Split(20)

Mikey was always trying to convince us that Spider-Man would win in any fight against any superhero, but Dave swore nothing could top Batman, even though we all agreed the guy wasn’t technically a superhero but instead a rich man with a lot of gadgets. I mean, it’s not like he had X-ray vision or could spit webs from his palms.

The corner of my lips tug at the memory even if it’s only one of few. My blackouts have robbed me of the majority of my childhood, and I hate them for that. I want my brothers and sister back. I suppose it was a good thing I was practically blind with my own blood the night they died. At least what little I do remember was of their life rather than the image of their death. I spent their funeral behind bars, so even their half-sized caskets can’t haunt me.

Just these three palm-sized pieces of plastic along with a handful of fading memories are all I have left.

With the joy that comes at remembering them, there’s also pain. As much as it hurts to stare at the plastic and paint, I must. I face off with the sorrow and welcome it. It’s important I remember what I can. The horror of what can happen if I don’t keep my feelings in check. If I don’t hold on to my restraint.

Always remember.

The tiny painted faces of— I jump at the sound of something outside my window. Crunching gravel and . . . humming?

I click off my flashlight and close my eyes to concentrate, sure I misheard.

No, that’s definitely humming and . . . a giggle? Yeah, a feminine giggle.

I sit up and crawl across the floor to the open window. Listening close, I determine the sound is coming from the creek on the other side of the house.

With the lights off, I’m able to move freely without being seen, but all the windows are open, so I go light on my feet to avoid being heard. I make it to the living room and lean over the small table to peer out the window.

Squinting, I can barely make out the form of a person. A woman.

How in the hell did a woman get out here?

I search the surrounding woods for a car, another person, anything, but find nothing. It’s as if she just appeared out of thin air.

It’s at least a five-mile hike out here from the main road. The moon is high, so I’d guess it’s sometime after midnight. Luckily it’s close to full, so the woman is able to see in the thick darkness.

She stumbles, lists, and drops onto a boulder with a trill of laughter.

Huh . . . maybe she can’t see.

Talking softly to herself, she reaches down and pulls off one boot, then the other, followed by her socks. With what looks like effort, she pushes back to standing and hooks her fingers into the waistband of her jeans. Her hips shift from side to side and— Oh God.

I drop my gaze, blinking.

Why is she taking her pants off?

I don’t want to invade her privacy. I should just turn and go back to bed, protect her modesty and honor, but . . . my teeth run along my bottom lip and my stomach flips with anticipation. Her light humming and giggles continue to filter in through the open window. I shouldn’t look. It’s not right.

She screeches.

My gaze jerks back to her.

“Oh my God, it’s freezing!”

I turn my head, try to avert my eyes, but it’s impossible, as if they’re tethered to her.

She slowly wades into the water, the soft curves of her body on full display beneath the moonlight. Toned legs meet the round globes of her backside and her hips sway with each step. Long black hair falls down the length of her back, the tips reaching for her bottom as if they’re just as desperate to touch its softness as I am.

Images of my hands caressing her thighs and opening her legs flood my mind. A sickness stirs in my gut, but this isn’t the illness that comes with food poisoning. No, this is something dangerous. A need that makes me restless, overcome with wanting. My fingertips itch to touch, my mouth waters to taste, and between my legs I’m heavy and aching.

This is bad. It feels wrong. Dirty.

Yet I’m helpless to look away.

She’s not quite in the deepest part of the creek, the water only hitting her at midthigh, and she turns to face the house. For a second I fear she might see me, but she doesn’t startle, only continues to sway, at ease, as if she’s become one with the current.

Her face is cast in shadows and my eyes travel down the long column of her neck. I lick my lips and imagine what she’d taste like, what her soft body would feel like. The creamy skin of her full breasts stand in extreme contrast to her dark tight nipples. A low groan falls from my throat as my gaze slides down her soft belly to the thin strip of hair between her legs.

My hips flex uncontrollably and I dip my hand into my sweatpants, gripping myself so hard it hurts.

As much as I’m desperate for pleasure, I shouldn’t use her to take it.

She isn’t mine.

It’s not right.

My hand pumps on its own accord and disgust and shame roll through me.

I’ve never seen a naked woman this beautiful. Just watching her is doing things to my body that are impossible to control. Although I’ve felt the unwelcome draw to a woman, wrestled with the burning need that coils between my legs, it’s never been this extreme. This demanding. There’s safety in my anonymity and my shame takes a backseat to my yearning.

I bite my lip against the pleasure-pain of my grip as I watch her drag her fingertips along the surface of the water. She sways back and forth and I feel her body moving in my arms. My lips soaking up the moisture from her bare skin, my hands in all that long hair. What would it feel like to be skin on skin, to have the warmth of another body pressed against mine?