time I do, I dream of Mimi. I close my eyes and see her room, the plain white sheets of her hospital bed, the extra fluffy pillows I got for her, and the afghan from home, so she'd be comfortable.

I toss and turn, trying to not to wake Darren because he has a big day today, and he needs his sleep. When he turns over and places his hand on the back of my head, I let him pull me against his chest.

"When my parents first died, I couldn't sleep," he discloses in a raspy voice that sounds like midnight. "Every time I closed my eyes, I kept seeing the helicopter. I would sit in the formal living room, because it was the only room that didn't hold a memory," he confesses. "I thought it would give me a dreamless sleep."

"Did it work?" I ask.

"No," he lets out a sigh. "Nothing worked."

"And now?"

"It doesn't keep me awake at night anymore. It takes time, but you'll be able to sleep again. I promise," he cajoles in a comforting tone.

"She left me, Darren. The only person who ever truly cared about me… and she's gone," I admit, feeling terribly alone in the world, even though I'm engulfed in Darren's arms.

"Of all the ways to lose a person, death is the kindest," he laments. "She didn't leave you because she wanted to, Evan."

"I like it when you quote Emerson," I admit, tucking myself deeper into his chest.

"Then I shall give you an entire poem," he promises in a husky voice.

"You need to sleep," I tell him.

He shushes me and places a hand in my hair. I can feel his body settle deeper into the mattress, and I do the same.

I place my ear against his chest, and the faint beating of his heart comforts me. When he speaks, I feel the vibration throughout my body.

"Give all to love/obey thy heart/friends kindred days," he whispers with a sleepy voice that's rough and raw. I close my eyes.

"Leave all to love/yet, hear me, yet/one word more thy heart beloved," he continues.

"When half-gods go/The gods arrive." His voice is barely a whisper as he finishes the poem.

"You won't be any good for your exam if you don't go to sleep," I chastise him.

"I'll stay up as long as you need me."

"Why would you do that?"

He shifts his body to look down on me. "Do you really have to ask?"

I furrow my brows and lift my hand to his face. He hasn't shaved, and I run my fingers over the rough patch of hair along his jaw. His body trembles and I shake my head.

I don't think I can bear it if he says it.

"Darren," I start to say but he interrupts me.

"All this time, you have to know," he admits.

"You shouldn't, you really shouldn't."

"It's not something I can control. I didn't choose it," he whispers, but his voice is still resolute. "I didn't choose to fall in love with you, but now that I have, I wouldn't change it. I can't change it, so don't ask me to."

I don't know what to say and I don't know how to feel, so I break his rule and reach for him, placing a tentative kiss on his lips.

I kiss him until he yields and kisses me back. When he does, it's with a fervor that rivals the turmoil inside of me. His mouth is hot and seeking, but it's different, slower and deeper. It's the way he opens for me, and the slow languorous strokes of his tongue that makes me believe he would be content to kiss me all night until one or the other of us falls asleep.

I pull him closer, wrapping my leg around him as if I could crawl inside. My body is a charged wire, and all he's done is run his hand over my hip to pull me in closer. I kiss down his jaw to the hollow of his neck, listening to his ragged breaths and taking in the faded scent of his cologne. I want him to make me forget, just for today, because I'm not ready for reality… even though I know it's inevitable. I want to remember him, to have him fuck me so hard that he'll leave an imprint on me.

Pulling on the waistband of his boxers, I'm surprised when he grabs my wrists and stops me.

Shadows are cast across his face from the window as he looks at me thoughtfully. At a time when I don't want him to show restraint, he does.

"Darren," I breathe.

He lifts my arms over my head and rolls me over, pushing my back into the mattress as his body rests on top of mine. The wind is knocked out of me, sending a pulse straight down the center of my body. He's looking at me as if there's a war going on inside his mind and I squirm, wanting to touch him, but my hands are restrained.

He's hard against me, and I lift my hips to meet his, watching his lips part as he exhales.

He drags his cock along my center, the pressure grounding and sweet. Even though our clothes are still on, it makes me needy, wanting more of him – always wanting more of something that is just short of within my grasp. He cups my face and kisses me while I wrap my arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer.

Yesterday was playful, trying to get him to break his superstition, but now I feel guilty, tempting him because I'm being selfish.

"What happened to your superstition?" I ask him.

"I love you more than any superstition, and I'll take the consequences because it would be worth it. You are worth it." He works his way down my body, sliding my panties off and I whimper. It's not just because his mouth and his breath whisper along my skin, but because I can't bear his words, what he feels for me. I'm not worthy.

He presses kisses to the inside of my thigh that make me shake. By the time he works his way to my mouth, I'm a mess. Everything about him is slow and deliberate, unmistakably tender to the point that it makes me want to cry. When he finally pushes inside me, I'm so needy that I'm ready to fall apart.

Sex with Darren has always been easy. Fucking him in a coat check closet, on a piano, or even in the same room as the Declaration of Independence. As easy as breathing.

Making love to him just might break me.