Page 112 of Save Me

Ronan: He's joking; she’s soft and cuddly. Loves to be asked how a woman got her role.

Me: Noted!

Immediately, I dial the number Logan provides. This is perfect!

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

I took the crazy pills. I don’t know what else to do. I want off this train.

Crazy how a small pill makes everything feel…muted. I’m tired all the time, and my brain is zapping, but at least I don’t feel like putting my fist through the shower. That’s entirely too much effort. I don’t feel better either, although my doc says it hasn’t been long enough. Is feeling numb better than feeling everything?

I grind my teeth, staring up at that same ceiling. This is lame. Micah has done so much for me, and all I’ve done is lose my mind and lie around doing nothing.

I need to get out of here. Need to feel something. Anything.

I was told my ability to orgasm might disappear on these meds. I’ve yet to test it because I’m afraid of what I might find out.

I glance at the door. Micah is out getting food. I wonder what he’d think if he came back and I was beating one out?

Even thinking about Micah is making a bit of blood rush to my groin. I shouldn't be thinking about him; I should be letting him move on. Should be letting him find someone not quite so damaged.

Even the thought sends boiling rage through me.

Which just confirms I’m a selfish asshole because I don’t want Micah to be with anyone else. The thought makes me want to murder someone.

It’s crazy how quickly I’ve become attached to the game Micah wants to play. The one like the movies where maybe, just maybe, we can be happy.

If I can get my shit together.

Micah. Micah with his bright blue hair. I’ll admit, I love it. It just suits him, like the little ray of color that he is.

I remember the way his hand brushed mine today when he left for the store. His hand with the veins bulging. His strong hand, the one that was all over my waist to tattoo me.

My dick is already hard. It doesn’t take much with Micah. I’ve been hard for so long; I’ve just refused to do anything about it. Almost like I’m punishing myself.

My dick throbs, and I slip my hand into my pants. I’ll just edge myself. I don’t deserve to come. As I stroke, I glance at the door.

What if he came in right now?

The familiar tingle of pleasure runs through me. I know if Micah was caught in the doorway and I told him to come watch, he would. His pupils would blow. In the harsh light of the room, I’m sure it will make the circles under his eyes look even darker.

I pause. Micah has been looking stressed lately, although every time I talk to him, his eyes soften. When I ask him what’s wrong, he says nothing, and his eyes soften again. Then he gets us a snack, turns on the TV, and usually passes out well before me.

He’s exhausted. Maybe his bruises are still hurting?

I sit up straighter. There’s nothing really to do about bruises; you just gotta let them heal, but maybe he’s been going too hard and too fast. He has been picking up the slack with me, doing my laundry without comment, making all the food choices, and forcing Minky, Princess, and me to go out on walks. While I’ve been wallowing in my own shit, he’s been the glue holding us together, even though that has to be hard as shit.

My chest feels tight, and a wet blanket of shame drops over my shoulders and back. Tucking myself back into my pants, I stand, spinning in a circle in the room. There isn’t much to tidy, but I make the beds anyway, disturbing Minky.

There’s the sound of Micah’s voice outside the door. He sounds happy, but I scan his voice for fatigue anyway. He unlocks the door and comes inside.

“She did, but that doesn’t mean you can act like you’re gonna spray her.”

I straighten.

Micah puts Princess down with a huff. “Pain in my tush, you know that?” He looks up at me and smiles wide.

Is it a real smile or is he trying to appease me? Or hide pain? I scan the corners of his eyes to see if they’re crinkling.