Page 44 of Moros

The cold water was magic on my skin.

I moaned as I sank down low enough to wet my entire body, then surfaced.

Running laps, I tried not focusing on anything—not the fear in Ryanne’s eyes as I laid on top of her, not the sadness when I released her, not the confusion when I tried walking away.

She was turned on—I could smell her.

Though I was tempted to pull her clothes off to see how far, how deeply, she’d allow me to stick my tongue, I knew she’d regret it later.

She was the type—the type to enjoy herself then saw a million reasons why she shouldn’t have afterward. I couldn’t see that look in her eyes directed at me.

It would take me down—take me out.

And those nipples—they were tight, pressing through the material of her shirt and mine?—

Sighing, I flipped in the deep end, pushed off the wall and glide until I was forced to surface again. I’d lost count of how many laps I’d done—but now with the migraine just a headache now, the coolness of the water had become an addiction and I continued moving until my lungs threatened to give out.

I wanted to stay in longer, but the wound on my shoulder wasn’t completely healed. While it scabbed over, it was beginning to feel a little tender.

I climbed from the water and picked up my towel as I heard I sound behind me. Shifting with the towel at my side, I realized it was Ryanne, watching me from the doorway.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” I said, drying my face then dragging the towel over my head. “Why are you out of bed?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” She told me. “And Um?—”

She pointed up.

“The pool is under my window.” She continued. “I could hear the water.”

“Sorry.”

She shook her head and held up a hand.

“It’s fine—you don’t look so good.” She approached me.

She reached for me, but I jerked away.

“Sorry.” Ryanne seemed to pull into herself.

Offering her a sad smile, I dried my legs and entered the house.

Ryanne followed me and I remained silent as I poured myself some water and faced her.

“I have a raging migraine.” I explained. “What’s your excuse.”

“I have a mercenary trying to kill me.” Ryanne smiled. “Boss told me about the migraines. He didn’t tell me where they came from. He said it wasn’t his story to tell.”

I tilted my head as I filled the cup with water again. This time, I spread the towel on the stool and motioned for her to sit.

“TBI.” I explained. “Traumatic Brain Injury. Apparently, I’m a walking miracle.”

“Really?”

“I wasn’t supposed to come back from it.” I told her. “Most people who suffer from it wind up with issues their entire lives—some gets locked into themselves. When I emerged with just the headache—like I said. It was a miracle.”

“How did you get hurt?”

“What I say to you?—”