I’d asked Dad why he put up with abuse—because it was emotional and physical abuse. And he’d said it was our job to be the carers of those who carry the pain. Pain could manifest in many ways, and it wasn’t up to us to point out how hurtful and cruel such pain could be.
We had to be brave and show the hurting that they could share their agony or deliver their agony. Either way, there would be no judgment or condemnation.
Only love.
For the longest minute, I feared Jacob would just continue walking to his home and leave me sitting in the field alone. But then the clouds in his eyes dispersed and the tiredness in his body increased, and he all but collapsed beside me.
As he reached up to shrug out of his backpack, a gentle hiss escaped his lips, tugging on my desire to help him be free of the equipment but knowing better than to touch him.
I waited for him to shove the bag aside, then smiled in triumph as he fell backward into lush green grass. He groaned long and low as his hands spread to the sides and his eyes closed and a look of almost-peace softened his handsome face.
There was still pain—so, so much pain—but at least his exhaustion took the edge off and gave him a small reprieve.
I wanted to know what he’d done in the forest. Had he slept in a tent or open air? Did he swim in a river and cook on a cheery flame? Or had he just rested beneath a tree, allowing his body to knit itself together and his mind to quieten?
Instead of ruining the silence with my queries, I fell back and lay beside him.
He flinched a little as I sighed at the blissful sensation of springy grass beneath and blue skies above.
But he didn’t move away. He didn’t get up to run.
And we lay there, side by side, not saying a word.
And in that silence, somehow, we became friends.
* * * * *
I woke to Jacob sitting beside me, his jaw working and throat swallowing, eating the pasta his mom had made for me. The sun had slipped farther in the sky and my skin was a little tight with UV exposure as I sat up and hugged my knees to my chest.
Jacob glanced at me from the corner of his eyes, giving me a single nod before stabbing another mouthful of pasta. That nod could’ve meant anything, but I decided to interpret it as a simple hello and a peace treaty that we could do this sort of thing. This normal sort of thing—just hanging out with no agendas or arguments.
The creamy bacon and mushroom smelled good, and my stomach grumbled.
I hugged my knees tighter, doing my best to hush up my appetite. Jacob deserved it. Who knew when his last meal was?
Unfortunately, he’d heard, and a smirk danced on his lips as he finished a few more mouthfuls, then passed the mostly empty container to me. “Finish it.”
I wanted to say no, but I didn’t want to start another war. Instead, I smiled and nodded, taking the Tupperware and fork.
The same fork that’d been in his mouth.
My heart pounded as I harpooned a piece of penne and wrapped my lips around the utensil. Was it wrong to prefer his taste over the creamy mushroom? Was it immoral to have belly flutters and body flushes at the thought of having some part of him in my mouth?
He didn’t help my wayward thoughts as his eyes locked on my lips, not looking away even as I selected another bite and placed it as delicately and as prettily as I could on my tongue.
I wished I’d snuck into more actresses trailers as they prepared for sex scenes. They practiced their orgasm faces and oh-my-goodness-yes-right-there gazes in the mirror before the cameras rolled. I’d spotted Carlyn Clark practicing once, running her tongue along her bottom lip with a hazy, dreamy look on her perfect features.
I’d tried to mimic that night and ended up embarrassing myself when Dad found me flirting with my hand mirror and contemplating if I should make out with it.
There was no mirror here in the sun-dappled meadow, but there was a boy who I’d been fantasising about making out with for longer than I could remember.
Hot silence prickled with intensity the longer Jacob stared at my mouth.
The fork in my hand began to shake. My body took control, pebbling my nipples, making them visible beneath the flimsy triangles of my bikini. My tongue licked my lower lip without my permission as if these signals were ingrained in biology, not flirtation.
Jacob’s nostrils flared, he tensed, and for a second—just a micro second—he swayed toward me as if totally bewitched and unable to stop himself from claiming what I so blatantly said he could have.