Rocket Car

Chapter 14

Rocket Car

Pine and a strange sanitized scent bombards on my nose. It forces me awake, and I'm ready to stretch out over the bed before I realize there's someone else with me. My eyes flutter open and I find myself staring at someone's bare back. I watch the peaceful rise and fall of his body as he lightly breaths in his slumber. We're on opposite ends of the bed because it's so damned hot in here with the summer heat suffocating the entire town. I glance over at the electronic clock on the nightstand near my head. 4:14am.

Slowly the events of the night before come rolling back. I had gone with Davis that night with the intention of talking. It was clearly needed if his odd behavior was any indication. Not long after we'd sat down on his couch, we'd stumbled into his bedroom. I have no idea who initiated contact first and I suppose it doesn't really matter. It might have been me; I might have been desperate to rid myself of the memories of Willie and Ochoa, or to rid Davis of that dejected look on his face. Maybe it was him; maybe years of pent up emotions had come pouring out, or maybe his desire to cleanse himself of Alexa with any girl possible finally took hold.

I sigh. Fortunately it's not loud enough to wake him. I feel gross. Since it's a habit of mine to shower right after s*x I'm irritated I fell asleep before I could. Was I that tired? I can't imagine so. It's not like Davis's brand of love making was physically exhausting. If anything, I suppose I was mildly disappointed. After discovering his cuffs two days ago, I'd assumed he'd be wild. Instead I suffered through the slowest, most deliberate love making I have ever experienced. It was brutal. I just wanted a quick romp, not be practically worshipped.

His voice from last night kept ringing in my head. I had begged him to go faster, nearly broke down and sobbed. His response was to whisper in my ear, "I've waited too long for this. Let it last."

I shiver. I don't want to remember that.

I have to leave. I debate between calling a cab and calling Barry. As I wrestle between my options, I ease myself out of the dampened sheets. My eyes are still adjusting to the dark, so finding my clothes isn't going to be easy.

I feel a warm hand grab my wrist and I turn back to see Davis halfway out of bed. He's squinting up at me, no doubt unable to see a thing in the dark without his glasses. "You okay?" he asks.

What the hell kind of question is that? It takes me a beat to answer. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just going to head home. Go back to sleep."

I lean down to kiss the top of his head. His response is to smile up at me like an i***t. It's also enough for him to let me go. Free of his grasp I'm moving haphazardly about his room in a desperate attempt to find my clothes. His voice is still sleepy when he says, "Just stay. It's alright."

I stop, a handful of clothing in my hands. "Davis. I need to go home and shower. Get some fresh clothing. Take care of a few things before work on Monday."

That seems to be reason enough for him as he goes silent. I focus on putting my clothes on. I'm certainly not feeling any cleaner putting my panties on. I don't realize how sore I am until I'm struggling to put my shorts back on. I've barely snapped my bra on when I hear Davis ask, "Did I do something wrong?"

I actually feel pretty bad for the guy, I have to admit. "No, Davis, you didn't do anything wrong."

"Then why don't you stay?"

Here we go. This is what I was afraid of. These moments were the reasons why two people who were not in a solid emotional state should not ever sleep together. If they do, it'd best be in a place where they can't cuddle afterward, where they can't "stay" together.

"Because we're done and I have things I need to do," I tell him. The wording on that was terrible, I have to admit.

My phrasing doesn't seem to bother him. Within a blink he's sat up all the way and pulled me down. I land on top of him rather clumsily, nearly smashing my face against his shoulder. Sprawled over him, it takes me a moment to regain my senses and pull myself up. I find myself staring down into his eyes, a goofy grin on his face as he clearly finds amusement in our situation.

This is where he looks his best. Messy dark hair, red darkened cheeks due to our close proximity; the pure burning passion aflame in his eyes boring down inside my soul, as though I were the focal point of his very existence. I watch as his lips twitch, unsure whether to maintain the impish grin or to open so he may speak. I give him a chance to do neither, as I hurriedly place a ferocious kiss there.

The spark from the night before is back. Impatient hands are running down my back, down to my rear and then over my thighs. I can already hear his voice hitch and then turn into a heated moan. He's… pathetically desperate.

I break away before things get out of hand. My hand is placed above his heart as I get ready to leave, and I can feel how quick it's beating. "I have to go," I repeat. This time, my tone is soft – almost playful – and I think he gets the hint that I'm not trying to be a jerk about all of this.

I'm barely off the bed again when in a kiss-drunk state he blurts out, "I love you."

I freeze for just a beat before I'm back on my feet properly. All I can say is, "Don't you have work this morning?"

"Hm? It's Saturday, I work at the night game," he says. It appears as though it didn't notice my quick change of subject. Thank god. Four in the morning is not the best time to discuss relationship statuses. At least, that was my hope until I hear him mumble, "You're beautiful. Last night was beautiful."

What? I never understood that sentiment. We had s*x – that was it. There was nothing beautiful or godly about it. It was just two adults doing what they were compelled physically to do, a purely animalistic instinct. I'm exasperated that it has to be anything else. Unconsciously I throw my hand up and say, "Davis, I need you to – ow! s**t!"

The "ow" was me realizing I had cut my hand on something when I threw my hand in the air; the "s**t" was me realizing I had knocked whatever it was off the wall. Instinct had me reaching out to prevent it from falling onto the ground. I ended up cutting my other hand, which recoiled at the sensation of being sliced. So I tried to kick it. Don't ask me why I did that. Of course, I cut the top of my foot, too. All of it was for naught as the item crashed onto the floor and shattered into a million pieces.

"Holy - ! Kris, are you alright?!"

I think it was a picture frame I destroyed. I can't tell in the darkness. I hear Davis shuffling to get out of bed. He's putting his boxers and pants on. Any other time I would roll my eyes at the fact he feels the need to be covered up after we just spent the night naked together. However my eyes are slammed shut as I focused on gathering my wits about me. I'm not sure how bad the cuts are, but I know they sting like a motherfucker.

There's a lamp on the nightstand that he flicks on. The sensation of light washing over the room forces my eyes open. By the time my vision has adjusted he's already knelt next to me and has my hands in his. Blood is oozing through my fingertips and pools in my palms. I'm sure he's kneeling in pieces of glass; he's lucky he doesn't get cut, too. The sensation of his warm fingertips grazing over my filleted skin sends my body into a hardy shiver.

"This is bad. We gotta get you to a hospital," he whispers. There's a sense of urgency in his voice I rarely hear. I'm waiting for him to lecture me on safety. I'm ready for him to play dad and tell me that's why I shouldn't swing my hands around in the dark, that's why I shouldn't get so worked up. It never comes. Instead, he just grabs a piece of clothing from off the floor and delicately wraps my hands with it.

Carefully he leads me to my feet; when I try to step and hiss, he looks down to find my foot a nice red color. Impatient, he bends down and hoists me onto his back. We're both shirtless and shoeless, and that's how we arrive at the hospital ten minutes later.

August 26th, 1999

They run everywhere they go. It becomes habit after a while. Even when it isn't necessary they turn it into a race. Being clumsy kids, they never properly notice their surroundings. Kristy was in such a rush to ask her dad for permission to go down the gravel road to play in the Barnes's new pool that she didn't notice the extension cord leading into the shop.

She wasn't sure what her foot had caught on, just that she was falling down quickly. Her knee connected with the rough concrete before she could blink. A sharp pain rocketed up but it was tolerable. As she regained her senses, she looked down at the injury.

The entire sidewalk was covered in blood from her kneecap. It was fine; everything was moving normally and the sting of the scrapped skin wasn't too bad. What did freak her out, however, was the expression Davis held. Eyes wide, mouth open, and face flush in fear, he looked dreadful.

Davis was never very strong, but that day he picked her up like she weighed the same as a feather. Even as she assured him repeatedly that she was fine, he never responded. With her cradled in his arms he sprinted all the way to her father. Her dad just laughed at him, a sight that neither ever forgot.

November 2nd, 2002

"s**t!"

Davis slammed on the breaks of his bike when he heard the sound of something scraping across the ground and Jeep's loud curse. He turned back to find Kristy on the ground and Jeep jumping off of his bike to check on her. It sure seemed like she crashed her bike a lot.

He pedaled back to the duo to check on them. Kristy was holding her calf. A nasty gash caused by loose rocks was peppered with bits of gravel and dirt. It was already bruised and swollen. "Yikes! You alright?" Jeep asked as he knelt next to her.

"Ugh, yeah I think I'm alright. Bike isn't," she said. Indeed, her bike had its front tire bent and the handlebars were broken.

"You should wear a helmet and pads with how often you wreck," Davis lectured.

She was ready to bite back at him. His deep frown meant he wasn't in a playing mood and certainly was not going to argue with her, so her mouth stayed shut. It took her a moment before she said, "You guys go ahead, I'll walk my bike back."

"You're not walking back like that. Get on," Davis ordered. With his head he motioned for her to hop onto the back of his bike.

"Isn't double riding dangerous?" Jeep said in a mocking tone.

Davis caught the hint he was being teased so he ignored it. "It'll be quicker to just have your brother come pick the bike up. You're bleeding pretty bad and walking with a messed up calf won't be fun. Get on the bike before I pick you up."

It was the only time he ever commanded her to do anything. Certainly, it was the only time she would have followed such an order. Fortunately, Davis had better bike riding skills than her. The journey home was an easy one, with an arm wrapped around his chest. He may have appeared calm on the outside, but she could feel his heart beating erratically.

January 30th, 2006

"You need to stop picking fights with guys."

She winced when he wiped the cut on her face with an alcohol pad. "They need to stop being d***s," was her response. He clicked his tongue at her, uninterested in hearing her excuses. She waited until he pulled away from cleaning the wound before she dared to talk again. "Besides it wasn't a fight. Abel was running away from me and I got my cheek caught on the fence he ducked through."

Hearing her explanation did nothing to bate his anger. He stared at her a brow raised until she finished. "Oh? And why was Abel running from you?" he inquired. There was no need to answer. Davis was there. Abel was a timid baseball player that never caused any issues, except this one time when he slipped out an inappropriate comment about a softball player. Never one to let her fellow teammates down, Kristy went straight into fight mode. Abel ran for his life, eventually rolling underneath a chain-link fence that caught Kristy's face when she followed. Poor Abel kept running, never looking back.

Kristy looked away from Davis instead of giving an answer. He paid her back by rubbing another alcohol wipe on the deep cut. She hissed at him and cursed lightly under her breath.

"What would Willie do if he saw your face right now?" he said with a sigh.

She wasn't sure why, but she was thankful it was Davis caring for her wound and not Willie. It seemed as though Davis found a way to play nurse with every bump and scrap she had ever gotten. Never once had he failed her in that regard.