Maybe that’s just blind, a salve to my conscience like the bitter, jaded nonbelievers say. But it helps, and I’ll take all the help I can get. It helps to believe in something bigger and stronger and smarter and more powerful than me, that there’s purpose in the death of guys I cared about. Brothers, men I loved like family. Dozens, Zane, Benny, Hector, Billy, Connor.” He spoke the names like a litany. “Adam. Shiny. Bradshaw. Sue. Fucking Sue, a boy named Sue. His dad named him after the Johnny Cash song, for real. Sue was a nasty ass bastard, mean as a snake. But he was loyal to a fault. Acted like he didn’t like anyone, but he loved us all. Got killed saving us all. A grenade landed at our feet, and Sue? He didn’t even hesitate. Picked it up and threw it, but it was too late. It went off a foot from his head. Blew him to fucking pieces. There’s got to be a greater purpose to that, right?”
Wren heard him swallow hard, breathe in and out deeply, deliberately. She still didn’t look up at him, kept her eyes on the wall, on his hand clenched into a fist beside her. She reached up and felt his jaw, smooth and freshly-shaven, felt his cheek. Wet.
And that broke something open inside her. Let the dam open. It was a hiccup at first, a tear down her cheek. The hiccup turned to a sob, her lip sucking into her mouth, her throat scraping.
“Yeah, babe. I know.” Stone brushed her cheek with his thumb in small, slow circles.
Her eyes burned, her chest ached, her throat hurt. Everything came apart, then. Opened up, somehow, a geyser of everything she’d held in, trapped inside her for days and weeks. The tears she refused to cry for herself in the darkness. While she was running, dodging Cervantes and his men. All of it came up and out.
Sobbing wasn’t really the word for it. It was something beyond sobbing. It was the sound of a soul being shattered, of terror and pain finally being given true vent. Wren couldn’t breathe for the wracking, wrenching sobs being torn up from within her. It was physically painful to let it out, to feel the horror. She delved deep, felt it all over again. Felt the hard fists bashing against her cheek, the kick to her ribs. The examination, being sold. Watching that girl being gagged as she went down on Miguel. The apathy in her eyes.
Death. So much death. The crack of pistols, the chainsaw ripping of AK-47s. The wet
The kick of the gun in her fist, over and over. Watching, almost from outside of herself, as she blasted Cervantes again and again. Rage taking over, but unable to banish the guilt, the horror. His eyes, she saw his eyes, over and over. Every night, she saw Cervantes’ eyes as he died, the confusion as he felt himself dying, the way his mouth gaped and worked like a fish out of water. The pool of blood spreading, spreading.
“Am I—am I a bad person? For killing Cervantes?” The question had haunted her for days. “Am I going to hell? I killed him, Stone. I shot him, so many times. I couldn’t stop. It was like watching someone else. I know he deserved it, but does it make me like him, for killing him?”
“No, babe. It doesn’t make you like him. It doesn’t make you a bad person.” He leaned away and met her eyes. “Am I a bad person? I’ve killed more people than you can imagine. All of them were bad guys, but I still killed them. How do you justify that? You can’t dwell on it. You have to just—I don’t know…accept it, I guess. He was evil, Wren. You know he was. And really, it was self-defense, and defending me. That’s the best justification I can give you. I can’t deal with the guilt for you, but I’ll be with you the whole way.”
“Where were you?” Wren demanded. “Why didn’t you come for so long? I can’t sleep, Stone. I can’t eat. I can’t do anything. I need you. You make it so I can breathe.”
Stone sighed. “I’m sorry. I just…I needed my own time to—to deal. I’m no good to you if I’m a mess too. I needed some space to figure my own shit out. I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Wren cried silently, then. She held onto Stone and felt his shirt growing damp beneath her cheek. When she was finally able to stop the flood, she was wrung out and limp.
“I don’t think I can move,” she mumbled.
“So don’t. Let’s just stay here, like this.” He sounded sleepy himself. “Will you get in trouble if I stay here with you?”
Wren managed a shrug. “Class…in the morning. Nine.”
“No problem.”
Stone helped her into bed and she drifted, slept without dreams. At some point, she felt Stone kick the blankets from underneath their bodies and pull them up, and she burrowed closer against him.
She woke up in the dim gray pre-dawn with Stone spooned against her. She felt lighter, cleaner, rested. Not totally okay, but better. And Stone was there with her, holding her. His palm was flat on her belly, just beneath her breasts. She felt something hard against her spine, and she felt her heart lurch and her body tighten at the knowledge of what it was. She placed her hand on his, threaded her fingers through hers, and listened to him breathe, wondering how to classify her relationship with Stone. Were they together? Would he make love to her? Would he bring her to his place and show her more of who he was, tell her more about himself, share his life with her?
“You’re thinking too hard, babe,” he mumbled.
“You and me…what are we?”
Stone shifted his hips, stretching, then seemed to realize that he was pressing himself against her and pulled away. “Sorry, I—”
Wren wriggled against him. “Don’t be sorry. I didn’t mind.”
“What are we?” Stone’s fingers flexed against her belly, then slid upward, just slightly, brushing the underside of her breasts. “We’re us. We’re together. If that’s what you want, that is.”
“Of course I do.” She moved his hand higher, cupping her breast with. “I want this.”
“Wren…” he groaned, clutching her gently, moving his hand so his palm scraped over her nipple. “What about your roommate? I’m not sure a dorm room is the best place, or that now is the best time. But I want it too.”
“My roommate is never here. Her boyfriend has an apartment, and she’s there pretty much all the time. She only comes here to study sometimes in the afternoon between classes.” She shifted her body, pressing her ass up his hardness. “Stone…please.”
He writhed with her, groaning and breathing against her bare shoulder. “I want it to be right. To be perfect. I want to go on a date with you. Take you home to my place and take all night with you. I don’t want to be rushed, or have to worry about being interrupted.”
“I feel like I’m going to explode,” Wren said, breathless. “Like everything is…on fire inside me. Building up and ready to go off. Crying last night helped, but I need this with you too. I don’t want to wait. I can’t wait.” She moved rhythmically against him, sliding her lace-clad backside against the rough fabric of his jeans.
Stone massaged her breast, even as he protested. His fingers twisted her nipple, gently pinched it, then his whole hand engulfed the weight of her breast. His hips moved with hers, and his lips pressed helpless kisses to her shoulder. Each time his lips touched her skin, Wren shivered, gasped. She took his hand again and guided it down, down, between her legs.
“Just touch me. Give me something.” She slid his fingers under the elastic of her panties.
Stone kissed her neck, under one ear, then her jaw. He took long, slow, deep breaths, growling slightly on the outbreath. He traced circles on her inner thigh, then pushed his fingers between her legs, found her entrance and slid his touch inside her, then stopped. “What about—”
She put her hand over his. “I’m fine,” she assured him. “I promise. Totally fine. I won’t be fine if you stop, though.”
“You make it hard to do the right thing,” Stone said, stroking her with gentle, probing fingers.
“The right thing is us. The right thing is to be with me, to make me happy.
“Wren…Jesus help me. I can’t resist you.”
“Don’t. If we’re together, then why do you have to resist me?” She twisted in his arms. “Everything we went through together…what did it all mean if you’re back to trying to stick to some preconceived notion of the right thing, regardless of what I want? Just be with me, take me. Don’t make me beg you. Show me you want me as much as I want you.”
“God, do I want you.” Stone brushed her flyaway, tangled black hair to either side of her face. “I just—you deserve more than rushed, desperate moments. You deserve time and attention and perfection.”
