He pulls back slowly, gauging my reaction, searching my face.

Exhaling shakily I bring my lip between my teeth. A couple of beats pass and he goes to say something else. I don't think… I just do. I close the gap between us again; lips tentatively brushing against his, feather-light and then firmer when he responds.

Slow, heated, a little messy, his tongue on mine when I open to him, my hands wrapping around his neck when he stands fully, walking me a step back and pushing me gently against the table. His hands wander, cupping my face and then curling fingertips into my hips, pulling me closer, making this noise in his throat that sends tremors down my spine.

It's like before never happened. It's like we're in this little bubble of me and him and nothing else outside of it matters. We just are. This just is.

He brushes thumbs over the top of my breasts, over the delicate lace where my nipples are. Mouths moving with a little more direction, a little more urgency and it's so… so fucking good; I whimper.

Trailing his mouth across my cheek to my jaw, down my neck, grazing teeth against skin, he finds a point he likes, tongue darting out to taste flesh, sucking, bruising. I shiver, head lolled to the side.

"If I were a better man, I'd stop," he says with a heavy sigh.

"Don't be one then," I tell him, desire burning hot. I want this; I want him; an ache between my legs, begging to be soothed. Pressing his forehead against mine he lowers his mouth to kiss me deeply again.

He groans and then he tears himself away. Hands squeezing my waist. "I want you," he admits quietly. "So fuckin' bad."

I don't want to sound as desperate as I feel, so I'm silent, watching him as he wars with himself, eyes burning into mine. He can't help himself though, to my relief, and his mouth moves to cover mine again, unhurried, with so much intensity, I feel like I could drown in it.

He groans gutturally, hands pushing denim up roughly, lifting me onto the table, gripping bare thighs as he slides in between my legs. Our kisses become fraught, fingers trailing anticipation as my legs hook around the back of his and he presses himself, hard, right where I want him. Fingers slide under my skirt finding the edges of tiny lace panties, starting to pull them away, my own fumbling with the button of his jeans.

A phone blares suddenly, the ringtone jarring.

We both freeze.

Miles swears loudly, leaving me panting into his chest.

"I gotta get this," he says, apologetically, digging in his back pocket and bringing out his cell, sliding it open.

"Yeah?" he says, annoyed, still gripping my waist with his spare hand, finding the belt loops on my skirt and tugging at them.

Someone's speaking fast on the other end. Miles' silent, expression blank.

"Yeah, I know."

My hand reaches out to touch his skin, and I smile when he tenses under my fingertips, leisurely tracing patterns over his abs, up towards his pecks and then down low just above the waistband of his boxers. He shudders, his dick twitching through his jeans and I can't contain my smirk.

"Well, we told him, didn't we? So sort it out, Ben, stop bein' a fuckin' pussy!" He pauses, listening, before he speaks again. "Can't it wait?" he says and glances down at me. He listens intently, his hand leaving my waist and pinching the bridge of his nose, and then grimacing in pain as he remembers his face is fucked up. "Are you fuckin' kidding me? Fine. Fine. I'll be there, gimmie an hour."

Pause.

"Yeah, you are… Piss off, man!" He snaps his cell closed, tossing it on the table. "Fuck," he curses again and pulls his beer towards him, taking a swig.

Whatever moment we were in has gone.

Miles screws his face up, and then winces, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck and hanging his head against mine with a regretful sigh.

"You gotta go?" I say, a little lost.

"Yeah," he looks down at me, bringing a hand under my chin, a soft kiss on tender lips. "Believe me, I don't wanna go anywhere right now."

I know that because I don't want to go anywhere right now either.

"Stay," he says after a beat.

I don't need to think.

I just tell him yes.

***

He leaves after changing his clothes; the loss of his presence more noticeable then I want it to be. I don't know why it makes such a difference but after everything tonight; I feel like I need him around; closer.

I sit with my eyes shut for a long time, not quite understanding how so much has happened in one night. Eventful, an understatement. It smacks of days I'd ditch school, smoke up at a friend's, drink until I was numb and wake up beside somebody, somewhere else.

And him. And those words and his mouth. God. A result of impulsiveness and circumstances, but I'd be lying to myself if it didn't feel good; if I didn't want him. I allow myself to think that he might have wanted to do that for a while. He's hard to read though, I wasn't expecting him to kiss me.

Luke's words rattle around my head. Maybe he just thinks I'm easy. I feel shame creep over me.

Maybe that's what I am… an easy fuck.

I open doors onto a small balcony, sitting on a black metal chair and watch the city, smoking until I can't feel my fingers, mind too wired to sleep. He said he wouldn't be that long.

Then what?

Retreating back inside, I spend a good five minutes trying to figure out how to get his TV to work, and another five flicking mindlessly through channels until I'm on rolling news. I leave it on, trying not to think of everything bad that happened tonight, trying not to think at all, my eyes heavy.

I swear I only close them for a second, resting my head on a cushion that molds just right before I'm being woken by the sound of the door. It's still dark out as I lift my head, alertness pulsing, the glow of TV brightening the room.

"It's just me." Footsteps come closer as I lay my head back down. "Go back to sleep." I'm vaguely aware of something warm being pulled over me, and then the feather-light feeling of lips grazing my forehead.

My dreams become more vivid, memories being pulled up from the depths of where I've tried to shut them away. Luke and his fists and his temper, and him chasing me tonight, and that one time I told him no and he didn't stop. I didn't even try to fight him off, I just let it happen and buried the memory away under shit I don't think about ever.

I wake up with a start, gasping, sticky with sweat, a whimper on my lips. My vision is blurry and my heart pounds so fast because it's like I can feel his touch on my skin. It makes it crawl; I want to shed it. I want to scrub it raw.

I blink and blink and try to breathe, but he's choking me, hands on my throat, my hands on my throat trying to tear them away.

"Hey, hey." Miles' face swims into view, fingers gently prying away my hands from my neck. "It's OK. Just bad dreams."

I shake my head, breathing still ragged, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes.

"Memories." I screw up my face. "Shit."

I don't meet his eyes. I can't. I pick at the bobbles of the blanket he must have covered me with, brown and purple check.

"I shoulda put a bullet in his head," he tells me, regretfully. "Pasted his brain to the ground."

"It wouldn't change anything," I say with a hapless shrug. Because it doesn't, it won't. He can't take what Luke has done, back. No one can. I repeat the words I said to him earlier. "He's not worth it."

He's quiet as he sits next to me, staring into the dark, his bruised profile illuminated by the glow of the TV, flashes of moving images reflected in his eyes.

"You remember I said you reminded me of someone, that mornin', at the pier?" he says into the stillness between us.

"Yeah," I say slowly. When I accused him of pitying me.

He sighs heavily leaning back on the sofa, turning towards me. "You reminded me of my Mom."

"Your Mom?" I'm surprised, the implication creeping over me slowly. His Mom?

"She lost her first husband—Carl's dad—when he was real young. Met mine; he was a deadbeat drunk. Used to beat her black and blue just for breathin' wrong. Carl too. I didn't suffer much in comparison." He pulls out his cigarettes and offers me one. I slide one out as he puts one to his mouth, sparking up and inhaling deeply before doing mine.

"She left him when I was 'bout sixteen, but he found me and her. Poured acid on her. She almost didn't live. Carl blames me. I should've fought him harder, but I wasn't- I wasn't like what I am now."

"You were a kid," I shake my head, feeling sickened. I swallow hard. "It wasn't your fault." I pause, letting smoke fill my lungs. I'm so sorry, about your Mom. Is she-" I stumble trying to search for the right words.

"She's does all these motivational talks now, church shit. Keeps her busy."

"Like—helping people - in similar situations?" He nods and then I tentatively ask "And - and your Dad?"

"Dead," he replies coolly. I don't pry any more but there's a heaviness around that word.

I feel like he's just broken down a wall, let me see a bit of him. Let me know him in a way I don't think he offers of himself, very much.

He looks at me with fierce eyes. "I knew it was the same for you the minute I saw your face by that motel. Layin' his hands on you; sendin' you to do his shit cus he knew he'd fucked up. Fuckin' coward."

He takes a long inward drag, a slight shake to his hands. "I should've killed him, tonight. I wanted to. I wanted to do that for you. I thought he was gonna—"

I move closer to him suddenly, arms finding his neck, a kiss to his cheek, I don't want to hear him say it. He pulls me closer to him, free arm around my waist, silenced.

"I hope you know that everythin' he said was utter bullshit."

Was it?

"C'mon," he says after a while, stubbing out his cigarette and tugging me up to my feet.

He leads us to his bedroom and settles on the bed. "Sleep. I'm right here."

I crawl next to him, on the side furthest away from the door on soft, dark covers that smell just as intoxicatingly good as he does. Rolling on his side, his chest is against my back, so close I can feel his breath on my neck as he wraps an arm around me, the weight comforting, like an anchor, stopping me from floating away in a sea of emotion. He shifts closer, a kiss on the back of my neck that leaves tingles down my spine.

Falling back asleep, I'm lulled by security, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the baby soft touches of his fingers against my skin.

***

I wake before he does, his alarm clock telling me it's almost two in the afternoon, sunlight on his head from undrawn curtains. We've shifted in sleep, my legs entwined with his, my head in the crook of his neck. He's discarded his t-shirt in the night, his ribs black and blue, his face the same. And he did that for me. For me.

My thoughts cloud with images of last night and I slowly ease myself off the bed, padding quietly out the room in search of a glass of water and my bag. I need a smoke and a shower, in that order.

He's still sleeping soundly when I creep back into the room and head for his bathroom. Everything in his apartment is fancy, and it takes me far too long to figure out the walk-in shower but eventually I manage it, peeling off last night's clothes.

I end up sniffing his shower gel because he always smells damn good and I wonder whether it'd be too weird if I use it. I figure he won't mind or care, so I do it.

As soon as I turn the shower off, I can hear his voice through the door.

"I don't give a fuck. I want it done."

There's silence.

"Yeah. Well, we'll have to wait but this needs to be fuckin' meticulous… yeah, I'm sure. Look, have I ever let you down? Exactly…"

He's pacing with his phone to his head when I come out of the bathroom, skinny black jeans and an old band t-shirt I've had since I was thirteen, knotted to the side because it's far too long. He looks up and he sees me shower fresh, wet hair thrown up in a messy bun and the look on his face makes me feel hot all over.

He returns his attention briefly back to the conversation. "Sure. Yeah man, see you later." He hangs up, tossing his cell on the bed, bare feet pushing into plush grey carpet as he walks over to me, all sculpted muscle and unmarked skin.

He doesn't try to jump me, like I kind of want him to, even though I can see the heat in his eyes; feel it in his hands; gripping my body and pulling me close. He asks me if it's OK, and when I say yes he kisses me with a want that leaves me weak kneed.

***

Speeding through a sleepy Sunday city the afternoon sun sinks lower in the sky as Miles drives me to Tara's. There's this unspoken thing between us now. After yesterday, after last night, and I'm not sure how to deal with it, how to handle it... so I don't. I want to hold on to the feeling too badly to want to broach it.

Miles made us pizza and we talked, a lot. Well, I talked, he listened and asked questions. I made him laugh and I liked doing that, even though it made him wince afterwards because of his face. He's surprised when he finds out I'm not quite twenty-two, and he has nine years on me. He didn't think I was that young, but I shrug it off. Luke wasn't that much younger than him.

Words burn in my mouth as we get to Tara's part of town until I blurt them out. "That girl, from last night…" I taper off, unsure of myself. It's none of my business, really, but I need to know now.

"Kim?" he says, clearing his throat. "We hooked up a couple of times a few months back... But fuck, she's a shit loada crazy. Thought it made us somethin' that we weren't and whenever she sees me, she's like a dog with a fuckin' bone. Try to avoid her, but sometimes it's impossible, especially when Vince has me fuckin' babysitting." He grimaces.

The way he talks so frankly relaxes me, but the thought of her being with him makes my green-eyed monster blaze. "I just thought maybe she was a girlfriend, y'know."

"Not a fuckin' chance."

Miles surveys Tara's neighbourhood with sharp eyes once we're on her street, but I have to lean forward and point out the exact house otherwise he would have driven straight past it.

He stops me from opening the car door straight away, hand on mine.

"Does Luke know you're here?" he asks seriously.

I shake my head. "I don't think so."

"You don't think, ain't really good enough, Mia," he tells me.

"No."

This makes him nod, jaw untensing. "He shouldn't be a problem no more, but if you even suspect he's lookin' for you need to let me know. I'll deal with it."

He pulls out his wallet, taking out all the bills.

"Take this."

"What? I can't... Miles, I can't take your money, " I say, alarmed.

"I don't need it. It's just to tied you over, see you through. Just. Take it."

I'm still hesitating when he turns my hand over and closes my fist around the wad of cash.

"I want you to have it."

"OK, " I relent. "Thank you. This is... Just- thank you. Maybe I can pay you back someday?"

"I don't need you to do that, " he says shaking his head.

Walking me to the door, the key isn't even halfway into the lock when his hand finds mine again and he stills the movement, spinning me around and backing me against it, kissing me hard, hand in my hair, leaving me breathless.

His phone goes off from his pocket again and I have to laugh. He ignores it this time.

"I want to see you again."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Turn your phone on, I'll call you. If you want?" He sweeps hair off my face, a rush of elation spreading as he looks down at me.

"I do. Want. I mean, yes," I say, stumbling over my words.

With one last searing kiss and a smile so big it devastates me, he jogs down the steps and jumps in his car. I watch him leave, the car roaring down the street until it's out of sight, pressing my fingers to my mouth, my lips still tingling, skin tender.

I realize then he must have tried calling me, before this, at some point in the week when my phone has been off and it makes my heart skip.

Opening the door fully, quietly, there's nothing that prepares me for the flurry of movement that scoops me up with relieved squeals.

"It's her, she's here!" My brain does a double-take as Charlotte, in the flesh, pulls back and looks at me checking me over from head to toe. "Where the fuck have you been? We've been goin' out of our minds here!"

Apologies tumble out of my mouth as Tara appears behind Charlotte, pale as shit, eyes red like she's been crying.

"Mia! You got no idea how worried we were. I know I said to get under a guy, babe, but I didn't expect you to just fuckin' disappear! We were just about to report you missing!"

***

Spreading out in the living room, Charlotte sits on the sofa next to me, Tara by my feet, rubbing her hand on my leg like she has to touch me to believe that I'm really here.

I explain everything, as best as I can, not leaving any detail out. Charlotte is unable to contain herself when I tell them about Miles shooting Luke.

Her mouth gapes, her neon-bright orange nails flapping. "Shit! Like, with a gun?"

"Um, yeah. In his knee?"

Her eyebrows have disappeared up her forehead.

"He capped him? Now that is some wild ass shit. I mean, he deserves it, a hundred percent—coming after you with a knife? Was he…" she trails off.

"I don't know, I don't know what he was gonna do if he caught me." I shiver, involuntary, feeling tearful just thinking about it.

"And Miles saved you. Geez. Your life is like a shitty Lifetime movie. So fuckin' romantic," Charlotte pipes up.

I shake my head. "Trust me, there was nothing romantic about him almost caving Luke's head in. It was terrifying." I fiddle with the edge of the sofa, pinching the worn piping between my fingers. "Fuckin' terrifying. All of it."

They both wrap me up in a tangle of arms as tears slip down my cheeks. The magnitude of it coming in waves, trying to soothe me with the positives, too much black coffee and Taco Bell takeout; Charlotte's treat.

I'm intending on leaving out what happened with Miles at his, but Charlotte is staring at me, her chalupa supreme halfway to her mouth, bits dropping out into her wrapper.

"Sooo..."

Because there's a whole chunk of time unaccounted for and she knows it. They both do.

"So what?" I say, just delaying the inevitable.

"So that accounts for one portion of the night, where were you for the rest?"

"I was at Miles' place," I concede, after swallowing a mouthful of burrito.

"Mmmhmm," Tara says. "Did you let him hit it? Urgh, I would've if someone had saved my life."

"You're a hoe with fuck all morals though," Charlotte snarks.

Tara slaps her playfully. "Shut up. Did you?"

"No."

"But…" Charlotte says rolling her hand, motioning at me to spill. I sigh, licking sauce off my fingers.

"I fixed him up- you know his hands- face. He um, he kissed me." I swallow, feeling flush just thinking about him. "It was heavy… goin' somewhere, y'know? Then his cell went off. He had to leave but he asked me to stay. He came back, offloaded about some really fucked up stuff in his past and after that, we slept in his bed, like, just sleeping. He kissed me a few more times today and says he wants to see me. He's gonna call."

Charlotte claps her hands excitedly and I stare at her.

"I knew it! I knew he liked you! Girl, I clocked it that first time. You were all he looked at." She's self-satisfied and excited but then her face drops into seriousness. "Look, all I'm gonna say though, is be freakin' careful. Don't go rushing into things when you've just finished with Luke. Spend some time workin' on you. You deserve that."

I frown at her, at her one-eighty, but I guess she's only asking the same things I've been tossing around in my head.

"I… I dunno, Char, it feels—it felt right."

"Mmmhmm. I bet it did," Tara snorts.

"With all the shit with—with him over the last few weeks, it's like I'm over it. I was done. Way past done and I—maybe it was just the adrenaline rush of the fight or somethin'."

"I'm bettin' on somethin'. Boy got it bad," Charlotte replies, screwing up her wrapper.

I smile faintly, looking at my hands, hoping she's right.

Hoping he'll call.