Spun

A part of me bristles at that comment, but another, larger, needier part fucking blooms when he says that. Before I know what I'm doing, I hear myself whisper, "Okay."

His hot lips kiss my cool cheek. It's dry and short, but it excites me. I feel like I could live through eternity if only I could get a kiss on my cheek every now and then from Graham. And that's when I realize I'm truly pathetic.

-------

November brings with it an unexpectedly large snowstorm. I play sad music and look at the snowflakes that listlessly drop down in lazy heaps.

The weeks since Graham and I established our friendship have passed slowly and sometimes painfully. It's strange how I can both crave and dread his company. Nearly every night he shows up at the door of my apartment, either holding take-out or offering to take me out to a new restaurant. It's confusing to me because of how I feel; I don't want, or need, more than a friend, but I desire more from him. I don't want a hug goodnight, or a kiss on my forehead, or a harmless squeeze on my wrist. I'm not entirely sure what I want but it's more. It's definitely more.

And that scares the fuck out of me.

More can't possibly be good for me. Even if it was, I'd never know how to ask for it. I couldn't. I can't. So I don't.

Tonight I'm supposed to be going to this really great new restaurant with him but I have a headache brought on my confusion and my own induced angst. I try to fight against this, but I don't know what else to do. So I call my mom.

"Ginny?" That's how she always answers her phone and it makes me feel guilty. It's the response of a mother who knows her child is constantly in trouble, perpetually sad and in need of a pick-me-up. There's always worry in that one utterance of my name, with a tinge of hope, like maybe I'm calling to say I'm all better finally. The fear wins out every time, though, because she's never had a reason to hope for me.

"Hi, Mom."

"How are you? You haven't called in a few weeks."

She's not trying to sound accusatory, but I hear blame in her words anyway. Sometimes it's easier to be angry with someone than to love them.

"I've been really busy, Mom," I sigh. "I'm just calling to ask you something."

"Anything," she breathes.

"There's this boy that lives in my building..."

For the next twenty minutes Mom gives me excited directions, sounding every bit like a sixteen year old girl. I appreciate it, and I tell her so just before Graham is due to pick me up.

"Oh, honey. I'm just so happy that this is what you wanted to ask me. It's time. It's definitely time for you and I'm so happy."

When Graham comes to get me for dinner out at a new Japanese place, I'm still smiling.

He picks up on my mood immediately. His answering grin curls my toes. "Wow, if I knew you had such a thing for sushi I would have brought it up forever ago."

Dinner is fabulous. It might be the best I've eaten in a long time. I know I'm laughing more than usual tonight because Graham is watching me far too closely, drinking in each of my grins with an unnatural amount of satisfaction and affection. I love it, and I'm not about to tell him off for it.

When we're standing on the steps to our apartment building, I move to kiss him. He welcomes it, running his hands up my back. He pushes me against the door, ignoring the catcall of one of our neighbors smoking a couple of feet down the block.

"Graham." My gasp of his name makes him shudder. "Maybe we should go inside."

He all but drags me into the building and up the stairs to his apartment. "Sorry about the mess," he breathes. I think he meant to laugh.

His lock is undone and the door creaks open but I don't have a second to acclimate. Graham is on me, pushing me into his wall.

"You taste so good." His voice is low and gritty and doing strange things to my body. "I love it."

One of his hands travels down my body, catching on my breast before tugging down, down, down. It lingers on my hip, pressing into the bone. I know he's waiting for me, per usual. Waiting for me to beg, to give my permission, to kiss him. I don't know. I just know he wants something.

My hips involuntarily shift up, brushing against his hard-on. He moans into my lips and clutches my ass.

"God. You're so good."

Those words make me freeze. I've heard them before, helpless in the dark beneath a man whose breath stunk of stale beer.

He thrusts against me, but I don't want this. Not anymore.

"Stop."

And just like I know he will, he moves away. "I'm sorry," he pants. "Too fast?"

All the advice my mom gives me, all the prep talks I've prepared, vanish the moment my fear grabs hold of me. I can hardly look at him. It's not his fault. It's not even him.

But it is too fast. Too much.

I heave in oxygen, but it's no matter; I can't breathe.

I don't want to feel again. I don't want to need him, ignoring a voice inside of me that says I already do.

"I should go home," I hear myself whisper.

Graham straightens out my dress and I love him for it, but not enough to get over my own shit. "Ginny."

"I'm not looking to just fuck someone, Graham. I'm not that hard up for company." As I said earlier, sometimes it's easier to be angry.

He backs away from me, wounded. "You know that's not what I want from you."

"Isn't it?"

"No!" He paces away from me. "God. I would hope you'd know by now what I want from you."

I stomp my foot like a child. "I have no idea. A fuck buddy? It's convenient, too, because I'm in the same building!"

He moves closer to me, looking down at me blankly. "Wow. I didn't know you thought of me like this."

I step away from him without looking into his eyes, because then I know I'll be a goner, and frantically tear open his door. I hear my footsteps echo in the hallway and desperately long for his door to slam shut—and pray he'll come for me. But he doesn't. He doesn't come to get me, because he probably doesn't understand (not that I can blame him), and he doesn't slam his door, either. I can feel his eyes watch me as I make my way down the hall, wishing with every step I could be the kind of woman to turn back around.

I't's cold in my apartment. Far too cold. I yank out an old blanket, wrap it around me and turn on crappy late night TV. It's nearly 3AM when it dawns on me everything I did tonight was pointless and I burst into tears.

Without realizing it, I've become that girl again—the girl who wants, who needs, who loves.

The girl who has always gotten me into trouble.

-------

The next night I'm eager for destruction. I put on a short dress, one I'd hidden in the back of my closet, and I smear lip gloss over my lips. A friend of mine—who isn't really a friend—invites me out after I finish cutting her hair.

I can't resist, especially because I spent most of the night before fighting the impulse to run up to Graham's apartment, my sanity be damned. So I go out, pretending to laugh at all the right moments, trying to ignore how lonely and miserable I feel.

Then I'm angry with myself. How can I miss Graham already? I don't; it's a weird misfiring of my brain. I'm going crazy. It's not him at all, not really. I keep repeating that with every vodka I chug.

Someone's hands are on my waist. His hard dick is pressing into the thin fabric covering my ass. He's sweaty, and he groans into my ear.

"What's your name, baby?"

"I'm No-one," I tell him. He laughs and it's all wrong but I don't move away.

We get lost in a sea of swarming bodies, of people who are all a little lost themselves. The bass vibrates through my body and the guy behind me thrusts into me to the beat. It's disgusting and disorienting but it's what I want. It's what I need. He won't care about me, or my scars, or if I cry when he fucks me.

After a few more drinks and a couple more songs, he asks me to go back to his place. He's smirking, eying me like a hard-won prize. Or maybe more like an easy-won prize. He thinks he's going to use me tonight; he has no idea how much I'm using him. In the foggy drunkenness of my brain, I rationalize it would be better to go back to my apartment. I drag him behind me, ignoring the thumbs up of the girl who brought me here.

A cab is waiting and I have a moment of self-preservation. I push the nameless guy away and get into the cab alone.

"What the fuck? What are you doing?"

I ignore him, hearing him call me a bitch from down the street.

I'm not really present for the cab ride home, but I come back as I'm tripping up the stairs. One of the guys who live two floors below me pops his head out the door. He looks at me, wasted and dressed like a slut, and I can almost taste his judgment. He shuts me out and I keep on walking.

My door is fuzzy when I get upstairs and I can't seem to open it. My key clatters to the floor and everything becomes too much. I collapse, sobbing and lost.

Graham steps out of his apartment and catalogues the situation immediately. My dress has ridden up, leaving my thonged lower half completely exposed. My lipstick is all over my face from the sloppy kisses of the guy before, and mascara has leaked down my cheeks. How humiliating.

He gazes at me for a moment, his eyes soaking me up. He's expressionless and that's terrifying.

Then he comes over and hugs me close to his chest, soothing me with words I can't decipher. Snot runs out of my nose and I choke on tears. I realize I keep saying "I'm sorry".

"Stop, Virginia, it's okay now. It's all right. I've got you. It's okay. I've got you now."

He takes my key from my shaking hands and unlocks the door. We fall into the little hallway of my apartment and he shuts the door. I sink down to the hardwood floor and he follows, cradling me in his arms.

"I'm so sorry," I say again.

"Shh. It's okay." He kisses my forehead.

We sit there forever, him rocking me, me whimpering and trying to apologize. I can feel him watching me in the dark, even if I can't see his face, but this time it doesn't bother me. This time I'm just happy he can even bear to look at me. And I'm hoping those sapphire eyes will see through me and know that this wasn't me at all.

Or at least, not who I want to be.

-------

The next morning my eyes are red but thankfully dry. Graham is asleep in my bed. I take a moment to appreciate him and then I kiss the scar on his eyebrow.

I get up to make coffee for us. It's surreal to be doing this, to have him in my apartment, especially after everything that happened last night. I can't help but be hopeful.

"Hung over?"

I jump and glance up at Graham leaning against the wall, a small smile curving his lips.

"A little. I deserve it."

He walks over to me and, without warning or hesitation, kisses my temple. Warmth blossoms in my chest and jolts of pleasure snap down my spine, fizzling out in my toes. "No, you don't."

He pulls away with a strange smile and pours some coffee into one of the cups I pulled out.

"About last night—"

"You apologized enough. Let's forget it."

"But I wanted to explain that—"

"You don't need to explain. I see you, Virginia." He takes a gulp of coffee, letting his eyes drift down my body. It isn't a heated glance. It isn't sexual at all. "You're a warrior, just like you said your mom was. I think you've been through a lot. I think you've had a real hard time of it. And I think you don't know how to let yourself be happy, even if happiness knocked on your door."

He gives me one of his great smiles and lowers his mug. "I guess it's a good thing I'm so persistent. I don't care how many times you tell me to leave, I'm not going anywhere. I like you. A lot. I didn't think that would be possible for me, but I want to know you." He shifts a little, looking uncertain and vulnerable for the first time since I met him.

His hand fists a lock of my hair. "I still want to know you. And I want to take care of you, if you'll let me." He kisses my nose. "Please, just let me."

-------

That night, he comes over after work and tells me about his ex-girlfriend. He broke up with her because he said there was nothing worse than being loved by someone who you didn't love back. Before, I'd argue it was way worse to be the unloved one, but his earnestness proves it's just as tortuous. Tears prickle my eyes when he tries to convince me how hard he tried to love her.

"Every morning, I'd stare at her at breakfast and tell myself to love her," he tells me. His smile is sad, laced with regret. "I just couldn't. She was such a good woman ... I hurt her so much." His gaze is like a kiss when it settles on me. "But she just wasn't the one."

He says he's a disappointment to his family, and that's really why he moved.

"I thought I was broken. That I couldn't feel things correctly," he whispers. I nuzzle into his neck, telling him without words I felt the same way. "Sometimes when I looked at them, I couldn't help but wonder if they felt the same way."

"I've never known a person who felt more than you," I say. He laughs and drags his hand up my arm, inviting goosebumps to raise all over my flesh.

"It's your turn." He flips my hand over and lays an open-mouthed kiss on it. "Your turn for the soul-baring."

I try to pull my hand back but he's too strong, and my will is too weak. "What do you want to know?"

"Why you look like you hate to be touched. Why you tried to ditch me. Why you don't like talking about yourself."

Swallowing, I try to smile. "Oh, that's all?"

"No more hiding. You don't do that great a job of it, anyway." Graham meets my eyes. "Just give a little of yourself to me, Ginny. I'll try not to ask too much. I just need to know you. Why you're fighting this."

I don't want to say anything, but I don't want to be alone anymore. I want him.

"I've just been lost for a long time. I haven't had a lot of luck with love."

He snorts and caresses my back.

"No, really," I tell him. I take a deep breath and prepare to do for him what I haven't done for anyone in a long time. I'm going to let him see me—really see me.

I lift my shirt up over my head, ignoring his gasp, and throw it to the floor. Shifting so my back is to him, I take another slow, calming breath and wait.

I know what he sees: a highway of scars and smoothed over gashes. A literal roadmap of pain. A museum of battle scars and broken hearts and pleas that went unanswered.

He doesn't speak. He doesn't do anything at first. Then he touches me and I crumble. Tears are already dripping from my chin. He turns my body around and envelops me into his body, absorbing me. His lips drop down to my shoulders.

"I'm here." His voice is calm. Sure. Rock-steady. "I'm here now."

-------

"And how'd you get this one?" he asks. His thick, calloused finger runs along the old scar on my shoulder blade.

Images of belt buckles flying through the air come back to me and I hold my breath.

"Won't you tell me?" His lips kiss it and I shiver.

Sometimes it's too late for a kiss to make it all better, like how it's too late now, but I love him for it. My eyes tear up because he's told me everything about himself and I can barely share a five minute story with him. We're both naked now, literally and figuratively. It's not fair to him and for the millionth time, I hate that I'm like this.

"I can't." My voice is broken and breathy. "I'm sorry."

And just like always, he understands. His hand curves up my forearm, over my elbow, and rests on my upper arm. It pushes my body closer to him, cocooning me into his side. I feel his lips on the top of my hair, pressing another kiss down.

"Shh. It's okay. There's no rush." His other hand lifts to touch my face. The feeling of his fingertips skimming my jawline make my eyes flutter. He puts a little pressure on my chin so I look up. "There's no rush."

As he kisses me again, moving his warm lips against mine, I sigh and let him comfort me. I can't resist it. He's worn me down; I've worn me down. Our affection, possibly love, has won. I'm not sorry for it.

"Touch me?" I ask.

He doesn't ask me if I'm sure because he knows I wouldn't have suggested it in the first place if I wasn't.

His body cloaks mine, ever protecting. Ever loving.

His heated length slides over my thigh and aligns with the wetness I haven't felt in ages. His nose, broken a dozen times over, bumps into mine affectionately.

"You ready?"

"Graham," I breathe.

Then he's inside of me, sliding and thrusting. It is so astoundingly beautiful, so absurdly wonderful, I begin to cry.

He notices and kisses the trails of tears. "God," I laugh, wiping a tear away with a tut of annoyance. "I'm such a woman."

Graham pushes a bit harder, making me gasp, and toys with my nipple. "Mmm, yes. You are."

The sun comes up at some point. I'm only aware of it because of how his blonde hair glints in the fresh sunlight, how suddenly the shadows of his body become clearer, how I can see every delicious twist of his face.

No words are spoken. Nothing conversational or erotic or confessional. None of that is necessary now. This isn't about dirty fucking, or merely getting off. It's about healing and learning all the secrets we hide from the rest of the world. It's enough to feel every silky slide of our stomachs against one another, every breathtaking pulse of his cock inside me, every meeting of our lips and frantic tug of our tongues.

As the passion grows, our bodies become more frantic. Graham's motions are faster and my moans turn to whimpers. His mouth possesses my breast, whispering secrets to it while his tongue coats the nipple in deliciously wet circles.

My body gives no warning when it's about to come. It just happens. Graham lifts his head, sensing the tightening of my muscles, and smiles softly. His lips are wet, his hair is every which way. He kisses me deeply, murmuring something into my mouth. I hold onto it, pulling and tearing, as everything inside of me seizes and releases.

Years of loneliness, of fear, of pain, of frenetic worry, surge out of my body and into the atmosphere. Something has happened to me. I feel free. Wonderful.

My body is just bones and muscles and heart as Graham searches for his own ecstasy. I detail every twitch of his face as he reaches it, surging inside of me.

When he kisses me slowly afterward, finally falling to my side but grabbing me close, I know he's free, too.

-------

"I'm sorry? Can you say that again, Ginny?"

I grin at Graham who is whipping us up some pancakes a few mornings later. He's probably going to be late for work again but everything about him is so unhurried, unconcerned. He notices me watching him and he can probably hear my mother's shriek of disbelief.

"Sure, Mom," I say to the phone. "You need to put out another plate for Christmas. I'm bringing a date."

"Well, sure, Ginny. I had no—well, sure. Sure. I mean ... Who is this guy? You haven't—oh, that's wonderful. Honey, I'm so excited!"

I'm laughing as Graham kisses me goodbye, whispering he'll see me later.

-------

I sit on the stoop waiting for Graham to come home. He spots me as he comes down the sidewalk but he doesn't rush. His smile is slow and perfect, and just for me.

We don't say hello when he finally meets me. He sits down next to me, takes my hand and gives me a kiss that's far better than hello.

Some kids playing outside yell "ewww!" at our kiss and we grin at them. We watch them for a bit, throwing snow at one another and enjoying themselves.

It begins to flurry. I can feel the cold through my bones, so I burrow into his warmth. It'll be a tough season, they say.

I'm not worried.