Dark Needs(2)

It was easy to live with a theory, something that almost wasn't real because it wasn't something she had to deal with. It was entirely different to come face to face with the truth of it all.

Fuck.

I could've washed off the blood and pretended like I didn't murder the motherf*cker who'd almost killed the only two people I would die a thousand times over for, that the evidence of what I'd done wasn't dried on my skin. It would have been easier that way, but only in the short term. My plans for Abby and Bee were long term. I didn't want to be clean when she saw me. I wanted to rip off the band-aid and take whatever was coming so we could move forward as a family.

My family.

Over and over again, Bee told me she loved me, But I needed her to see it.

I needed her to see me.

No matter who I'd killed in the past I'd never felt even the slightest bit sick about it, never even given it a second thought, but just the idea of losing Bee again made my f*cking stomach roll.

I never should've left her.

But I was a f*cking coward.

I never should've come back for her.

But I was a f*cking coward.

I'd used a weak-as-shit rumor as my excuse to leave Bee because I was nothing but a weak, weak man who convinced himself whole heartedly that there was a possibility that it was true, that after our one perfect night together, she could go and f*ck Owen, the boy next door/psycho rich kid.

What I was really doing was pushing Bee away before she got too close. Before she could really understand what made me tick and made the decision to leave me, I left her.

I’ve regretted it every second of every hour of every day since then.

For four years, I lived my life with my eyes closed and without Bee, because for the first time someone had the capability of actually hurting me instead of the other way around. So I used the bullshit rumor Owen's friend told me about Abby and Bee as my way to leave Coral Pines as quickly as my bike would take me before Bee had the chance to tear me apart at the seams.

The problem was that Bee was so f*cking deep under my skin that every day she wasn't with me was a torture all it's own. But at the end of the day, I'd always thought that I'd done the right thing by her, by leaving, no matter the reason, because I knew she was better off without me.

I was positive I'd done the right thing for once in my life.

After four years, of the need to see her, talk to her, touch her, hadn't faded. It became stronger. So strong that my need for her was stronger than my need for anything else.

When it came down to it, I didn't come back because I thought she needed me. I came back because I was a selfish prick who couldn't stay the f*ck away from her.

I loved her. Always had. Never thought I would be capable of that kind of love, but from the very moment I'd ripped that hoodie off her head in that junk yard and a beautiful pale faced red head stared up at me from the wrong side the barrel of my gun, I knew my life would never be the same.

It was because of her.

I didn't want to run, didn't want to live without her anymore.

So I decided not to.

I've doled out my fair share of torture, but none could've been more painful or cruel than the time I'd spent without Bee. I'd packed the saddle bags of my bike, days before I'd even heard of my father’s death, and took off that very night.

I headed back to Coral Pines.

I was going back to get my girl.

I decided to stop being a * and just open the f*cking door, when it swung wide open and I avoided a head injury by mere inches.

"Sorry, I heard your bike." Bee said, staring up at me with those wide eyes that I could get lost in all day every day. Her robe hung open, perky little rounded tits peeked out the top of her favorite Guns-N-Roses tank top, the tight shorts she always slept in left little to my imagination.

I'd spent a lot of time imagining when it came to Abby.

I stood my ground on the porch, feeling like this time I came in that I needed permission of some sort to cross into her house. "You're bleeding" Bee said, frantically patting me down, inspecting me for wounds.

"Bee, baby, look at me" I said, trying to get her attention. She kept going, kept looking for the source of the blood. Grabbing her arms, I held them down tightly to her sides, forcing her to look up at me. "Baby, it's not my blood" I assured her. Bee finally paused when she processed what I was trying to tell her. Much to my surprise she sighed with relief, slowly running the back of her hand down the side of my face, cradling my jaw in her palm.