Beneath the Surface

Lexi

November 12, 2011

I sit straight up in bed trying to catch my breath. Damn, another nightmare! Maybe I should talk to Carson about getting me one of them dream catchers. I chuckle at my own thoughts. As if anything but your mind can control your dreams. I felt like someone was watching me sleep again, but that happens every couple of weeks. I look over at the clock and sigh, its 4:25 in the morning.

After five to ten minutes my heart and breathing have both calmed back to normal and I switch on my bedside lamp and lay back and stare at the ceiling. I should have a ceiling fan put in as many hours as I spend a week looking at the ceiling above my bed. Then at least I would have something to watch while I lay here.

As I relax, my mind drifts back to the kiss as it often has over the last six days. I don’t understand why I responded to the kiss the way I did. If anybody else grabbed me like that I would have went into a major panic attack just like I did the first time Carson grabbed me. Good lord I was ready to tear the man’s clothes off right there. It doesn’t make any sense for me to feel that way after what happened. I thought I would never feel desire again, but here I am, wishing Jax wasn’t avoiding me and would kiss me again.

Is there something wrong with me? What other possible explanation is there for me feeling desire for a man only a couple months after being raped. I can’t wrap my head around how that’s even possible. I mean look at how I reacted to Carson just trying hug me a little over two weeks ago. But only a week and a half later I was happily pinned against a door by Jax, and thoroughly enjoying myself. Hell maybe I’m the one who needs to see a therapist instead of Jason. I would try to blame it on the alcohol if I didn’t wish it would happen again every time. I relive it.

I pull myself from my thoughts and roll out of bed. There is no way I’m getting back to sleep. I go into the bathroom and pull my shirt over my head. I turn towards the mirror and almost laugh at the thought of being with a man. What would he say or think when he pulled my shirt off? I step closer to the mirror and examine the twenty four scars that criss cross my chest and stomach. They are long but weren’t too deep. The one from when he stabbed me in my side is much smaller. The rest are at least six to seven inches long each, criss crossing each other like some twisted tic-tac-toe board on my body.

The doctor hopes that they will eventually fade enough that they’ll be less noticeable. I almost laugh again. How the hell could someone not notice these no matter how much they fade? For now they are still pink except the one on my side which is an angry red color. If I can barely stand to look at myself in the mirror how can I expect anyone else to want to look at me? I turn away from my reflection and step into the shower, and choose to pretend the tears falling from my eyes are just water.

******

Jax

“Fuck this!”Content bel0ngs to Nôvel(D)r/a/ma.Org.

I sling the covers off me, and smack the wall as I walk by into the bathroom. I undress and step into the shower. I haven’t slept for shit in six days. I’ve been working my ass off on a case at work trying to stop a string of break in’s in one of our upper class neighborhoods. All I can seem to think about for the last six days is pinning Lexie against my front door again. The guys are starting to realize something is going on, but I don’t think they’ve figured out it has to do with Lexie yet. Then again maybe they have, I don’t have a clue and don’t really care at this point.

I have no idea what to do. I refuse to get close to her. Why? So I can get my heart broken again? It doesn’t help how close she seems to have gotten with Carson. That just makes me even more convinced I’m making the right decision. He goes over to at least say hello to her every time. He comes over which is usually almost every day. My house has always been central station of our friendship. Carson and Dillon both are always in and out all the time. It doesn’t really matter to me, it keeps the quiet and emptiness of the house from getting to me.

This not sleeping worth a damn is starting to get to me. When I do sleep, most of the time I dream of what might have happened last week had we not been reminded of everyone outside. How far would we have gone? Part of me is pissed that I have that little control over myself, but another part of me that seems to be getting louder and louder everyday really wishes we wouldn’t have been interrupted so I would know. Every time I have the dream, which changes pretty often and has a lot of variations of what would have happened next, I wake up with a raging hard on that won’t allow me to go back to sleep. Last night I actually had a mother fuckin wet dream for the first time since I was seventeen. I’ve reverted to being a teenager for God’s sake!

What the fuck is wrong with me? Why is she having this effect on me? No other woman ever has. I haven’t even looked twice at a woman in four years, let alone thought about one. Why her? I never even lusted after Nicole this bad, and that’s what this is. Its lust, and nothing more.

“Fuck it,” I growl and reach down and grip myself as I picture Lexie’s beautiful face, Lips that are the softest that I’ve ever felt, and her midnight blue eyes looking at me with lust like they did last week.