Pocketful of Sand(41)

I wish he wouldn’t look at me that way.

I also wish he’d never stop.

It makes me a little self-conscious. But it also makes me a melty, gooey mess, which I love.

We watch each other as we chew the salty meat. Cole reaches for another strip, this time trailing the crispy end around my nipple. I inhale sharply, glad that I wasn’t swallowing or else I’d have choked on bacon bits.

His eyes follow his movements and they get all dark and voracious again. I feel like I’m on the menu. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.

“Do you like my bacon?” I ask breathily, grinning behind my rising passion.

“Your bacon is the most delicious bacon I’ve ever tasted. I could get addicted to it if I’m not careful.”

“By all means,” I reply, fighting back a groan when Cole swipes my salty nipple with his finger and brings it to his mouth. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”

“Are you sure? Because I have a huge…appetite.” As he speaks, he brings the piece of bacon to my mouth and I let him lay it on my tongue.

As I close my lips around the flat slice, Cole reaches between my legs and slides a single finger from his other hand into me. The flavor on my tongue, the slight pressure of his touch…the combination dances over my senses, one accentuating the other.

Cole’s gaze is riveted to mine, searing into me like his finger. In and out, in and out, his pace never quickens even as he snaps off the bacon and puts the rest of it into his own mouth.

The moment is instantly shattered by a familiar, high-pitched scream–Nooo! The single word is shrill with terror.

Panic skitters through me. I grab my sweater from the couch as I pass, throwing it over my head as I race down the hall. I find Emmy in her bed, stiff as a board and thrashing her head back and forth on her pillow. It’s as though she can’t move her body, only her head. That’s how I know what she’s dreaming of.

I draw her into my arms, holding her against my chest. “You’re safe, Emmy. You’re safe, baby. It’s just me. It’s just momma.”

I rock her back and forth until she relaxes. It’s almost instantaneous, as it always is. Once my words penetrate her fear, once they break the hold of her nightmare, she goes limp as a rag. Always.

Her scream fades into soft sobs and quiet murmurings. I’ve never been able to understand them. Maybe it’s the way she calms herself. Maybe it’s something she’s telling herself to ground her in reality. I don’t know. I’ll probably never know. I’ve asked her about it before, but she never remembers saying anything.

But she does. She always does.

I don’t let her go until her breathing is deep and even, until I know she’s drifted back into a peaceful sleep in the safety of my arms. Even after I lay her gently back onto her mattress and cover her chilly little arms with the blanket, I don’t leave her side for a long time. It’s not until I see the first fingers of snowy light filtering through a crack in Emmy’s curtain that I remember Cole waiting for me in the next room.

He’s sitting in the chair, fully dressed, watching the hallway with a fathomless expression. When his eyes click up to mine, I stop and we watch each other again. It seems we do that a lot–watch each other, wordlessly. Thinking. Wondering. Imagining.

I walk to the couch and sit facing him, curling my legs up under me. Before I can turn to stare into the fire, Cole speaks. His voice is quiet, yet as intense as a shout. “Are you going to tell me about it?” he asks.

This time, I do turn to look into the flames. I study the way they lick at the blackened logs. I ponder the way they consume with such beauty.

I don’t have to ask what Cole means; I already know. It’s the only thing he can mean. It’s in the air–the haunting voices of our past, the rattling chains of our bonds. The arterial spray of our wounds.

I consider not telling him. I’ve never told anyone, after all. It’s been my own personal albatross, my own personal hell. But I’ll tell him. I know it before I even really make the decision. I know it as surely as I know that the soft velvety material of the couch tickles my bare feet when I wiggle my toes. I don’t know why, but I feel like it’s important that I do. And, for once, I don’t question it to death. I just go with it.

“It’s hard to know who to trust,” I begin with a sigh. Cole doesn’t assure me that I can trust him. He doesn’t beg me to divulge all my secrets. He doesn’t try to convince me to spill my guts. He simply waits. Silently. Rock steady. In true Cole form.