Page 42 of Every Silent Lie

His hands move to my hair, his fingers weaving through the strands, his mouth trailing from one side of mine to the other, giving me brief moments of anticipation before he resumes his mind-spinning assault of my mouth. Feathery soft. Purposely slow. A submissive whimpers ripple through my body.

It's over too soon, despite it being the longest kiss I’ve shared with anyone. And the most passionate. And the most meaningful. Dec’s lips leave mine and rest on my forehead, his chest pressing into mine with his deep inhale. I sense relief. Feel it in myself too.

Suddenly, I have something that could possibly save me.

My heart is begging for that . . . to be saved. My mind is telling me not to be hasty. Don’t depend on anyone but myself.

Don’t be vulnerable.

Because I can’t take any more pain.

“To our first kiss,” he whispers across my skin, pulling back to find my eyes. I’m certain he must be faced with wonder.

And without another word, Dec collects up his jacket, drapes it over my shoulders again, and curls his arm around me, tucking me closely into his side. My belly feels like a swarm of butterflies have been let loose, and my skin tingles madly. I look up at him, in absolute awe.

You made me feel like this, Dec Ellis.

And I think I love you for it.

Jarred by my thoughts and the insane sense of tranquillity inside, I bury the side of my face into his chest, and we walk the rest of the way home in silence. No words are needed, not for now. We both seem content letting the impact of that kiss sink in. Contemplate it. I only pray I’m not alone in thinking that it was the most magical moment I’ve had. At least since?—

I swallow, fighting the pain back and the black cloud away.

Take this moment.

Because it’s the first time in too long that I’ve felt peace.

Camden is a hive of festive activity, the normal, expected Friday night drinkers coupled with Christmas shindigs and tourists at every turn making it impossible to walk in a straight line down the pavement. Every other person sports some kind of Christmas getup—a hat, reindeer antlers, a cup of mulled wine or a cone of roasted hazelnuts.

The smell of Christmas is like a deeply rooted splinter. Nothing can get it out, you just have to wait until it fucks off. A seasoned Londoner, Dec gets progressively more impatient and resorts to stepping into the road each time the traffic is clear, pulling me along, checking over his shoulder to make sure I’m keeping up.

My eyes are on his back and his back alone. Nothing else exists.

But there comes a point when we have no choice but to cross the pavement when we’re approaching the turning to my street. I clutch Dec’s hand tighter as he assesses the pedestrian traffic, looking for a gap in the crowd for us to dip through. And when he sees one, he takes off, pulling me through the madness. I feel his coat slip from my shoulders and try in vain to grab it with my spare hand. “Dec,” I say, not nearly loud enough for him to hear me over the Christmas tracks booming from the pub on the corner. I look back, cringing when I see his coat on the damp ground being trampled by the stampede. “Dec!” I tug my hand from his and turn to rescue his beautiful wool coat, but immediately get swarmed, people bumping into me, knocking me, happy faces turning grumpy when I get in the way. “Shit.” I circle, losing my bearings, feeling a sweat sprinkling my forehead. My eyes on the ground, I try to overcome the panic attack threatening, the old familiar sense of suffocation getting me. My heart beats too fast, my palms clam up, my neck burns, no doubt turning bright red.

Oh God.

“There you are.”

My feet disappear from beneath me, and I’m suddenly bobbing up and down, draped across a pair of hard, strong arms. I swiftly remember to breath and take in air urgently, clinging to his neck as he fights his way through.

We break free of the hustle, being spat out of the chaos onto the bottom of my street, and Dec sets me on my heels, checking me over, as if making sure I’m still in one piece. I would never have taken that route without him. I would have diverted around everything busy and Christmassy. “Your coat,” I breathe, reaching for my shoulders as if to demonstrate it’s not there.

“I don’t care about the coat.” Picking up my hands off my shoulders, he holds them between us. “I care about you.”

“You do?” I ask on a breathy whisper, my panic wilting under the force of my hope.

“Are you that numb you haven’t felt it yet?”

He’s not particularly emotional, doesn’t give much away, but I can read him. I hear him. Feel him. Sense him when he’s close.

“No,” I admit. “Because I don’t feel numb around you.”

He shudders with his exhale, nodding as if in understanding, though I know he couldn’t possibly. Dec is together. Stable. He’s everything I want to be but can’t.

Silently, he tucks me into his side and walks me slowly down the street, and my heart sinks with every step in the knowledge that my time with him is coming to an end again. I’m no longer anticipating a martini at my lips and a stranger as my distraction. My vice has changed. Now, it’s becoming a matter of surviving in between the interludes of Dec.

Outside my building, he turns me to face him and takes his time conjuring up whatever it is he wants to say. So when his simply lifts my hand and kisses the back before wandering off, I’m more than confused.