Calico (17 page)

Fire courses through me, wild and unstoppable. I want to leap out of the bed and slap him so hard that his head pops off his shoulders like a rock ‘em sock ‘em robot. How dare he make what happened to me about him. I was the one who got hurt. I was the one who suffered in silence. I was the one who lived with the fear and the panic and the nightmares. “I
saved
you from it,” I hiss. “I didn’t tell you so you wouldn’t have to worry. I didn’t want—”

I stop short when a tear streaks down Callan’s face. I’m completely and utterly stunned. Callan angrily wipes the tear away from his cheek with the back of his hand, scowling. “You had no right. You made me feel worthless. I didn’t need saving from the truth, Coralie. I needed to know you were okay, and all that time you
weren’t
. That was basically my fault.” He stands, scrubbing his hands over his face. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry, okay? Sorry I sold that picture of you. Sorry I didn’t see the truth when it was probably staring me in the face. I was so caught up with taking care of Mom that maybe I wasn’t seeing things as clearly as they were back then. But don’t ever pretend that we weren’t for real, Coralie. Don’t ever pretend that what we felt wasn’t a lifelong, consuming, powerful thing, because I know you still fucking feel it.”

“How? How the hell do you think you know that about me, Callan?” I can hardly speak. I feel like screaming at him, pounding my fists against his chest, but I don’t have the energy. My pain overtakes me, bringing tears to my own eyes. I rail against them—I don’t want to be weak—but this moment has been a long time coming. I might as well be trying to turn back the sands of time.
 

“
Because
!” Callan snatches up a box from the top of his desk and tosses it onto the bed. The lid slides off, and inside there are stacks and stacks of pictures of us together, holding hands, kissing, pictures of me sleeping, me laughing, me poking my tongue out… so many pictures. “I wake up sometimes and I can’t fucking breathe, Coralie. Just like you do. I walk down the street and I see you everywhere. Just like you see me. I find myself inside some woman I just fucking met and it’s your mouth I feel on mine, your hands I feel on my body, your voice I hear calling out my fucking name. You can’t tell me that you’re not imagining me inside you every single goddamn time you have sex with someone else, Coralie. You just can’t, because I
know
it’s not true.” He paces up and down, running his hands through his hair, his eyes unblinking, fixed on the floor in front of him.
 

If I tell him he’s right, it will be like admitting something final and terrible to myself. Admitting that I’m never going to move on from him, no matter where I am or who I’m with. I will always need him. I’m not ready to do that.
 

“It’s not…not true, Callan. I’m sorry.”

Callan quits pacing, turning to stare at me. He looks like he’s growing frustrated. “Again,” he says. “Again, I call bullshit.”

“We’re not in high school anymore, Cal.”

“I’m fully aware of that.”

“Then you can’t just call bullshit.”

“I can. If you don’t still love me, Coralie, what the fuck are you doing here? Why did you let yourself into the house and get into my fucking bed, where you knew I’d find you?”

I fling back the covers, jumping up so I can stand face to face with him. “I came here to ask you to leave, okay? I don’t want you here. I don’t need you here. You’re…”

He steps closer, so that his chest is pressed flush against mine. “I’m
what
?” he growls.

“
You’re making this harder. Even harder than it has to be!
”

He sighs, bowing his head slightly. He’s so much taller than me. Always has been. He seems bigger now, though, somehow more imposing. I feel like he could absorb me if he really wanted to, fold me up into his arms and press me into him until there was nothing of me left. “You’re doing that all by yourself, Coralie Taylor,” he whispers. “Fighting is
hard
. Being angry is
hard
. Hating yourself and hating me is
hard
. And you know what? Lying to yourself is hard, too, because you know the truth as well as I do. Refusing to admit that to yourself must be the most difficult thing of all.”

“Fuck you, Callan.” I slap my hands against his chest, trying to push him away, but he grabs hold of me by the wrists. “Let me go.”

He slowly shakes his head from side to side. “I made that mistake once already, bluebird. I won’t be making it again.”

“Then what, you’re going to kidnap me? Chain me to your damn bed and force me to love you?” I try to pull away again, but he has a firm hold on me. If it were anyone else restraining me like this, I would be a screaming wreck right now. I’d be kneeing him in the balls and looking for something sharp and pointy to stab him with.
 

“Quit it,” Callan snaps. “That’s enough. If you really didn’t want to be here, you wouldn’t have come in the first place. And you knew before you even stepped foot inside the house that
I
wasn’t going anywhere. There was no way you seriously thought I was going to leave. So that means you just wanted
me
.”

“You’re dreaming! Oh my god, you are actually delusional. I don’t want you.” I can’t believe he even thinks that. He must have developed a pretty decent drug habit back in New York and be high as fuck right now to have even contemplated that.
 

Callan looks down at me, his eyes sparking with fury and something far more frightening. “Then why is your whole body shaking right now? Why can I feel your heart hammering in your chest? And don’t tell me it’s because you’re angry. Don’t fucking lie to me anymore.”

I look down at myself and see that he’s right. Callan’s still holding onto me, but he’s barely applying pressure anymore. My hands are trembling like crazy, along with my arms and legs, and the rest of me too. I feel like I can’t catch a damn breath.
 

“Tell me what you’re feeling.
Right now
. What are you feeling, Coralie?”

“I’m—I’m just—” I can’t even think straight. It’s really unfair of him to be doing this to me. “I don’t want to—”

“I know you don’t want to do this. I’m not an idiot. But I’m done feeling like shit, okay? And I’m done wondering where the both of us would be if we just gave in and we were vulnerable for just five fucking seconds. So admit it. Just tell me what you’re feeling.”

I’m rethinking that knee to the balls right now. I imagine how satisfying the swift upward motion would feel when Callan sinks like a stone to his bedroom floor. Only, when I imagine it, it doesn’t feel satisfying at all. It feels unjustified and reckless, not to mention pointless. Ever since I left Port Royal, hardening my heart, becoming strong, coping with everything that went down here, has been my sole focus. I haven’t had time for anything else. Right now, I’m losing it; Callan is taking a wrecking ball to the high brick wall I’ve spent so long constructing, and it feels like it’s all about to come crashing down.
 

“I feel…
lost
,” I whisper. “I hurt. I hurt so much.” I look up into the face of the man who stole my heart so long ago, and I know without a doubt that I’m still deeply in love with him. It’s a crippling realization—one I’ve been denying for so long. Callan’s expression is fierce, protective and possessive all at once. How can he feel this way after so long? How can he still want to love me? Or even be near me after everything we both put each other through?
 

“I hurt, too,” he says quietly. “But you have the ability to make that hurt stop, bluebird. Just like I can take your pain away. Every last scrap of it. I won’t rest until the past is dead and buried and you’re happy, if you let me. Please. Please…please just
let
me.”

If I were even vaguely sane right now, I’d say no and bolt out of the house before he could stop me. It would be the safest, smartest thing for me to do. And yet, I don’t want to. I’m so sick of trying so hard. I’m so sick of fighting against every wish and desire I have. I’m so sick of pretending I’m not still completely lost to this man, and I’m so damn sick of being without him. Slowly, filled with terror and relief, I let my body fall slack against him. With my forehead resting against the broad span of his chest, I let out a deep sigh that feel like it comes from the very depths of my soul.
 

“I don’t know
how
to let you,” I whisper. “Not anymore.” I almost lock up again when Callan lets go of my wrists. His hands rise slowly, until he’s cupping my face in his palms. He doesn’t make me look at him. He lets me lean into him, and the warmth from his hands grounds me, brings me back to many other places and times where he did the same thing. It’s almost as if I can feel the love pouring out of him and into my body, and it strikes me that it’s a reprieve I don’t deserve.
 

“It’s easy.” My temple burns where Callan places his mouth against my skin. His lips graze against me as he talks low and soft. “Just let go. Stop fighting. Stop working so hard to hate me. Hating me feels safe, I know, but loving me would be so much better. How can anything terrible come from something so beautiful? The way I love you feels beautiful to me, bluebird. It doesn’t make me scared. It doesn’t make me angry, or make me feel cheated. Loving you is just part of what makes me who I am. I knew that the moment I met you, and you did, too.”

I close my eyes. He makes it sound so easy, like being with him would be as simple as breathing, but how can it be? I need to tell him that I have to go home. I need to tell him that I’m serious, that I do really want him to leave Port Royal, for my sake. How, though?
 
I feel like I’m home for the first time in years. Tiny electrical sparks of panic bite at me when I think about him letting me go.
 

“I’m going to kiss you soon, bluebird,” Callan whispers into my hair. “And if you don’t stop me, I’m going to touch you. I’m going to take your clothes from your body and I’m going to kiss every single inch of you. I want to feel you melt for me. I want to feel your body sing for me. I don’t expect to fuck you. I won’t be inside you. I’ll leave all of my clothes on if that makes you feel better. I just need to hold you, and feel your skin under my hands.”

“I don’t think—”

“I’m kissing you now.” Callan leans down slowly, tipping my face up to his,giving me time to flip out and pull back, but I’m trapped, glued to one spot, unable to operate my body, unable to do anything but stand very still as he lowers his mouth to mine. I feel dazed. Breathless. Exhilarated. I feel so many emotions at once, all churning through me, jostling for attention. Everything fades to background noise when he places his lips lightly over mine, though. Callan has grown into a man. He’s taller, broader, more muscular than he was before, and yet he still tastes the same. He still kisses me with the same fierce intensity that used to make my toes curl.

I want to cry.
 

I’ve been missing this for so very long. As he moves his mouth over mine, his full lips applying the most delicious pressure, I choke back a sob, trying not to fall apart. Callan huffs gently as he wraps his arms around me, holding me to him.
 

This is so strange. I gave up on wanting this. I thought it would never happen again. It’s surreal that he’s holding me right now, kissing me, making me feel like this, when I thought I’d never even see him again. Callan makes good on his word and slowly begins to strip me of my clothes. My shirt is first to go. Helping him undress me seems like I’m encouraging him, but then again I could hardly try and stop him as the sheer material slips over my head.
 

Callan makes a deep, guttural groaning sound as he leans back and drinks in my body. No man has ever looked at me like this before. There have been times when I’ve felt like I’m invisible, in fact, especially with Ben. He doesn’t seem to see me at all. Right now, Callan’s eyes are feasting on me like I’m the most exotic delicacy known to man, and he can’t get enough.
 

“Shit, Coralie. I need you naked. Right fucking
now
.” He grabs hold of me, his hands working fast as he undoes my jeans and yanks them down my legs, almost lifting me so he can pull the material from my body. I’m in my underwear then, standing still as can be, wondering what the hell he’s going to do next. Is he actually going to rip my bra and my panties from my body, the same way he did my other clothes? The Callan I used to know would have, but he would have been kind of shy about it. This Callan is new to me, a complete mystery. He’s a man. He doesn’t seem intimidated or scared of anything. He’s heady and intoxicating, driving me crazy without even touching me properly. The way he looks down at me is enough. Jesus, the look in his eyes is tantamount to criminal. No woman could possibly resist him like this. He’s pure, raw sex. I’m at a serious disadvantage. I’m still so angry at him, I can feel it boiling away inside me,somewhere in the background, but fuck. It’s barely noticeable over the deafening roar of my need.

Callan hooks his fingers underneath my bra straps, watching me, unblinking, eyes dark and bottomless. He runs his hands back over my shoulders, underneath the straps, over my shoulder blades, until he reaches the catch at the back. I stop breathing. He used to spend hours unsnapping the catch on my bra; he used to think it was hilarious, especially if we were at school. He doesn’t fumble it now. It pops open at his first touch, barely resisting him. My breasts spring free, my bra sliding away as Callan guides it from my body.
 

“Fuck, Coralie. You’re even more beautiful than I remember.” His voice sounds strained, barely more than a whisper, but I can hear his desire, thick and heavy.
 

“I’m the same,” I tell him. “I haven’t changed.”

Shaking his head, Callan carefully reaches out to touch my nipples. He squeezes softly, making my breath catch in my throat. “You have. I have, too. We both have. We’re not the same people we were before, bluebird.”

I don’t know if he’s right or if he’s wrong. I don’t know if it’s for the better or for the worse. All I know is that my body still knows his, still recognizes and wants him in a way like no other. He ducks down and takes my nipple into his mouth, stroking his tongue over the tightened flesh, and my head spins.