The Story of Me (Carnage #2)(23)
“I want them back, Jim. I just want them back.” My chest and my throat burn. I roll onto my side and curl up into the foetal position, still holding the phone to my ear.
“Don’t do this, George. Please don’t do this. Fuck, I wish I was there.”
I choke on my words as I almost tell her I wish she was here, too, but I disguise it as another sob. If I ask her, I know she’ll come, and as much as I would like that, I need to get through this on my own. I need to prove to everyone, especially myself, that I can get through these next few weeks. Sometime in the very near future, I want to become a mother, and if I can’t get through this, then how am I ever going to raise a child on my own? That thought is all I’m living for right now; it’s all that’s keeping me going. My family and the hope I have for one day having a baby are what make me get out of bed each day, if I’m totally honest with myself.
“I’m sorry, Jim. I’m just having a moment.” I cover my mouth with my free hand so she can’t hear my sobs or my gasps for air.
“I know, babe, and you’re quite entitled to; it’s just hard hearing you so upset when you’re so far away.” She’s quiet for a few moments, and I hear her sniff. “Look, George, Len’s saying that the music channels are going to be playing wall-to-wall Carnage music, interviews and documentaries all weekend. I don’t know if they have Sky over there, but I just wanted you to know that the coverage is going to be intense, and there’s been a lot of requests at the label for info as to when the memorial service will be.”
I let out a long sigh; I don’t want to talk about this anymore. “I don’t know, Jim. Next year sometime, June maybe, on Sean’s birthday.”
Sean and Beau’s funeral had been private. The streets had been absolutely rammed with his fans and just general members of the public showing their respect, but the church service and burial had been family and very close friends. I had agreed to a more-public memorial service at a later date, and I probably would’ve let it be arranged for the first anniversary if I had still been in England. Since that wasn’t the case, it would have to be next year now.
“There’s no pressure, George; whenever you’re ready. There’s just a lot of people who want to show their respects.”
My head’s pounding and my throat aches from the sobs I’m suppressing. Some days, only a good cry will do. I just want to end this conversation and have that good cry right now.
“I know they do, Jim, and it will happen; I just need to get through this next week, and then perhaps I can think about it. I love you, Jim; kiss them babies and my car-wanker brother for me. I need to go.” I don’t wait for her goodbye; I end the call before she can hear me cry. I just can’t hold it in any longer. I grab the pillow and hold on to it, squeeze it to me, wishing everything about my life was different.
I think I’m imagining things a little while later when I feel the bed dip beside me and someone strokes their hand over my hair. I open my eyes to see Roman standing up from the bed; he pulls off his jeans and T-shirt and lies back down next to me. He rolls me on my side and spoons into my back, pulling me into him tightly; he kisses the top of my head continuously while I cry.
“Let it out, George; let it all out, baby.” I have this sudden urge to talk, to tell him everything.
“I want it to stop, Rome. I’m so sick of the pain, all day, every day; it hurts so f*cking much.” I turn around and face him. “Help me, Rome. Help me make it go away; help me to forget, just for a little while.” He kisses away the tears on my cheeks; my mouth finds his and I kiss him, hungrily; my tongue invades his mouth.
He pulls away. “Georgia, baby, please; I want you, but not like this. I feel like a complete bastard; I feel like I’m taking advantage of ya.”
I shake my head and hold his face between my hands. “No, no, Rome, you’re giving me what I need; you said you would help me.” My eyes widen as they plead with his. “You said you would help me. Well, I need your help, right here, right now; I want and I need your help.” He runs his fingertips over my cheek, towards my lips; I open my mouth slightly and flick my tongue between and over his fingers. They taste salty where he has touched my tears. His body is tense against mine as I slowly see the resolve in his eyes fade. Then his lips are on mine, gently at first, and then he rolls over and positions himself between my legs without breaking our kiss. He grinds his hips into mine; while one hand is under my arse cheek, tilting my hips up to meet his, the other hand is holding both of mine by my wrists above my head. I grind my hips back against his, and I can feel the tip of his cock pushing against my clit. I move so it slides lower, where I’m so hot and wet that surely he has to be able to feel me through my shorts. The spark of... something in his eyes and the way his mouth drops open slightly lets me know he can.
“Fuck, Georgia. That feels good. You feel good and I don’t want this to be quick. I want to worship you. I want to take you to another world and help you forget, but I need to f*ck you so bad right now, baby.” He slides down my body and pulls my shorts off as he goes. Then he stands at the side of the bed and takes off his boxers; he pulls me up by my hand so I’m sitting and strips my vest off. He pushes my legs apart and kneels in front of me, between them. His hand moves behind my head, his fingers lacing into my hair to make small circular movements against my scalp. It instantly relaxes me; my jaw feels slack and I hear the bones crunch as I tilt my head back.