He was right.
When they got off the jet, when she looked around, warm, humid breeze in her face, the sea of green — she never saw that much greenery in her life — the meadows, hills, palm trees, and so quiet — she was speechless.
And then, she saw the house. Not what she expected at all. Knowing him, she was sure she'd see a building that would make her cringe; a mansion, lavish and ostentatious. The simplistic, modest bungalow they walked into was quite a surprise.
She never felt much connection with places, but — maybe it was the smell, something in the air she couldn't name — there was a familiarity to it that she couldn't explain.
The keys clanked somewhere behind her, tossed on the wooden surface. Her stomach felt fluttery when her thoughts went to the man whose slow, steady steps resounded behind her. The man she'd only just met; the criminal she should be after; whose presence behind her right now — wasn't supposed to feel so good, so overwhelming with the sense of calm and safety it brought; so terrifying in a whole different way than anything she'd ever been scared of before.
Which was close to nothing.
And yet, for no good reason, stupidly, her chest now resonated with heartbeat so panicked it made her eardrums pulse. Panic or arousal, she wasn't even sure anymore; the way he made her feel induced both.
She glanced towards the door, the realization there was nowhere to escape making it hard to breathe, suddenly.
"You okay?" his rich, warm, slightly hoarse voice broke the silence; and just like that, her heart raced for a whole different reason now; the way it always did when he'd pull her close and ask that. The chunky heaviness of his arms around her worked like a spell; fixed everything. Until, eventually, it made her want to run, paralyzed with some sudden fear that if she didn't, she would end up unable to live without it, craving it, needing, always.
And there was no always in life. She'd recently learned it the hard way. Losing Amy was the blow she couldn't see ever recovering from; the price to pay for letting people close. She couldn't imagine taking a punch like that ever again.
This wouldn't pass the test of time, anyway; they were too different. And one day, it would dawn on him, eventually, that she wasn't the one he so blindly fooled himself she was, the one who must've meant the world to him, considering how desperately he sought for bits and pieces of her in someone who only just resembled her; the one she was starting to envy and hate more and more.
Or, he'd just grow tired; of how distant she would get, how cold. He didn't know her that way yet. He'd get frustrated with her silences, the need for solitude. He wouldn't get it; no one did. She didn't, either; why, the more she would love him, the more she'd end up pushing him away; why, whenever he'd try to talk about it, she'd close off. Till, eventually, he'd quit trying.
She wouldn't blame him.
She didn't do relationships well. The one she had with herself was tough enough to handle.
And now — she was at the end of the world, soon to be a mother, sentenced to sharing her life with the man she was falling in love with despite all her better instincts, all of it feeling like being thrown in the depth of the ocean without knowing how to swim.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his arms still around her.
"What isn't?" she muttered.
What was she supposed to tell him? That now that they escaped all that noise and she could take a calm breath in and think, and step back to have a look at the whole picture — that it hit her like a ton of bricks and she wanted to run? That the perspective of sharing a life with him filled her with doubt and guilt — all of it turning into shame when she realized how much she wanted it, and panic when she realized she couldn't run away from it? Sure, that would make total sense to him, no doubt. Having those thoughts rambling around her mind gave her a headache already, she didn't have the strength for a confrontation now.
The rain buzzed softly outside. Eventually, like she expected, he stopped waiting for an answer; there was a slow, deep sigh, and then, the warmth around her was gone. And it was just her, in the very center of the bright, spacious living area, now yet quieter than before; and the feverish thought, that she had to get herself busy with something or she'd go insane.
Her suitcase. She could unpack and do laundry. Have a shower.
And stop wondering where he went, and why it got her bothered in the first place.
And change into something lighter. Throwing off her boots where she stood, she got rid of the black turtleneck, rolled the black denims off her legs and went through the suitcase in search of the huge, worn-out Led-Zeppelin t-shirt she liked to sleep in. Perfect. And long enough to save her from the need to wear anything else.
Drawn by the sound of the rain, she left the open suitcase behind and walked out to the terrace. Her eyes fell on the pool, but it was the landscape in the background that distracted her completely. Half-consciously, she reached down to get rid of her boots, realized she was barefoot, and, pulled in like a magnet, almost ran towards the teal ocean in the horizon.
She didn't know how long she sat on the beach; long enough to get completely soaked with the drizzle and for the gray sky to turn several shades darker, not long enough to stop thinking how much Amy would love it here, how much she would give to see the green eyes widen at the beauty of everything she herself was seeing, hearing and smelling right now. She huffed bitterly; yeah, like she had anything to give. It was gone, all of it, each familiar part of her life was history.
Apart from being a fugitive — the one thing she wished didn't feel familiar at all.
So, back to square one.
For the second time.
The only difference was — ten years ago, when she fled to the States and started life from scratch, she left her past behind.
Right now, she dragged it right along with her; killed a man and fled the scene — to live with a criminal, in a house bought for laundered money — and she was bringing a child into this… Because of some damn brain-fog she had those weeks ago — because being drunk and careless was one thing, but why she didn't do anything about it the next morning — for that she had no excuse, no explanation whatsoever.
"The inside of the house too dry for your taste?"
She let out a breath, a pleasant feeling washing over her at the deep, subtly amused tone of voice resounding behind her back, the very sound of it comforting like the embrace that she caught herself longing for to follow; and scolded herself for it. It was different back when they'd just fooled around, it was just an adventure, a little affair, giving in was harmless, knowing it ended next morning. Now that it was real, that she was caged, nowhere to run—
She sensed him turning to leave, and froze, fighting the urge to turn and stop him. "Stay."
After a moment, letting out a deep breath, he sat himself down next to her. None of them broke the silence, and it dragged on for a while, some faint anxiety settling deep in her stomach, fading only when she focused on the sound of the waves washing ashore, recurring, distracting enough. Soothing. Helping to shake off the thought that the source of comfort she longed for most was right next to her, scaring the shit out of her.
"I can't fix it if you don't tell me what's wrong," his voice broke through the soft buzzing of the waves.
What was wrong? Her whole life fell apart, and he had to ask? "You can't fix it."
"What exactly?"
"None of it."
"So, it means we won't talk at all?"
She closed her eyes with a sigh. "I can't do it."
"Do what?"
"Any of this." She exhaled sharply. "I'm no good at—" she cut off, taken by surprise when he grabbed her and sat her astride his lap, sending a pleasant rush over her with how swift the move was, effortless like she weighed nothing; and all her leftover anger evaporated when she shifted, seating herself on the soft, ample bulge of his crotch, the sensation making her swoon; it always did.
"At what? Being together?" he asked, a hint of playful amusement in his tone.
"Among others." She closed her eyes, distracted by the heat flooding her pelvis when she felt him harden underneath her, his hands roaming her waist.
"How about I'll be the judge of that?" He dragged his mouth along her jawline, seizing her hips and grinding himself against her.
"You don't get it," she said, cradling the back of his head, grazing the scalp with her fingertips, marveling at how goddamn good it felt just when he held her like that, the scent, the strength of him.
But yeah, he didn't get it. She didn't, either. The thought of undertaking an attempt at explaining any of it to him made her weary; but the moment his hand slid between them, the sound he made when he discovered she wasn't wearing anything underneath that t-shirt, that did it, everything else fading in a heartbeat.
"I love it how fast you get wet…" he muttered; obviously unaware that, in fact, it wasn't true at all. Not until she met him. Not until the first time he touched her, and all those times he'd soak her underwear with just his proximity, a palm on her lower back, just one inhale of him. And damn him, he always knew what to say to cast a spell on her and switch her brain off.
"I've never had a woman in my bed whom I wanted to wake up next to. With you — believe it or not — it was the first time I did that," he whispered against her lips, teasing, not quite kissing, just brushing. "First time I wanted to…" He ran his tongue over her upper, then lower lip, getting a handful of her breast; and sucked in air through his teeth as she raised her hips and, wincing at the painful stretch, let him in.
She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her forehead to his as he rocked her hips back and forth in a lazy rhythm.
"When I left back then…" he let out a little exhale, "I… gods, I thought I would—"
"I thought I'd die when you left," she swallowed the words on her tongue, her mind going blank, mesmerized when his lips parted like that, his lashes shimmering with raindrops, eyes hazy, his hair damp under her fingers."I didn't want you to go."
"Why the fuck did you let me?" He asked in a heated whisper, his brow creasing as his eyes roamed between her lips and her eyes.
"I had to."
"It's such a damn bullshit and you know that…."
The truth was, she didn't know that. Maybe she did, now, but back then, she hadn't. Back then, she had to believe what she needed to believe back then. That he was bad for her. Because the way she wanted him, the thoughts and urges he roused in her—
"I was scared."
"Of what?"
She held her breath for a moment, trying to force the words out. "Of this..." She brushed her thumb along his upper lip, her own mouth parting helplessly when she felt him so deep inside she lost the plot. "Of needing this… you."
"And what on earth is wrong with that?"
It was a good question. She just, had no answer to it.
"You're scared of commitment," he neither asked nor stated.
"Well, I'm not too good at that, either." She nuzzled his cheek.
"I'm not keeping you here… we're not tied to each other for always and forever. Not unless you want to," he added quietly, stroking up and down her cheek, spreading the raindrops all over with his thumb.
What if I do? She closed her eyes, wondering what he meant by that, pushing the thought away, suddenly out of breath.
Forever. There was no forever. The only forever they had was life on the run, off the grid, watching their backs 24/7. There was no happily ever after for them. Him saying things like that only made it worse, made it hurt somewhere deep down where she didn't want him to reach. "There is no always."
"There could be."
"No."
"I'll lose it if you don't stop," he panted, grimacing as she started clenching around him hard.
"Do it."
"I wanna wait for you," he said softly, his cheek pressing into hers, tears springing to her eyes when his hand slid up to cradle the back of her head.
She tilted her chin, moving away. "It's okay," she said, pushing his face into her neck and increasing the rhythm to send him over the edge before he'd open his mouth and ask her what was wrong, the question she didn't have the answer to — because she didn't understand why, suddenly, fervently, she so badly needed to get away.
"Shit… Fuck..." His voice died in his throat as his grip on her hips tightened and he bucked into her roughly, with a muffled growl. "What're you doing?" He winced and frowned when she withdrew almost right away, his puzzled gaze following her when she rose to her feet in front of him.
"Going for a walk," she said, stupidly, the first thing off the tip of her tongue.
Not looking at her, he pressed his lips together tight and nodded, his brow creasing a little. "Go ahead." With a sharp snap of his fingers he was fully dressed as he got up. He turned away and stood there for a moment, silent, with his back to her, coldness about him that she hadn't felt in a while, "There's plenty of space here. I won't be in your way."
She stared, his back shrinking in the distance, till he disappeared inside the cozily lit living room; till her knuckles turned white and her throat closed up so tight she was surprised she could still breathe.