Page 52 of Proof Of Life
“I’m gonna go take a shower. I’ll meet you out on the deck.” I’ve got to finish where he left off and stroke this load out. He looks like he’s about to offer… something, a helping hand, a willing mouth, but then he hesitates. He’s not ready, not yet. “Go, I’ll be out in a minute.”
Hot water beats down on my face and chest, and with the even hotter memory of West’s dick choking me, it only takes minutes to bring myself off. Dressed in a pair of gray sweats with the army logo and no shirt, I pad barefoot out to the deck where West is laid out in a lounger, nursing another beer.
I grab an empty lounger and drag it closer to his, but West stops me. “Share mine.” He moves to make space for me, and I slip behind him. Settling between my legs, he reclines against my chest and sighs.
Instantly, I tense, and my mind goes on alert. His sigh isn’t filled with pleasure or relaxation, it’s a guilty sigh.
“I can’t keep doing this to you. If I’m not willing to find out, I don’t deserve to fuck around.”
My mood plummets like an anchor dropping to the bottom of the ocean. “I told you it’s okay, that it doesn’t matter. Maybe you’ll get there, and maybe you won’t, but I have no regrets.” I bury my lips in his hair, feeling the soft buzz brush against my lips.
“What are we doing? What is this?”
A heavy weight settles on my chest, and it’s becoming difficult to breathe because each word out of his mouth feels like another nail in my coffin. The dissolution of the dream I was beginning to have about our future. A future with him. Funny how a couple of blowjobs can start making you dream about happily ever afters and shit.
“I don’t know, Professor. What is it to you?”
“Just finding a few minutes to enjoy life before all the bullshit comes rushing back.”
If I don’t downplay my expectations, he’ll run faster than I can chase him. Then again, West is constantly surprising me, exceeding my expectations at every turn. What if I miss my chance by not being honest with him?
Closing my eyes, I gather my courage and blurt, “A few minutes? That’s it? What if I want more?”
“More? From me?” His harsh laugh tells me everything I need to know. “I’m a mess. A fucking disaster. No, I’m a one-legged disaster. I can’t even convince myself I deserve another day of life, and you want me to give you more? More of what?”
My fingers brush through his fuzzy hair, gently scraping his scalp. “More of you.”
West scoffs and takes another swig of his beer. He takes his sweet-ass time swallowing before he answers. “What, a boyfriend? You wanna fucking date me?”
Wrapping my arms around his chest, I squeeze him to me as I lay my cheek over his hair and rub the softness against my face. “What if I do?”
“That’s bullshit. It’s not gonna happen. I don’t have that kind of future to give you. Anyway, you can do a lot better than me.”
Grinding my teeth, my jaw clenches tight, and I can feel my anger bubble up inside me and burst. “I’m so fucking tired of your bullshit. Your martyr act.”
“Martyr?” he counters, pulling away from my embrace and sitting up.
“It’s just a cover for you being a coward.”
He turns his body so that he’s facing me, and he grabs my ear and twists painfully. I shove at his chest hard enough that he lets go.
“I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a fucking coward. And I never pretended to be a martyr. I don’t go around crying about all the reasons I should be pitied.”
Fuck him. Heat rises to my face and I snap. “Don’t you? It’s all I fucking hear from you! How you don’t deserve this or that.”
“I don’t! Not a future, not love, and certainly not happiness. I don’t deserve a fucking thing.”
His voice cracks, and his eyes grow wet. He looks so lost. My heart breaks for him, but he’s throwing his life away and he’s taking mine with him. “You’re afraid to be happy. Afraid to reach for something, to want more, because it makes you feel guilty.” His shoulders sag under the weight of his conscience. I just want to gather him in my arms. Instead, I grab hold of his hands.
“It’s survivor's guilt, Wes, and it’s killing you, and you’re taking me down with you, and you’re right, I deserve better than that.”
West laughs without humor. “Thanks for the assessment, Dr. Phil. You’re right. You deserve a whole lot more than my sorry ass. So don’t ask me for more.”
I can’t reach him like this. His walls are too high. “Let me ask you a question. Just for a minute, let’s pretend things went down differently. Pretend one of the other guys was in charge instead of you, and you survived just long enough to tell them one last thing. What would you say?”
A shadow flickers in his eyes and I suppose he’s remembering their last words, but then he shrugs it off. “Depends who it was. If it were Micah, I’d remind him that no matter what some chick said while she was bouncing on his dick, that he was the absolute ugliest motherfucker I’ve ever seen.”
Idiot. He would definitely have said that. “Right, but would you tell him how much you hate him? Would you tell him it was all his fault, and that you hoped he spent every day for the rest of his life regretting your death?”