“Sara?” I frowned. At first I thought she was crying, the shock finally wearing off, giving her the release she perhaps needed, but I studied the part of her face I could see, her cheek; it was a little pale with delicate sprinkle of freckles yet bone dry. Her eyes had been puffy when I’d first saw her, but as the evening drew on, sitting with her, not letting her out of my sight, I thought it strange she hadn’t broken down. She was stronger than I’d originally given her credit for.
Her hands came up to her arms and her teeth began chattering loudly. I took a step closer.
“No, don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t hug me.” Her eyes were sad but defiant. I shrugged off the puzzlement and slipped out of my thick, warm jacket instead.
She flinched, but stood with her feet planted as I placed it over her smaller but curvy form so that it fell around her. I waited patiently as she slithered her arms through the sleeves, and we began to walk again, making our way silently towards the exit. This time it was me who gave a light shiver from the frostiness of the night. I threw my head back and studied the millions of stars showcasing themselves while we waited for my driver to bring the car around. Their bright shapes glinted against the darkness of the sky. Sara looked, too, and I wondered what she was thinking. Did they give her hope or make her feel small and helpless? She used to be a glass half full kind of girl; I wasn’t too sure now.
It wasn’t long before the black car made an appearance. I opened the passenger door, and she slid in obediently, cramming herself into the far corner, clutching at my jacket.
“You OK?” I asked after a minute. What a stupid fucking question, you idiot.
She whipped around to face me and nodded, muttering a quiet and yet broken “yes” under her breath. I took that as my cue to stay quiet.
Once we arrived at her modest, four-bed semi-detached I helped her out, placed a hand on the small of her back and guided her towards the stairs that led up to the door. She hesitated at the threshold, wobbly, her knees threatening to buckle beneath her. I took the keys from her purse and opened the door.
Unmoving, like a mime frozen in time, she peered into the gloom of the house. There were no lights to welcome her home and certainly she must’ve realised, the fact hitting her again and again, no husband, either.
“I can’t,” she muttered. “I thought I could do it, but now that I’m here, I just can’t go in.”
I nodded from behind her and placed my hands upon her shoulders, but like a scared cat she almost bolted. I withdrew. I hated myself for thinking it, but it’d been a long time I’d had any woman flinch from my touch, and I didn’t like it one bit.
“It’s OK, you can do this,” I replied and willed her to trust me.
Taking her hand, this time not letting go when she tried to shake me free, I stepped inside and looked at her, still standing on the outside step.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of, I promise. I’m right here with you.”
Her wary green eyes searched mine, deciding what she should do, perhaps trying to detect if I was full of shit or not. But finally she nodded, and her foot moved forward.
“Here,” I said, pushing the glass into her hand. “Drink this while I make you dinner.”
Sara took the drink from my hand and downed it thirstily. I went back to the kitchen and grabbed what I could from her almost bare fridge. I glanced at my watch; it was too late to order in, but she was in luck. Amongst the bottles of condiments there were enough ingredients to make what could pass for a semi-nutritional sandwich.
When I went back, plate in hand, her head was lowered onto the armrest of the couch. Occasionally her eyelids blinked to let me know she was still awake. I placed the food on the coffee table and crouched down to her, the light from the kitchen illuminating the side of her face. She’d insisted on keeping the living room lights off, and I’d agreed.
“I forgot to go to the shops,” she muttered after a quick glance at the plate.
“Shh, it’s ok.”
My thumb gently smoothed over her forehead as she peered back into nothingness.
Fuck. I was so out of my depth. I had no clue what I could do to make it better or at least bearable for her. It was clear she didn’t want me holding her; I was already pushing it by stroking back her hair.
Suddenly she started speaking. A torrent of words falling from her mouth as if they’d been bottled up, desperately waiting for their chance to escape the pressurised canister. “I’ve tried to tell myself that everything’s going to be OK, that I can make a life for myself and go back to the way it used to be, but I know it won’t be the same. Not when Eric’s gone and left me. Left me. It sounds so stupid when I say it like that. As he’s just popped to the corner shop for a bottle of milk and a daily newspaper and decided not to come back.” She paused for a second, then her face twisted with rage. “How could he do this? I just don’t understand how any of this can happen.”
“You can’t process it all in one night. It’s going to take time,” I soothed as I watched her plump mouth begin to tremble. I opened my arms, the most natural thing I could ever do, inviting her in, and she fell into them, no longer resisting. I ran my hand up her back, wanting to reduce the pain she was feeling.
“Everything’s going to be fine,” I reassured her, though I cursed myself straightaway for letting myself say the hollow, meaningless words. There was no guarantee that it would all turn out OK, that she’d wake up and life would be a bed of fucking roses.
“H-how?” she gulped. Breaking away from my hold, she stared up at me as if I had the answers.
But I couldn’t bring myself to deliver the cold hard truth I was thinking. That she was fucked—a widow past her prime… Granted, she wasn’t much younger than I, but in this day and age, she might as well take up knitting right there and then and be done with it.
“Don’t worry about it, Sara. Everything’s going to be fine,” I repeated, knowing full well that tomorrow could bring another shit storm to her door. Shit had a way of pilling up in threes.
Taking my word for it, she fell back against my chest, and I manoeuvred my body to sit beside her on the couch. Her fingers were taut, coiled into small fists around my shirt.
I stayed like that, holding onto her until she fell into a deep sleep, my arms curled firmly around her soft body. Her curves lined up against my straight lines, filling the gaps. I was not a cuddler; I didn’t let the women I slept with stick around long enough to get any false ideas, but having Sara nestled into my body, well, she felt so fucking good in my arms. It felt right, as if I’d been missing something, and she was the puzzle piece that magically slotted into place. I dismissed the thought as soon as it had come. Somehow, I was subconsciously aware that I was entering dangerous territory.
I craned my neck and saw that she was sleeping peacefully. Her chest rose and fell in steady increments.
I gradually slid from under her, not wanting to disturb her or accidentally wake her up and bring her attention to the growing bulge in my pants. I cursed myself.
Fuck knows what was wrong with me. I shouldn’t be excited over a grieving widow, let along my stepsister. It wasn’t as if I was experiencing a sex drought; I’d had my fill that evening. And yet there I was with Sara’s warm body pressed up against me—a sick puppy, horny as fuck.
I stood watching Sara sleep. She was blissfully unaware of the inappropriate thoughts running through my head… ones that I was allowing to run wild. I should be cursed and damned for wanting to see how she looked naked. But she’s not your type! I roared inwardly, trying to make myself see sense.