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BREAK MY FALL CHAPTER 11
Josh
Finally admitting the problem to Eli hasn’t solved anything. I should be able to identify the feeling twisting in my guts at this point. I’ve had lots of time snuggling up with anxiety and its fun cousins panic attack and nausea.
But I can’t sit around and mope about it either. Nothing has changed. Which means I need to drag my happy ass to campus and pretend to be normal for another day.
I arrive at class early and disappointment is a tangible thing in my gut when I see that she’s not there yet. I take a seat at the back of the small raised rows. I tap my pen on my thigh. Sitting still has never been one of my strong points. It’s good for my blood pressure.
I’m watching the door, waiting. Just waiting.
I have no right to feel this…this anticipation. She’s not mine. She can’t be.
But I can’t forget how it felt to kiss her. A momentary breakthrough in my neuroses where for a brief moment, I found the right thing to say, the right thing to do.
I lick my bottom lip, remembering the feel of her mouth beneath mine. That kiss was as close to paradise as I’ve felt since I came home from the war.
And I want to taste her again.
She is perfection in so many ways. Soft, lush. Warm.
I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to keep going, to see if my body could be dragged kicking and screaming back into life. But the kiss hadn’t lasted long enough to tease out any stirrings of real desire.
It’s been so fucking long since I’ve felt anything other than a need to do violence. So long since someone did something as simple as touch me.
I am hollow. Violence has been the only thing that makes me feel. But after I kissed Abby? That kiss changed everything and nothing all at once.
Not everything, of course. But I’ve tasted a promise of something different from the life I’ve lived.
I’m learning, right? That’s what I’m doing here at school. Learning how to do the adult, civilized thing.
To try and find the thing that I’ll become without the Army.
So far, college isn’t helping with that plan, but hell, I’m only on my second semester here.
My confidence has been shot all to hell since I came home. I know it’s something I should go to the doc for. But honestly, I just can’t summon the courage or resilience or whatever to put the problem into words again. Because words would make it real.
There’s nothing worse than having to explain to the nurse on the phone that you need an appointment for your dick not working. It’s something they expect out of fifty-year-old cardiac arrest patients, not twenty-five-year-old college students.
And talking about it means I risk opening up the box of terrible memories that haunt me in my sleep. I can’t do that.
Admitting it would be admitting that the war broke me. That it damaged me in ways I’m not ready to confront.
I need to figure out who I am first.
After that, maybe I can figure out what’s wrong with my cock.
My heart slams against my ribs the moment Abby pauses in the doorway of the classroom. Her eyes lock on me. I want to look away. To pretend that she’s not the only thing I can see.
But I don’t.
I meet her gaze. And answer the questions there with more of my own.
Why did she pull away? What—or rather who—hurt her so badly that she questions her own instincts? Because she’d kissed me. I’d felt her response down to my soul. And then just like that, she was gone. One minute, she’s laughing and teasing; the next, she’s cool, shutting down.
There has to be more to the story. Because Abby doesn’t strike me as the type to play games.
She doesn’t look away. Instead, there is a tiny, apologetic smile at the edge of her full, dusky lips. I swallow and do nothing. The ball is in her court, and at this moment, I am powerless to react as she starts climbing the steps to where I’m sitting. Powerless to shut down the flare of hope that rises inside me with every step she takes.
“Can I join you?” Her voice is low and smooth and throaty. Hesitant. As though she expects me to tell her to pound sand.
I lift one eyebrow. I can do this. I can smile and flirt with the pretty girl like a normal guy. “You’re not worried about me getting too wound up with the discussion?”
Her lips quirk a little more, and I am aching to touch her. To slide my finger over her bottom lip and feel her breath brush against my fingertip.
“I’ll take my chances.”
“You like to live dangerously?”
“Sitting with you is not dangerous.”
I look at her then, surprised by the naivety in her simple statement. Or maybe it’s the sheer simplicity of the faith in those words.
They cut me. Deeply.
Because she has no idea who I am or what I’ve done. I swallow and force those thoughts away. I will not let the war ruin everything. I have to fight back.
“You don’t know me well enough to make that statement.” My words are thick. Heavy. Laced with powerful memories that could tear me apart piece by piece if I let them.
This isn’t the way to flirt. Damn it.
“I’d like to,” she whispers.
I am frozen to the spot. My mouth moves but no sound comes out. I am paralyzed in the grip of sudden uncertainty.
I want this. I want to cross the space between us and take a chance that I can come back from the fucked up place that I’ve been since I came home. That I can be normal again. That I can kiss a fucking hot girl and maybe, just maybe, get turned on by something other than violence.
And I am suddenly terrified of falling.
**ONE CLICK BREAK MY FALL**
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