Gods & Monsters(19)

He’s placing feather-soft kisses all over the column of my throat and I’m too weak to resist him. I let my head fall back and look to the dark ceiling of the church closet.

The service is about to start and I told Sky that I needed to go to the bathroom. We only have about five or at the max, ten minutes, if I’m willing to lie about my digestive system.

I don’t want to think about it when Abel is making me feel so good, both light and heavy. It’s like my feet don’t touch the ground when he’s this close and kissing me. All I can do is clutch his soft t-shirt between my fingers and lean against him.

His kisses are not always this feathery light, though. Nope. They can be sharp and wet with his teeth biting me. I once told him that kisses aren’t supposed to hurt. He smirked and bit into my bottom lip gently, saying aren’t they? Remember I told you I bite. Maybe you should’ve listened to me.

Besides, if I’m being honest, I wouldn’t have it any other way. There was a time when I was obsessed with his lips. Like, really obsessed. I still am but I’ve added a few more things on my list of obsessions: his teeth and his tongue.

I can’t stop thinking about them. For reals. I can’t stop thinking how his teeth take my fleshy lower lip and pinch just enough to make me want more, and how his tongue leaves wet trails along the seam of my mouth. Sometimes our teeth clack against each other because we’re so desperate. But he’s always mindful of my bruises.

Abel hates my mom even more now. He glares at her, deliberately gets in her way at church. My mom and Mrs. Weatherby are not happy. They bristle at the sight of him. I keep telling him to cool it, but of course he doesn’t listen.

“She fucking hurts you, Pixie. I’m not gonna back off. In fact, I should call her out on it.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

A few weeks ago, my mom ran out of cheese for lasagna and we made the trip to Mr. B’s store. He’d hired Abel a couple of months ago to work for him. As soon as my mom saw Abel stocking the cereal aisle, she wanted to get out of there. But Mr. B kept chatting her up at the cash register. I had a feeling he knew about Abel and me, and I’ve never loved Mr. B more. I knew our secret was safe with him.

Even though I had an unobstructed view of Abel, I was only throwing him side-glances, because Mom was right there. But Abel didn’t care. At first, he openly glared at my mom, and then, he moved on to watching me. I was blushing, even though I knew it would make him smile, which would make me blush even harder. I was so nervous, sweaty and red. I kept ducking my head and hiding my face with my hair. But darn it, my hair was braided because Mom wouldn’t let me out of the house with loose, savage hair so it was no use. I bet he was getting a real kick out of it.

When we left, Mom literally dragged me by my arm. Swallowing, I threw a last glance at him over my shoulder and he winked at me. Jerk.

That night when I went to bed, I typed in a text with shaking fingers.

E: Why were you staring at me like that at the store?

A: Because I can’t not stare at you when you’re around.

E: What if we’d gotten caught? My mom would’ve killed you.

A: Not afraid of your mom. But it would’ve been worth it.

E: You’re crazy.

A: Only for you.

And I’m crazy for him.

But our time in the closet is up and I need to get back to the sermon. I reluctantly push him and his inquisitive lips away and tell him that I need to go. He isn’t happy about it. He frowns and plants a hard kiss on my mouth, mashing our flesh together.

It hurts every time I have to leave him but it needs to be done. Sometimes I think, what if I didn’t have to leave him? What if I got to stay with him all the time?

***

We’re at the treehouse, as usual.

I’m writing in my journal, which I haven’t shown my boyfriend yet. Though he’s nosy. I keep telling him it’s private and he keeps telling me there’s nothing private between two people in love. Well, I don’t think that’s true. So, I’m keeping it away from him.

But now, I’m not interested in writing.

I look at Abel. He’s sort of sprawled with one leg stretched straight, and sort of crouched, too, with his other leg folded at the knee, and his drawing pad on his thigh. His yellow shirt makes me smile.

He bought it for me. I told him that he needs more color in his life; he’s always wearing black, and he asked about my favorites.

“Yellow,” I said, grinning evilly.

“Cool.”

“You’re going to get a yellow shirt? Because it’s my favorite color.”

“Sure. Why not?”

I didn’t believe him until he actually wore it one day, and I couldn’t catch my breath. I still can’t.

“Stop staring at me, Pixie.” He smirks and I want to kiss him so bad.

So. Bad.

I know if I start then I won’t be able to stop and we’d spend our entire time making out. Not that it’s bad; we’ve done that. But I’m in the mood for something else.

I shove aside my journal and crawl over to him, fitting myself against his body. Like a perv, I smell the hollow of his throat. I’ve been working up the courage to touch the bare skin of his torso with my fingers. So far, I’ve been really chicken. Someday soon though.

“Tell me a story.”

He smiles and kisses my forehead, fishing out his phone from the pocket.