Also note: The posting for this series is not in chronological order
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I walk into his room with walls covered every inch with guitars. My fingers sweep across the glossy edge of a Gibson and I let out the breath I’m holding, ‘It’s beautiful.’ In the back corner where there are no guitars is a ceiling tall mahogany shelf of nothing but Cd's. My back faces him while I scan CD covers with my eyes, searching for anything recognisable to my limited musical knowledge. I feel a warm chuckle tingle my right ear and realises that he leaning into me. Reaching to grab an album to my interest. My head turns a little to see him better and our lips almost brush. Heart pounding, I pull back for some distance with an awkward apology rushing out of my mouth.
All of a sudden, I’m pushed against the shelf, my head knocking on the wooden panels. Before I could utter an ‘Ouch’ his lips are upon my own. His soft honey lips forceful and non-stopping; pressing me further into the shelf with CD covers digging into my spine. I haven’t felt such ferociousness in a long time. I’m not ready. His butterscotch scent that usually calms me were smothering and choking me. The insides of my throat clench and I gasp as his tongue dance kisses down my neck and onto the soft of my breasts. This feeling is too strong. It’s too familiar for all the wrong reasons. I’m scared. And he stops as salty tears linger on his taste buds. Finally, Adrian looks up at me. His eyes no longer clouded and he seems to be slightly horror struck. He straightens up, his large hand combing his hair restlessly, ‘Shit. Shit.’ He picks up my whimpering self and curls me into his lap. He strokes my head as he whispers apologies, ‘I’m sorry Little One.’
And he simply lets me rest on his knees. While he ties little plaits into my hair, I watch as the sun dances dust in our growing shadows. I let the repetition of his fingers and the soft murmuring of his voice lure me into the safe haven of sleep. In my dream, there was nothing but clouds of pixie dust and promises of No Entry signs. Where girls are not meat to eat or dance floors to tread upon.
I open my eyes to find myself in the warmth of thick blankets and the smell of butterscotch dripping onto my tongue. His whole bed lingers with his scent. I sit up and see Adrian playing on that aging guitar of his. Lover. That’s what he called it. He smiles as he sees me, ‘I called your room-mate before to tell her that you’ll be staying over. I hope that’s alright?’ He sits on the edge of the bed as I search his eyes, deciding whether or not to tell him. Should I or should I not? He kisses the crown of my head and asks what he should cook for dinner. I don’t reply. He stands up and settled on making me lasagna to warm up my insides. But before he could walk away, my small hand trembles as it clutches the hem of his shirt.
‘Adrian, wait. I have something to tell you.’