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twenty-seven

Peace

Noah, almost two years later

" H ow about right here?"

"That's fine."

"Are you sure you're not going to be mad at me? It's going to be really short."

"I said it's fine, Tate. Just cut it."

"Okay…"

He pulls my hair tight in his fist and cuts through it with the kitchen shears.

"There," Tate says. "It's done." He drops the fist full of dark brown hair into the small garbage can beneath the bathroom sink.

I shake out my chin-length hair in front of the mirror. There's still a bit of brown in the front near the ends, but for the first time in years, it's blonde again. My cheeks are full again; there are no bags under my eyes. I have color back in my face. The freckles I spent so many years hiding under makeup are on full display, deeper and more plentiful than ever, thanks to a summer spent outdoors. Not that it gets particularly hot—but with about twenty hours of sunlight, the days are long, and the sun at this latitude can be intense .

For the first time in years, I'm looking at my reflection, and the girl staring back at me is someone I recognize.

"How do you feel?" he asks.

"Good," I tell him. "I feel really good."

"You look good. You look happy."

I wrap my arms around the back of his neck. "I am happy," I say before bringing my lips to his. "Your hair is longer than mine now."

"Do you want to cut mine, too?" he asks.

"No way. Never."

"Yeah, I don't think never is going to work for me."

"It works for me, though." I pat his face lightly before leaving the bathroom.

I slip on my shoes and walk out the front door, rounding the side of the cabin toward the backyard.

My happy place.

I have a decent-sized garden of root vegetables and leafy greens, two chickens in my coop, and even a cellar we built where we store our homemade berry wines and whiskey, grow mushrooms, and make other medicinal items for our community.

In a way, I still grew up and became a mad scientist, after all. And I did grow up—I'm not stuck at eighteen anymore, I don't have nightmares. I dream of Mia sometimes, and it's always pleasant. Sometimes, it's a relief, and I wake up grateful that my subconscious still remembers her face.

I barely remember my mom's face.

"I can get that for you," Tate says as I pull open the door to the cellar .

"I don't need your help."

"I know you don't," he tells me, opening the other door, anyway.

I smile a little before walking down the staircase. It's funny—I knew I wasn't healthy before, but I really had no idea how weak I was and how much pain I was in until the day I realized I didn't feel it anymore. I'm stronger than I've ever been.

I finally started getting periods again about a year ago. I've been tracking my cycle naturally and staying away from Silas a few days out of the month. While I'm not saying never, I am absolutely saying not right now, which he says he respects but also admits he's been too obsessed with the idea of getting me pregnant for too long to be trusted in the moment.

I realize there's something about that I should find creepy as fuck, and I probably would if it were anyone else, but not when it's him. For whatever reason, when it rolls off the tongue of the guy who killed my mom and forced me into cannibalism, it's sweet .

Like my wines. Like everything else he says.

My ankle still bothers me when the barometric pressure is high, and it's high today. I roll it out when I reach the bottom of the staircase.

The cellar is a small space, and just deep enough for Silas to stand without needing to duck. I run my fingers along the green glass bottles lining the shelves, stopping when I find one of my blackberry wines.

"Hey, get me one of those, too."

I frown. "You can't get mean!" I shout up the staircase. "Last time you drank wine, you got mean."

"I'm not going to get mean."

Sighing, I grab two bottles and head back up the staircase.

"Here," I say, handing him a bottle. "Don't say I never gave you anything."

"Well, I wouldn't ever say that."

"Thank you."

"You give me a headache…regularly. A lot of anxiety, too. Historically, you've contributed to my own self-loathing and a violent mental breakdown."

I scoff. "Okay, well, I take it back then. No, thank you to all of that."

"I'm kidding, mostly." He grabs me by what's left of my hair and pulls me into his side. "You know I love you."

He kisses my cheek and wraps an arm around my waist.

"Yeah, I know."

We take our wine back inside, leaving the front door open so the cool summer breeze fills the space. Tate turns on the radio and sits on the couch.

He's gotten really into AM radio shows over the past year. And even though he's used to it, he still doesn't love silence or sitting still. I wonder what goes through his head these days when it gets quiet, but if he's bothered, he doesn't tell us. And if he's still haunted, he doesn't show it.

I sit on the floor between his legs and drink from my wine bottle.

"Silas should be back by now. "

"You always do this. Silas is the last person you need to worry about out there."

"Well, you're the only people I really care about. Why would I worry about anyone else first?"

"You know what I mean," he says, combing my hair with his fingers. "There's nothing to worry about."

"Maybe I have abandonment issues."

"Maybe you're the one who needs to cut back on the wine," Tate says. "You need to relax. Why don't you come sit on my lap?"

I take another swig from the bottle and set it on the coffee table.

"Why don't you come down here and make me?"

I smile, waiting, and when I feel him shift, I quickly scurry away on all fours. I scream when he grabs me by the ankle and pulls me to the ground. He climbs on top of me, pinning my thighs to the ground with his knees, and pulls my tank top over my head, leaving my chest bare.

"You knew how this was going to end." He removes his shirt and tosses it aside, revealing a lean, muscled chest and torso, covered in black ink.

Tossing the shirt aside, Tate lies on top of me, his lips engulfing mine while his right hand runs up my thigh, hitching my leg around his waist. He rolls his hips, grinding his hard cock between my legs while his tongue tangles with my own and his fingers toy with my nipple.

I reach between us, opening the front of his jeans, and take him in my hand while he thrusts against me.

"You are so fucked," he says against my lips.

"I want to taste you," I tell him.

I roll until he's the one on his back and then I pull his jeans and boxers down his hips. His dick springs free, and I pump it in my fist, watching precum leak from the tip before I lick it clean and take him in my mouth, hallowing my cheeks around him as I work him from base to tip.

"Fuck, that feels good." He grabs a handful of my hair, gripping it tightly while thrusting up into my mouth. It takes me off guard, and I choke a little. Tears leak from the corner of my eyes.

"I can't help it," he says. "It feels too good. And you look too fucking pretty when your eyes water, baby."

I look up at him with the same watery eyes, squeezing my thighs together as I suck and swirl my tongue around the tip.

"Fuck…" he groans. "You're gonna make me come."

"Couldn't wait for me, huh?"

Silas kneels shirtless behind me, leaning over to stroke my cheek while I take Tate in my mouth. Between the open door and the radio, I didn't even hear him come in.

I let the tip fall from my lips, and Tate groans in frustration. "You're late," I tell Silas.

And I missed him. He leans down and kisses me on the lips.

Love doesn't look the same for everyone. This is what it looks like for me. And I don't really care where that came from anymore or if it was ever wrong. I finally let myself get comfortable, and we live in peace, just like Silas promised we would. Nothing else matters anymore.

"Too horny to wait," Tate says. He uses his grip on my hair to guide my mouth back to his dick. "Open. Don't stop." I do as he asks, taking him back in my mouth, and he moans. "There you go."

"How many times do you need to get your dick sucked and fucked in a day, Tate?" Silas asks.

"At least twice for my health," he says. "But more is always better."

Silas grabs the back of my head and pushes me down hard on Tate's cock, holding me there while my eyes water again. "I'm living with two sluts," he says. "That's a good look for you, baby. You should slow down; I want him to last a while." He grabs the waistband of my shorts and underwear and pulls them off of me. "I want to watch him squirm while I fuck you."

I slow my pace as instructed, eagerly waiting on my hands and knees for his dick, my soaked pussy bared and legs spread.

"That's a good girl," Silas says. "Suck every inch of it, nice and slow. Look at how he's clenching his teeth. You should play with his balls, too."

I cup his balls, and Tate hisses through his teeth.

Finally, I feel the head of Silas's dick against my pussy. He teases me with it, running it over my clit and through my wetness, and I arch my back in anticipation.

In one swift motion, he pushes inside me, my entire body humming with pleasure as he fills me.

I cry out, the sound buried around Tate's dick, vibrating around him.

"Fuck!" Tate shouts, thrusting into my throat again.

"None of that, Tate," Silas says, rocking his hips into me. "Let go of her hair. God, you got so fucking wet sucking his dick, baby."

I moan again, and he settles into a rhythm I use to set the pace with my mouth. And Tate does squirm beneath me on the floor; he's fighting the urge to use his hands on my head, and it's driving him fucking crazy.

"I need to come," Tate says. "I'm so close."

"What do you think, Noah?" Silas asks, picking up the pace. "Has Tate been a good boy?"

I curl my toes and dig my nails into Tate's thighs, my own orgasm within reach. "Mmhmm," I say around the tip of his cock.

"You can suck him all the way off, then, baby."

I pick up the pace, bobbing my head on Tate's dick with each quick, brutal thrust of Silas's hips. Tate lifts his hips and thrusts into my lips again, moaning while I suck him. I taste salty cum on the back of my tongue as his cock jumps, and he grabs me by my hair again, holding me in place while he fills my mouth.

"Oh, fuck! Oh god, you're a slut."

"A good little slut," Silas says as he drills into me from behind. "You take all that cum in your mouth, baby."

After he's empty, he lets his cock fall from my mouth, tilts my chin up, and says, "Show it to me."

I whimper, my pussy pulsing, and open my mouth to show him. Cum drips down my chin and lips, and he scoops some of it out with his finger. "Swallow now."

"Stick out your tongue," he says to Silas.

Behind me, Silas licks Tate's fingers clean.

"Silas…" I whimper. "Silas, I'm gonna come."

I hear the two of them kissing before Tate slips his hand between my legs, rubbing my clit while Silas pumps into me .

"Oh, fuck!" I scream, exploding on contact. My clit throbs and my pussy clenches around Silas's dick while I come hard, attempting to dig my nails into the wood floors.

Silas groans, tightening his hold on my hips until his fingertips dig into my skin. I gasp, falling onto my elbows.

"Look at you," Tate says, running his fingertips down my spine. "Still coming, aren't you? You know what? I'm getting hard again. And you know how he likes to see you full of cum."

"Fuck…" Silas rasps.

"What?" Tate asks. "You like the idea of me fucking your cum further inside of her when you're done?"

Silas groans loudly, losing his pace and fucking me in short, slow bursts while he comes. He finally stills, sucking a breath through his teeth as he pulls out.

"Lie down on your back," he says. "Keep your knees together."

I lie back and watch Silas take Tate's dick in his fist, pumping him until he's fully erect again.

"Put it in your mouth," Tate says. He sits on the coffee table and spreads his legs, holding the base of his dick. "Suck on me."

Kneeling in front of him, Silas lowers his mouth onto Tate's cock. I watch his head fall back, his jaw slack and eyes half-closed in ecstasy as Silas sucks him.

"Oh, fuck yes," Tate says. When he starts fucking into Silas's mouth, he pulls away.

"Nuh uh," Silas says, wiping his mouth with his wrist. "You fuck my cum into her like you promised. I want to see it."

Tate kneels on the floor in front of me. "Open your legs now, baby. "

Beside him, Silas strokes his wet dick in his hand, hardening as he watches with anticipation.

I spread my legs, and Tate holds me by the back of my thighs while he thrusts his dick inside me. My toes curl, goose bumps run down my spine as he slides his cock in and out of me. I close my eyes and moan, my jaw going slack.

"Jesus, that's wet," he says. "Hope you have the mop ready—she's going to be dripping everywhere she goes once we're done with her."

"Not if she can't walk," Silas says before I feel his cock against my lips. "Open wide, baby."

It's going to be a long night. My favorite kind.

And after, when we finally lie down, we all sleep in my room, because the sun is still up, and I don't have a window. I'm tired and sore, but somehow, after everything, whole again.

I guess I like the ones where the bad guys get away, too.