Numb, I sat in the corner of the lounge in Biddies Bar, with an untouched pint, and a storm raging inside of me.
Ignoring the Halloween festivities happening around me, I drummed my fingers against the table and pondered my next move. Running the entire way into town wasn’t exactly the most sensible thing I had ever done, but I’d needed to get out of there before I lost it. Before I said something I would undoubtedly regret. The words that threatened to come out of my mouth held heavier restitution than I could bear to pay back.
But I would be a liar if I said I wasn’t exhausted from carrying the weight of my secrets. The weight of the blame. The truth was I wanted to tell someone. No, the truth was I wanted to tell Claire. But I couldn’t seem to find a way to open the can of worms I’d spent so many years sealing.
Where the hell was I supposed to go now?
Not home, that’s for sure, and I couldn’t go to the Biggs’ house. Not when I knew she would be there.
It was so fucking hard to hate her when she cried like that.
When she made those sounds.
Because I knew those sounds.
Those sounds haunted my nightmares.
Even in my drunken stupor, I knew that I would never make the walk to Johnny’s place in one piece. If I hadn’t left my keys at the house, I could’ve bunked down in the bakery for the night.
“What’s up, buttercup?” a vaguely familiar voice asked. Moments later, a curvaceous woman dressed as Catwoman, leather mask and all, plopped down on the bench next to me. “You look like you’re contemplating taking a bubble bath with vodka and a razor.”
“Aw, Gibs,” she coaxed, nudging my arm with her elbow. “Surely things aren’t that bad?”
Gibs?
So she knew me.
Trying my best to blink away my drunken stupor, I stared at the woman.
“I have to say, you make a sexy Zuko, but you’d make an even sexier Batman.”
Okay, now I was sure I knew her. Her lips were big and pouty, and I had seen them form the perfect O on more than one occasion. “Dee?”
Her smile deepened. “You really didn’t recognize me?”
“No,” I slurred, shaking my head. “I really didn’t.”
“I guess that’s a good thing for us, hm?” She shifted closer and sat on my lap. “No one will know it’s us.”
“Us?” I blinked away the bleariness. “There is no us.”
“We’ll see,” she purred. “So, why aren’t you at the party?”
“Party?”
“Yeah, Hugh’s party.” She rested her hand on my thigh. “It’s happening tonight, right?”
The fact that she knew so much about my social life should have troubled me. Instead, it went clean over my head because I was too fucking wasted to give it a second thought.
When her hand moved too far north for my liking, I shook my head in protest. “Would you mind taking your hand off her dick, please?”
“Her dick?” Dee blinked in confusion. “Don’t you mean your dick?” She full-on palmed me before leaning in close and purring, “It doesn’t feel like you want me to take my hand off.”
“No, I meant her dick,” I clarified, brushing her hand off my crotch and shifting sideways so that her ass was back on the bench and not on my lap.
“Her?”
“Claire,” I slurred before pointing to my dick. “And don’t get flattered by that reckless bastard because he’s as blind as a bat and can’t see whose hand is touching him.” I slapped a hand against my chest before saying, “But he can.”
“So, that’s it?” Her tone switched from flirtatious to accusatory in an instant. “You’re just saying no?”
“Yes, Dee, that’s exactly what I’m saying.” Reaching for my pint, I slid it towards her. “But here’s a pint for your troubles.”
“Gerard!” Claire whisper-hissed in the early hours of the morning when I collapsed in a heap on her bed, after tripping over several sleeping bodies littered around her bedroom floor. “You’re back.”
“I’m back,” I confirmed, whipping off my t-shirt, and tossing it over the side of the bed.
“Where’d you go?”
“For a walk.”
“Where?” she demanded, sitting up. “Patrick and I looked everywhere for you.”
“I’m back now.”
“But where did you go?”
“Biddies.”
“Are you okay?”
“Never better,” I muttered, as I wrestled myself out of my pants. “Fuck, these are like another layer of skin.”
“Gerard.” Her tone was laced with pain. “I was really worried.”
Aw shit.
Kicking my leather pants off, I turned to face her. “I’m sorry, Claire-Bear.” Reaching up, I pushed a clump of wild curls off her face. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“It’s okay.” She snatched my hand up in both of hers and held it to her chest. “Just don’t ever do that again?”
I nodded slowly. “I won’t.”
“Good.” Perched on her knees, she exhaled a shaky breath and sagged against me. “Because I really don’t think my heart can take it.”
“Yeah.” The moment her forehead touched mine, my heart gunned in my chest, hammering so hard and violently that I honestly thought it might explode. “I know the feeling.”
“Claire.”
“Hm?”
“Look at me.”
When she did, I felt blindsided by the feelings that her brown eyes evoked from me. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Reaching up, I trailed my thumb over her bottom lip before swapping it for my mouth.
Her lips were soft, warm, welcome and soothed something deep inside of me. Something that no amount of time or therapy could fix or reach.
Rolling onto her back, she took me with her, fingernails digging into the skin covering my biceps, as I kissed her back with everything I had inside of me to give.
“I want you,” she breathed against my lips, as she let her legs fall open for me to settle between them. “All of you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want your body inside my body.”
Oh Christ.
For the first time in my life, I wanted that too, and the knowledge terrified me. “Not tonight,” I forced myself to say, lips moving to the curve of her jaw.
“Please,” she urged, rocking her body against mine. “Please, Gerard.”
“Not tonight,” I repeated in a torn voice. “Not that, at least.”
“No?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Oh.”
She sounded so sad that I found myself seriously considering my sanity. “I can still make you feel good.” I kissed a slow pattern down her body, not stopping until my head was between her legs. “If that’s what you want?”
“Definitely.” She nodded eagerly before flopping back on the pillows. “That’s definitely what I want, Gerard Gibson.”
