Page 55 of Expressionate
Love shakes her head and raises her hands to my neck, linking her fingers at my nape, under my overgrown hair. My beard stubble brushes her soft skin when I lean forward and nuzzle under her chin, kissing her pulse. I crawl on top of her, roughly toeing off my boots and kicking them away as Igo.
Resting my head against her chest, I listen to the rough beat of her heart as Ally sleeps on in the other room. The entire apartment is quiet – a peaceful safe haven. That’s what this woman is to me. When I’m stressed the fuck out, whether it’s over the band, over Ally – just trying to raise her, keep her fed and healthy and give her shit that teenage girls need – this woman makes me forget it all and just escape for a little while. I don’t even need to fuck her to do that. Though, I love it. I love her pussy. Shoving myself in, holding deep as she looks at me with those dark, pain-filled eyes of hers. I want to be the same for her. I want to be her everything. I don’t care if it’s healthy or not. I want her to be obsessed. I want to haunt her. I want to empty her out and fill her up with nothing but me and if anyone fucking hurtsher…
I’ll killthem.
19
Love
The instructor is talking – his voice echoing around the long lecture hall. My mind wanders. I don't even have the energy to put forth the effort today. It's enough that I'm here. My ears are plugged with headphones, but Dr. Hall is such a pompous ass that all he is sure to see is himself and his greatness. His slideshow is filled to the brim with notes – tiny scriptures squeezed into every last available crevice of the currentslide.
Normally, I would be scribbling or typing away like the rest of my classmates – trying to get it all down, trying to cram as much knowledge into my brain as quickly and as inefficiently as possible. That's right. Inefficient. I don't want to be here rightnow.
Maybe it's all the time I've been spending with Tax – his inability to take people’s shit while I'm drowning under it and sewing my mouth closed in the process – but I decide that today is not the day for this. I close my laptop and shove it into my bag andstand.
Several eyes turn my way when I get up and make my way across the row and out into the stair aisle. I move up to the doors leading outside. If the professor calls out to me, I don't hear. The music in my ears drives the noise away. I reach into my pocket and turn it up as I make my way across campus, heading for my car when the song switches and is quickly interrupted by abuzzing.
Sighing, I slide my earbuds out and lift the phone to my ear, pressing the green button without looking at the name. Only two people ever call my phone now. Trish – as always – and Tax. When I answer, Trish's voice comes across thereceiver.
"I'm done," she snaps in myear.
I blink, taking away the phone and staring at the screen. No, the screen definitely says Trish. I put it back to my ear. "What are you talkingabout?"
"Anne – I can't handle her anymore," Trish says. Her voice is practically vibrating with anger. "I – Love, I'm so sorry. But she came over after the lunch we had, and she's been staying with me and Lawrence in the guest bedroom, and I just kicked herout."
"What?" I can't believe what I'm hearing. "Whathappened?"
"She was driving me fucking crazy." She huffs over the phone. "She just hangs over me, Love. She asks me all these questions – where are you living? How often do I see you? What do we talk about? If you're dating anyone? She wants to know when Lawrence and I are going to get married? If we’re planning on having kids. She was driving him crazy too. He's pissed at me." Her voice wavers over hisname.
"Okay," I say, "do you want me to come over?” This conversation seems surreal. “Did you really kick herout?”
She sighs. "No, not exactly. I mean, she's gone. She's not staying with us anymore, but I think that's more because of Lawrence than me. If he asks, she'll do anything. If I ask, then I'm ungrateful...Love?"
"Yes?"
"Do you think I'mungrateful?"
I sigh heavily. "No, Trish, I don't think you'reungrateful."
"I'm sorry for calling," she says. "If you're busy or if you need togo—"
"I'm not," I interrupt, "busy that is. But I would like to see you. Do you want to..." I pause, looking around. Trish is a student here too and she doesn't live far. "Do you want to meet at the Java Shop?" I'm not a big fan of coffee, but I find myself wanting to talk to her. I don't have any real friends – especially not girlfriends. I'm happy to listen to her talk about Anne or Lawrence – though both of those subjects are uncomfortable for me, I know she needs an outlet too. But I really want to tell her aboutTax.
"On campus? Yeah, sure. I can be there in an hour," sheanswers.
I blanch, but I can head to the library and pick up a few things while I wait for her. "Okay," I say, "I'll meet you there in anhour."
We hang up and I make a right turn, heading towards the big, hulking behemoth of a library building on the far west side of campus. The doors open as I slide my student ID. I head for the second floor and move for the publishing section, pulling books as I go. I stop by the checkout desk and as the student worker scans the barcodes of the books, I look down. A small, soft yellow flier catches myattention.
"What's this?" I ask, fingering the edge of theflier.
The girl shrugs. "What does it look like? It's a flier." She hands me my books back and then a slip of paper. "Books are due back by the date on the receipt. Any charges incurred will go automatically to your student account. Have a niceday."
As she turns away, I slip the yellow flier into my pocket and head out. Once I'm outside, on the sidewalk, I pull it back out and read over thewords.
What are thesigns?
DomesticViolence
