"Don't control yourself. Please just kiss me one more time," I whispered against his mouth. "I want to taste your tongue again."
Holden groaned and put his hands on the sides of my face and kissed me again, our tongues stroking and tangling for long delicious minutes. When he finally ended the kiss, he was panting again and I could feel the slight shivering of his body, as if he was barely controlling something.
"I have to stop, Lily. I don't want to, but I have to. I'm going to catch on fire if I don't." I nodded. He sounded so desperate as if he was in some sort of agony. I had a vague idea of what he was feeling. My body felt hot and achy and unfulfilled despite having just experienced something so incredible. If more kissing led to more hot achiness, I might catch fire, too. I raised my eyes to his and he looked at me tenderly, using his knuckles to run along my cheek. I leaned in to his touch and smiled. I felt dreamy and giddy and so very, very happy. He leaned forward and kissed my eyelids, and I laughed softly at the ticklish feel of his lips. He rubbed his rough jaw against my cheek and I giggled again, feeling the smile on his lips. "Lily," he whispered. "Lily of the Night. How do I say goodbye to you now?"
"With happiness," I whispered, "because we'll see each other soon. And when we do, you'll kiss me again."
"Yes," he choked out, "yes, I will." I kissed him one final time, softly and sweetly on the corner of his lips, the way I'd first intended. And then I backed away from him, our arms extended, our fingers joined, until they slipped apart. And then I turned and walked away, looking back only once to find Holden still leaning against the tree at the edge of the forest, watching me as I left him where he was.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Holden
Watching her walk away was the hardest thing I'd ever done. But I knew what I needed to do. Lily had shown me. She didn't know it, but she had, by giving me a taste of peace, of happiness and comfort. I wanted those things. Craved them with an ache deep in my soul. I'd forgotten, and she'd reminded me what joy felt like, reminded me that I was still capable of holding happiness in my heart. It wasn't too late. Not if I didn't let it be.
The way she'd tasted . . . like hope, both familiar and unknown. I wanted to beg her to hold my hand as I did what I knew I needed to do, to soothe me as my body withdrew from the numbing chemicals I'd been using to escape my pain and unhappiness for far too long. But I knew this was something I had to do alone if I wanted any chance of offering her all of me—not this fragmented man I was now. And if Lily saw who I really was, saw what I'd done to my body, I knew it would only scare her and probably drive her away. Brandon had been right—I needed to be the one to make the choice. And ultimately, I was the only one who could do the work. And though I wanted Lily in my life like nothing I'd wanted in a very long time, I also had to do this for me. I had to want to get better for myself, most of all.
Closing the door of the lodge behind me, I went straight to the kitchen where I'd left the plastic bag with the handful of pills I still had left. Not allowing myself to think, I walked straight to the bathroom and opened the bag over the toilet and flushed, watching the water swirl and drain, the pills disappearing. Just for good measure, I flushed again. And then dread filled me. And so I closed my eyes and pictured Lily. Beautiful, mysterious Lily. I would go back to her better than I'd been, and I'd ask her to share all her secrets. And maybe I'd be brave enough to share mine.
**********
"Fuuuuuuck," I groaned miserably. By the next afternoon, every muscle in my body had seized up and my stomach was wracked with agonizing cramps. I writhed in pain on the couch, my legs pulled up to my stomach. Sweat dripped down my forehead. I was going to die. There was no way I could survive this misery. Why had I tossed out the pills? God, why? Not able to sit still for more than a few minutes, I got up and staggered into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water, shaking so badly, I’d spilled most of it by the time I got the glass to my mouth.
I wanted to escape my own body—get out, get free. The feeling of claustrophobia compounded the fear and anxiety I was already feeling. I was trapped now. Trapped in my own skin. There was no way I could drive and it would take someone else at least a day to get to me. And then longer to get me anywhere I could convince someone to write me a prescription for the pain pills I needed so badly.
Sometime later that evening, I heard the sound of someone's feet coming up the stairs. I was sitting on the floor of the shower, my arms wrapped around my legs, lukewarm water raining down on me. It had started out hot and had worked for a while to soothe my screaming muscles, but now it was barely tepid. I'd thought about getting in the hot tub, but decided the shower was wiser given the state I was in. If I fell asleep, I'd be safer here. My body was in so much agony, the footsteps barely stirred any emotion in me. I supposed I should be concerned, alarmed, curious at least, but I couldn't figure it out, much less drum up an appropriate response.
"Well, this is not how I expected to find you," came the female voice. Oh no. No. Fuck no. I was dead. I was dead and I was in hell. And one of Satan's servants had just shown up to torture me. I turned my head and looked blearily through the glass of the shower door. Taylor. The 49ers’ manager's daughter and my ex-girlfriend.
"What are you doing here?" I managed.
Taylor opened the shower door, causing me to fall out onto the floor in a groaning heap. "Holy fuck. What the hell is happening with you?" She actually sounded a little concerned.