Maybe that’s the answer.
“I spent all that time looking for you,” I tell her. “Every day, I’d picture your face in my mind. I’d remember what it felt like to hold you. I’d hear your voice in my head, usually yelling at me about something.”
She looks up at me and cracks a smile as I wipe the tears off her face.
“I’d remember how you smell and how your eyes would shine when you’d look at me. That’s what kept me going. I knew you were out there and that you needed me.”
“I thought you were dead,” she says quietly. She sniffs and tightens her grip. “That’s what they told me. They said they shot you dead.”
“Nearly.”
She pulls her hand around and presses it against the scar on the side of my stomach. She freaked out the first time I took my shirt off and she noticed it. She cried when I told her exactly what had happened.
“Now that is ugly,” I say with a smile. “You used to ogle my abs.”
“I did not!” She tucks her head against my chest again.
“Blushing, aren’t you?”
She shakes her head vehemently.
“Liar.” I place a finger under her chin and tilt her face up to look at me. Her cheeks are tinged with red, and she won’t meet my eyes, but there is a hint of a smile. “Does it make me ugly?”
“The scar?” She narrows her eyes in confusion. “No, not at all.”
“Do you still want me even though I’m not the same as I was before?”
“Yes.”
“I have other scars,” I tell her. “Not the ones you’re thinking of. I’ve got scars you can’t see, just like you have. Some of those scars…well, they changed me and not in a good way.”
I take a step back and run my hand through my hair. I try to figure out what I need to say—how I can make it clear—and decide the beginning is as good a place as any.
“When I was overseas…” I stop in mid-sentence. I don’t know how to explain this.
Hannah takes my hand in hers. She leads me over to the edge of the bed, and we both sit down. She doesn’t let go of my hand. I stare down at our entwined fingers, take a deep breath, and start.
“When I was deployed, I saw a lot of shit. Horrible shit. Shit I can’t think about even now. That got to a lot of the guys in my unit. Some of them never got over it.”
“It didn’t get to you?”
“Not in the same way.” I shake my head. I’m already not explaining it well. I decide to just move on. “There was this…this kid in my unit. Eighteen years old. Went to basic right out of high school. Before we were deployed, I met his parents. It was a dinner function I didn’t even want to attend, but I had to go anyway. He introduced me to them, and they were so proud of his decision to enlist, but his mother pulled me aside and told me how scared she was for him.”
I take a long breath and slowly breathe it out again.
“I told her not to worry. I told her I would bring him back, safe and sound.”
“He didn’t come back, did he?” Hannah squeezes my hand.
I shake my head.
“We were on patrol. Lots of insurgents all around us. An IED exploded, and he…fuck.”
There is a wall in my head that is threatening to crumble. Behind it are images of torn flesh and fragments of bone. There’s a memory of gathering pieces together…trying to find those parts that were missing…
“No,” I finally say. “He didn’t come back.”
There’s more to the story—much more. Right after that, shit happened that I could never talk about, not even now. Some secrets are best left buried. Even though it involves our current situation, I don’t think it matters anymore.
“I shut down after that,” I tell her. “I became…emotionally closed. Just turned it all off. It worked. I completed my tour and went on to do another one after that. Took some shrapnel during the last one. They decided I’d done enough at that point and kicked me out. The thing is, after I was discharged, I couldn’t turn that part of me back on.”
It’s close enough to the truth. Hannah doesn’t ask questions. She just waits patiently for me to continue.
“Before I got into security, I did nothing for two years. I got a good pension from the army, and I lived off of that. Spent way too much time in bars. Had a lot of one-night-stands, but if a woman actually seemed interested in me…well, I couldn’t handle that. I’d just stop talking to her. My sister would call to try to get together with me, but I always found some excuse. She finally stopped trying. Even once I started escorting executives and shit around, that didn’t change much. I did my job, collected a paycheck, but none of it really mattered.”
I remember sitting alone in my apartment between assignments, a glass of whiskey sitting on the table in front of me, right next to the bottle. I remember staring at the television but never actually watching a single show. I remember my phone ringing, glancing at the screen, and never answering the call.
“You changed all of that,” I tell her. “I never thought I’d be able to turn that side of me back on, but with you, it was possible. I hadn’t cared about anything since that happened, and I didn’t think I ever would again.”
“I was already impressed with you before I ever met you,” I say. “I told you that before. But when I stitched up your leg—no pain meds or anything—shit, Hannah. I’ve never known anyone like you. Every time I turn around, you’re surprising me. Everything you’ve been through over these past months, and even now, you’re trying to comfort me over something that happened five years ago.”
I close my eyes for a moment. The words are on the tip of my tongue. They want to come out, but I have no idea what will happen once I say them. I decide to take the leap.
“I’m in love with you, Hannah. I can’t believe I’m fucking saying that, but I’m in love with you.”
I feel her hand on the side of my face, and I open my eyes to look at her. She breaks into a big smile.
“I love you, too, Falk.”
Capturing her mouth with mine, I try to pour everything I feel for her into a single kiss. Any words I use will be inadequate, so I try to show her with my lips and hands. I’m still terrified of doing something wrong, but I know I can’t hesitate. I want her too much.
“I need you,” I whisper against her lips. “I need you so much.”
“Please, Falk,” she whispers back. “Please don’t wait any more.”
I kiss her again as I reach down and grab the bottom of her shirt. I carefully pull it around her belly, break the kiss, and take it off. Hannah grabs my shirt and does the same, then runs her fingertips over my shoulders and chest. I stand quickly, release my belt and drop my shorts and boxers to the floor. I step out of them without ceremony and then help Hannah get her sweats and panties off.
I pull her down to the bed and lie down beside her, running my hands over her skin. Most of the bruises have faded to yellow, but as I brush one, I get concerned.
“Hannah…”
“Don’t, Falk,” she says. She places her hand over mine, covering both it and the bruise beneath. “I know what you’re thinking, and you have to stop.”
“I just…I can’t imagine what you went through,” I say. “It tears me up when I see that. I’m the reason they got to you.”
“You’re the reason I survived,” she says, correcting me. “If it weren’t for you, I couldn’t have endured it.”
“But…you thought I was dead.”
She nods and closes her eyes. She grips my hand tightly with her fingers as she speaks.
“Every time they…every time someone came for me, I just closed my eyes and thought about you holding me. I thought about your arms around me, wrapping me up and keeping me warm. I didn’t think about what was happening—I only thought about you.”
“I’m not sure that makes me feel any better.”
“Falk…” Hannah sits up, places her free hand on her face, and lets out a long sigh. “I don’t want to go over this all the time.
I don’t want to have to think about it anymore. I need you. I need to feel your hands on me. I need to feel your cock inside of me. I need you to…to…”
Her voice cracks, and she lets out a shuddering breath.
“I need to feel you again so I can stop feeling them.”
Pressure behind my eyes threatens to give way, but I blink it back. Hannah releases my hand, lies down again, and then runs her hand over my hip. She grips my shaft, stroking it slowly as I close my eyes and lose myself in the feeling. I reach for her thigh, and she wraps it around my hip. Running my hand up over her ass, I lean over to kiss her again.
My dick throbs in her hand, and I gasp into her mouth as she squeezes the shaft for a moment. She slides her fingers over my balls, sending tingles up my spine. I caress her back and then cup her face with my hand.
“Are you sure you’re ready?”
“Yes.”
“Please, tell me you’ll stop me if you need to. I know I keep saying it, but I want you to be sure. I want to be sure.”
“I will. Falk, it’s okay. I want this so much. I need it.”
Staring into her eyes, I find them dark and shimmering with desire. Her mouth is partially open, and the heat from her breath touches my skin. My pulse increases as I brush my thumb over her lips.
She really wants this.
I run my hands all over her. I don’t want to leave a single square inch of skin untouched. I want to go down on her—feel her come on my face—but I’m honestly not sure how to do that with her stomach the way it is. I stay on my side and opt for another tactic. Reaching down between her legs, I slowly part her folds and slip a finger inside. She’s warm and soft, so I add another finger as she groans and bites down on her lip.
Circling her clit with my thumb, I press my lips to hers, cradling her head with my free hand. Our tongues meet, and she grabs the back of my head to bring me closer and deepen the kiss. I feel warm everywhere as well as slightly dizzy.
I just want to give her everything.
It’s been so long, and I can’t wait any longer. I get up on my knees and look her over, trying to figure out what angle to use. I don’t think I can kneel between her legs and hold her up without putting her in a really awkward position, so I drop my feet to the floor. I reach under her and pull her body to the edge of the bed.
Hannah cringes and twists her body. She pulls her knees up and stretches, but her expression doesn’t change.
“Not working?” I ask.
“My back hurts,” she says.
I should have thought of that.
“Roll over?”
“Yeah,” she says, “I think that will work better.”
I help Hannah get to her hands and knees, and then she crawls up to the head of the bed so I can get behind her. I run my hands over her ass, enjoying the view. My cock bobs up and down, as if it knows exactly what’s in front of it. I scoot up closer, sliding it between her legs. I look down and half expect to see a little hand reaching out.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Nothing is going to grab you.
I slide in slowly, wanting to be as gentle as I can. She feels different—as if my cock is surrounded by a nest of silk pillows instead of gripped by a silk glove. My balls tighten up, and I nearly come in her immediately.
“Oh, fuck, Hannah! You feel so good.”
“Please,” she whispers, “more.”
Leaning over her back, I reach around and cup her tits in my hands. They’re so much bigger now, and her nipples feel huge under my fingertips.
I love it.
I pinch them gently, rolling them and pulling on them until I feel her clench around me with every stroke. With one arm still wrapped around her torso, I reach around her belly to her clit, slowly circling it—matching the movements of my thrusts.
“Oh, God!” Hannah pushes back against me, and I nearly lose my balance.
I pull back and shove forward with my hips, and she arches her back against my chest. Her breaths come in short gasps, and she digs her fingers into the blanket on the bed as she starts to shudder.
“Oh, yeah,” I moan, “that’s it! Come on…let me feel it.”
Hannah lets out a high-pitched squeak and then a long groan as every muscle in her body tightens. She drops her forehead to the pillow, and I pick up speed.
I can feel her walls caressing my shaft, pulling me inside of her. There’s nothing in my head but the sensation of being inside of her and the glorious pressure all around my cock.
I give up and let go. Waves of pleasure ripple through my body as I empty into her. I hold myself deep inside of her for a moment, but my arms are starting to shake with the exertion of holding myself up. I stroke in and out of her a few more times and then slowly pull out.
I flop over onto my back, eyes closed. I can hardly move. I haven’t even masturbated since the last time I was with her, and it almost feels like the first time. I want to wrap her up in my arms and hold her against me, but I can’t seem to make my arms work. I’m completely sated and in danger of passing out.
Hannah snickers, and I open my eyes to see her propped up on her elbow and staring down at me.
“Did you survive?” she asks, still giggling.
“Barely.” I take a deep breath, but my heart is still pounding. “I hope that was good for you because my cock might not work for another week.”
She strokes my stomach with her hand, letting her fingers outline the scar. I manage to move my arm just enough to wrap it around her shoulders, and she places her cheek on my chest. I close my eyes again and let the warm fog in my brain seep into me.
“Falk?”
I startle slightly at Hannah’s voice, my mind still half asleep.
“Yeah?”
“Is your sister still…still alive?”
“I don’t know.” It isn’t a topic I’ve wanted to consider. “She was living in California last I talked to her. That was…I guess Christmas before all this happened.”
“Did she have a family of her own?”
“She married her girlfriend the day after gay marriage was legalized,” I say sleepily. “Her wife had a kid from a previous relationship. His name was Garth, I think. I only met them once when he was about six. My sister was happy with the whole thing, though.”
“Are…I mean, were your parents still around?”
“Not for a while now,” I tell her. “My father passed away while I was overseas during my first tour—heart attack. My mother passed away from cancer a couple years after that. Both of my parents were only children, so it was just my sister and me left after that. We’re seven years apart and were never very close.”
“Do you think about looking for her? I mean, trying to find out if she’s still alive?”
“Not a lot.” I turn to look at Hannah and reach out to touch the side of her face. “I’m really only concerned about you.”
Chapter 8
I pause in my evening patrol, lean back against the detached garage where I left the bike and cart, and light a cigarette. I bring the smoke slowly into my lungs, savoring it before letting it loose into the night sky. I close my eyes and take another draw. It calms me.
The air is still warm and dry. It’s nearly November, and I’m not the least bit chilled by the night air even though I’m only in cargo shorts and a T-shirt. There hasn’t been any rain since the night before I found Katrina.
Tomorrow I’m going to leave Hannah behind and head to the house where the rest of the group should be. If I’m lucky, I’ll find them, and I’ll be able to bring Hannah there before the baby is due. If they aren’t there, hopefully they will have had time to leave me enough information to find them again.
I stare at the orange glow at the end of my cigarette as I finish it off and toss it down at my feet. I grind the butt under my heel to make sure it’s out. The last thing I need is a fire near the shelter.
I must have burned my retinas because the orange glow is still visible to my eyes even when the bu
tt has been extinguished. I blink a few times, but it doesn’t disappear.
I’m immediately alert.
Crouching slightly, I peer at the bright orange glow through the gap between the trees on the far side of the demolished house. It’s no more than five hundred feet from the entrance to the shelter. My muscles tighten—I haven’t seen a light like that in weeks. I haven’t seen a light like that on the ground since I was in Iraq five years ago.
I pull the rifle from my shoulder and hold it in front of me. Stepping slowly past the rubble and into the trees, I follow the orange glow. Just past the trees there are two additional houses, both flattened. Beyond that is a clearing, and in the clearing is a five-sided craft with two long, glowing shafts on either side. The craft itself is small, likely designed for only one or two occupants, but still takes up most of the area.
In front of the craft is an eight-foot tall, bipedal creature. Its arms and legs are rectangular with claw-like hands and feet at the ends. The body is neckless and bulky. It resembles the Transformers I played with as a child—the ones that shifted from a robot to a car or a truck.
I walk into the field, straight at the creature, until I stand face-to-face with the thing, my rifle raised to my shoulder. My heart is pounding, and I feel sweat trickling down the center of my back and into my shorts.
The creature shifts, and its arms and legs come together as if it’s standing at attention. I hear a hissing sound as it moves, and it makes me think it runs on hydraulics. A claw-like hand rotates and the fingers open. There’s a distinct hum, and a flickering image appears in front of the creature. It comes into focus and solidifies before my eyes.
The image is vaguely human. It’s tall with thin arms and legs, and the hands are misshapen with two fingers and two thumbs, mimicking the claws on the creature. The image is devoid of clothing though there are no sexual parts displayed—no genitals, no nipples. The image appears to have long hair, but there are no individual strands.