Carnage: Book #1 The Story Of Us (Volume 1)(111)

I shake my head at him. “You are such a song writer, hark at all this shit.”

In one swift move, he throws me down on the bed, pinning me underneath him. “What I just said is not shit G; I mean every word of it. One way or another, we’re gonna find our way back to each other. One way or another I was gonna fight and win you back, even if I died doing it.”

He rakes his hand through his hair and his fingers meet mine. “Fuck G, the things that have gone through my mind, the things I’ve thought of doing to try and see ya and then, everything else, the band, touring, the f*ckin’ press up my arse all the time. It’s been a nightmare. There’ve been times, when I seriously thought that I was gonna go mental, that I was actually gonna end up in the nut house.”

My eyes wander over his face, hating but at the same time feeling overjoyed that he’d pretty much gone through the exact same emotions I had for the last four years.

We eventually make our way down to the kitchen around midday and that’s only because Sean is complaining that he’s starving, my stomach is still too all over the place to even consider food; there’s a note taped to the fridge.

Morning young lovers

Help yourselves to food, shower, whatever.

Stay as long as you want, you know that you’re always welcome.

Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do, although,

Judging by the sounds coming from the bedroom in the early hours of this morning, the deed’s already been done.

We love you both so very much and truly hope you can work things out.

If you need to hide out here for a while that’s fine with us.

George, ring me, Maca, I’ve cancelled all your appointments until next Wednesday.

Luv ya’s

J & L

X

For some reason, the note made me teary but I managed to swallow them down as I pulled out a frying pan to make Sean some fried eggs on toast. It was just a natural thing to do. I made his tea exactly how he liked it, strong, no sugar; he liked his yokes runny and his toast well done, three eggs, three slices of toast, well-buttered and a dollop of HP sauce on the side, oh and white pepper and salt on his eggs. White pepper, never black on his fried eggs.

He sat in silence as he watched me prepare his food, his lips twitching up into a smile at every individual thing that I remembered; when I set it all down in front of him, he said, “Come here.”

I walked around to where he was sat at the breakfast bar, he opened his legs and pulled me between them, he wrapped his arms around my waist, and I wrapped mine around his neck. “Do you have any idea the affect you remembering all of that had on my heart?”

I smile at him and shake my head. “No, but I can feel the affect that it’s had on your dick.”

He’s still only wearing his boxers and I’m still only wearing his t-shirt. He slides his hands underneath it and grabs my bum cheeks and pulls me in closer to him. “Georgia, baby, you cooking me eggs on toast has f*ck all to do with my hard on, the fact that you exist is enough to do that.”

He tilts his head and gives me that lazy lopsided grin, the one that had me falling head over heels in love with him, nine very long years ago. “But you remembering exactly how I like my eggs on toast, right down to the white pepper and HP sauce, that’s got my heart beating in a way that it hasn’t in four very long and lonely years.”

I don’t know why I say it, but it’s out before I think too much about it… “Oh I’m sure you’ve had no shortage of women to make you eggs on toast and to make things hard for you over the last four years and I bet those years have been anything but lonely.”