“Why?”
“Cadence, are you awake?” he asked carefully.
“Why do you have bad dreams, Mark?” she replied. “Why?”
“I don’t have bad dreams,” he said. “Go back to sleep.” He ran his fingers through her hair once more.
“Okay, but I don’t believe you,” she mumbled, and closed her eyes. He waited until he heard the heavy, even breathing again before slinking soundlessly out of bed.
He walked to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. And then he stared blankly inside, deciding if he wanted food or drink. He wasn’t hungry. No to food. He wasn’t thirsty either, though that beer looked refreshing. But he didn’t need refreshment. He needed an escape.
It didn’t happen often—remembering. Once Cadence walked into the picture, he swore to bury the past, or, at least, the finer details. He’d never forget her. He didn’t want to. But the details. Well, those he could bury. But every now and then, he’d still dream of the past, and those finer details that would otherwise escape his memory during the day burst about his subconscious at night, demanding recognition. They took control of his dreams, and he’d wake some mornings soaked with sweat. He thought Cadence never knew. She never said anything about it until tonight.
He closed the refrigerator door and walked back to the bedroom. He stood over his girlfriend, watching her sleep. She was far away from him, in her own dreamland, and he couldn’t stand the distance. Not tonight.
He pulled back the sheet and watched her curl into a fetal position. Her hand searched for the covers, but he made sure to keep them away from her grasp. He couldn’t get enough of it—staring at her nakedness. She was so tiny, so fair. A little fallen angel, he thought.
His.
He grew hard with want, running his hand up the length of her thigh to touch her hip bone. He pulled on her hip until she lay on her back, completely exposed to him. He knelt beside her and kissed her stomach. And then he lay his head on her. In an instant, he felt her tiny fingers in his hair, subconsciously searching out his cowlicks. If he was very quiet, he could hear her count them in her mind. One, two, three. Oh, there’s four . . .
“Yes, Cadence. I have many cowlicks,” Mark whispered into her belly.
She shifted under him and sighed.
“I need you,” he said.
She lay motionless, fingers poised in his hair. He pulled away from her and watched her hands drop to either side of her head. And then he kissed up her stomach to the dip between her breasts. He kissed her mouth next.
“Wake up, Cadence,” he said against her lips.
She moaned.
He gently forced her mouth open and found her tongue. He kissed her deeply, slowly, until he elicited another moan.
“That’s it. Wake up,” he urged.
His hand slid down between her thighs, teasing her gently. He felt her body’s response, the growing wetness between her legs. And he had to have her. Right. Now.
“Cadence?”
Nothing.
“Cadence?”
He stilled his hand and watched her face. She was having a good dream. He could tell. Not like last night when he cradled her on the couch and listened as she cried in her sleep. She was exhausted from her escape—had finally fallen asleep against his chest—but minutes later she was crying again. It was a bad dream, and he couldn’t rescue her. Reality proved to be no better at the moment, so he didn’t wake her.
That was yesterday. A bad day. Neither went to school today. They waited, holed up in the apartment. Sitting. Pacing. Watching the door for Cadence’s dad. They both knew he was coming, and Mark was prepared. Calm. Cadence wasn’t. She was a mess, and as the hours ticked, her fear turned to hysteria.
But Mr. Miller never arrived. And when it was close to midnight, Cadence finally relaxed. Mark, on the other hand, grew anxious. He knew the anxiety conjured his bad dream. And he also knew how to alleviate his heartache. But as he hovered over his girlfriend studying her face, watching a faint smile curl the corners of her lips, he knew he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t wake her to take from her. It was selfish.
He pulled the covers up and tucked her in. He walked to his side of the bed when he heard a loud knock on the door.
Cadence’s eyes flew open. “What? What is it?”
Another angry knock.
“Oh my God,” Cadence breathed, jumping out of bed. She searched the room frantically for her pajamas.
“Stay here,” Mark ordered.
“No!” she cried, pulling on her cotton shorts.
A third knock.
“I’m asking you to stay here, Cadence,” Mark said. He walked out of the room and closed the door on her. She ripped it open and followed him.
“Don’t answer,” she whispered, tugging on Mark’s arm.
“I’m not afraid of your dad. Go back to the bedroom.”
“Please don’t do this!” Cadence pleaded.
“Go back to the bedroom,” Mark said. He pulled his arm from her grasp and opened the door.
Mr. Miller shoved his way inside. He caught sight of his daughter and froze.
“What do you want?” Mark asked.