The Jolt
Heather
Louise spooned around me, her soft breasts pressed against my back, arms and legs wrapped over mine in definite possession. Gentle, warm exhales, the type of a deep, contented sleep, surrounded and flowed past my neck while her fist enclosed my hand.
Owned and owned. I carried both their marks and what I didn’t get from one I got from the other. From Marcus, uncompromising honesty, a constant demand to do better because we both knew I could, no excuses. On the other hand Louise’s sympathy of what I endured, having gone through it herself, kept me from spinning out. But also her harshness was equal to, if not more so, than Marcus. I don’t know which discipline hand I dreaded more, Marcus or Louise, or whose tender mercies held more of my heart. They spoke to me as one.
