Lacey
Everything felt so heavy between them, in the air, in her chest. It was good that she was on the ground, because she was so very weighed down and wasn't sure her legs could've held her. The pressure made it hard to breathe, an unseen tension clutching her tighter and tighter with an iron (no, not iron) grip. She wasn't even sure where it came from, but all she could think about was getting away, running away. Escape.
Just run.
Be alone.
As she should be.
The heart-warming affection in Reilly's voice as he spoke of the twins somehow didn't ease it. It should have, shouldn't it? But still she just wanted to get away. Escape this, whatever it was, this growing weight on her heart. That wasn't what he meant, he said, and deep, deep down she must have known that. Known that somehow, impossibly, he meant more by it. Because that grip tightened around her and she glanced away, looking for escape. He meant more. He wanted more. But there was nothing more. Not with her. There was only Kirby. Or had been. Now there was nothing.
Why did everything hurt? Why couldn't she be good enough for him -the other him? She would never be enough. Her mind was racing. No. She was thinking of Reilly, go back to Reilly. She wouldn't be good enough for him either. Except, Reilly wanted more. Or did he? No, maybe she was mistaken after all. He couldn't possibly. She was crazy, making things up now. He'd always called her such affectionate things, always treated her so kindly. That was normal, it was nothing. It didn't mean he wanted anything from her. He didn't. He never tried for more, she was just crazy and desperate. That was all. That must have been it.
She couldn't breathe. Was this a panic attack? What were those like? And why? She didn't know, didn't care. Just needed air. She didn't notice the tremble start in her legs, working their way to her shoulders. I missed you too, love. I'll try to be better in the future. She breathed a bitter laugh. Better? He was perfect, he'd always been perfect. Did everything right. Looked so good. Damn, really good. Why didn't he have someone at his side? Why was he here. It didn't matter, wasn’t her business, and she pushed it away.
You are perfect, Reilly. You always have been. But her voice should've been soft and sweet, impossibly caring. Should have been delicate and graceful and kind. It wasn't. She wasn't. She was sharp and rude and blunt, a little cold maybe, as she always had been. Perhaps as she always would be. He was perfect. So attractive and sweet. Always there, always ready to help her with anything at all, even watching the kids and practically raising them as if they were his own too. She swallowed. She wasn't sure she liked that way of thinking. What did that make them? Nothing, just the same as they have been. Safe and good and just... safe.
Just friends. Safe.
As if she needed any reminder at all of his perfection, he rose. Her eyes were immediately drawn to him and yet she still didn't notice the leaves and debris falling from his hair. Ripped and toned muscle stretched beneath smooth skin that had already been so hard not to press herself into for his strength. How many times had she wondered what it felt like, wanted to see for herself, but was held back by the fear. A little of it, only a little, was fear that he was so large and strong and could overpower her if he wanted, take what he wanted, how he wanted it. But Reilly never would, she thought. Her fear with him was deeper, more real, so painful; that she'd screw everything up somehow and he'd leave. Like she nearly did the day before. Afraid to love and be unloved, to be abandoned again. Time and time again, the people in her life always left her in the end. Not that he even wanted that with her.
So long he'd been here without ever asking for more than whatever they were. No, see? He didn't want more. She was crazy to think he could have meant more earlier. But damn, look at him. He must have had his choice in women as they threw themselves at him and begged for his love, his body. She could understand it. She could never have it, but she could understand it. He was perfect, beautiful in that solid-man sort of way, sculpted like some ideal specimen brought to life by the expert hand of a god. Maybe he'd even had all those women that surely must pine for his every attention. And here he was stuck babysitting her and her children.
She felt heat rise to her face and she looked away, clearing her throat. She was looking too hard, thinking too much. It took all her strength to force her eyes back to his as she asked if he was leaving. She had to know if she would lose another person in her life, if she'd have to watch his back recede as he left her behind like she was nothing. He searched her face and she felt like her stupid heart was there in her eyes for him to see, showing him all the fear and the worry and the tension. Please don't leave, she thought. How would she do this all alone?
He came closer and lowered himself, settled himself at her side. Her eyes fell to the short distance between them and she stared, silently counting and recounting the mere inches between them, afraid to look into the sea-blue of his gaze again. She could feel the chaotic flutter of her nervous pulse as he promised he wasn't leaving, that this was home for him. Cold relief trickled hesitantly through her, but not enough to cool the flush in her cheeks. His head leaned in closer and her eyes snapped to his again, quiet uncertainty sitting so sharply in hers. But he was so relaxed with his eyelids half-closed and a drowsy smile curving those lips. And then she could feel his stare glide slowly over her as if it were a touch, a faint caress, and she lost her ability to breathe or move or think. She couldn't turn from his eyes though as he took her all in, afraid to see his judgement but unable to look away.
"You should know how beautiful you are, Lace. Truly," he said quietly, his gaze coming back to lock with hers. God, she could do nothing but sit rigid under his spell and wait for him to take whatever he wanted. He must have meant it. He never said anything he didn't mean in all the time she'd known him. That wild need to run, to escape, shot into her again and her breath fluttered across her lips. But she couldn't move, couldn't move. She thought he might want to touch her, could nearly feel it pulling at her and trying to tug her closer and closer. But he didn't near any further.
It had been much the same with Sabrael, just a brief moment she thought he might touch her, that she so deeply wanted him to, and then it was gone. So powerful, but so fleeting. Now he was gone. Would it run Reilly away too? And she could also remember Woolf. He'd ignored her fear in his calm confidence, pressed his body firmly against her. Remembered the way his mouth had claimed hers in a way that had been so primal and natural, taking from her and igniting her eyes and her body with a fire she wanted to feel again, for someone other than Kirby. Always Kirby. Kirby who would never love her. Kirby, the only one that would have her.
She didn't move, didn't speak, watched him pull away a little and close his eyes. Then she could breathe again, shallow and unstable, but breathing. He still hadn't touched her, hadn't really tried. But he'd wanted to, didn't he? At least for a moment? Maybe. She watched him in heavy silence for a while, her mind racing. Should she do something? She didn't' know what. Or maybe she should leave? Or maybe just lie next to him and try to sleep again, if that was even possible just then. Part of her wanted to tell him send his magic in her, numb this frantic spiral of thoughts and emotions, dull it down and steady her. Maybe she should.
Reilly, she began. But she lost her brief confidence, her swiftly-fading courage. She shook her head and closed her eyes, willed herself to take a deep breath and ignore her still-racing pulse. I'm glad you're staying, she said quietly instead, and lowered her cheek to the ground, their faces so close and still not touching. She let his scent steady her instead as it surrounded her, strong and male and safe, and closed off any other thoughts. Except one, a truth about yesterday that might make him feel better somehow, in some way. That Kirby.. was done with her.
And it won't happen again.
