Hearts on Air
Page 35
I want that, too. More than anything.
“I’m trying to shower,” I replied croakily.
“Then let me help.”
I went quiet as his hands journeyed about my naked, wet skin. He explored without hesitation, every aching, needful inch of me. He grabbed the bottle of shower gel and squirted some into his palm, then made a lather before rubbing his hands over my shoulders, down my back, and around to massage my breasts.
I whimpered when he finally dipped down between my legs and rubbed. I arched my spine, moving against his erection instinctively as his hips rutted into the soft cushion of my arse. We came almost in unison. I was just a few seconds behind him.
I wasn’t sure why we were so attuned to one another sexually. Maybe it was because we’d known each other for such a long time. There was comfort there, an inherent knowledge of the other’s needs and rhythms.
By the time we left the shower I was ready to go back to sleep—sexually exhausted. I put on a robe and handed Trev a towel to dry off. I left him in the bathroom and went out to see what there was for breakfast. His phone started ringing and I picked up his jacket to search the pockets. My hand met something plastic, but it wasn’t his phone. Pulling it out, I found a jar of pills. My eyes scanned the label before I could stop myself. It was a medication called Strattera, but I didn’t recognise it.
Trev must’ve heard his phone, because he stepped out of the bathroom. He stopped when he saw what I was holding, his mouth forming a thin line. Whoever was calling must’ve been put through to voicemail because the ringing stopped.
“I wasn’t snooping. I was looking for your phone,” I blurted awkwardly, and he came and took the pills off me. I noticed the container was pretty full.
“Selective noradrenaline re-uptake inhibitors,” he said quietly, his eyes downcast.
I furrowed my brow, confused. “Huh?”
“The pills. That’s what they do. They’re supposed to help me deal with my . . . issues.”
Oh. Realisation dawned and I felt terrible. This was Trev’s ADHD medication, little blue and yellow pills to help him stay balanced. I studied him, noting the agitated edge to his posture.
“Oh well, again, I’m sorry. I meant it when I said I wasn’t snooping.” Pinpricks stabbed at my chest; the excuse sounded so lame.
Trev ran a hand through his air, looking self-conscious, which was a rare sight for him. “Yeah. I’ve stopped taking them, so it doesn’t matter anyway.”
“You’ve stopped? Why?” I asked with concern.
“They fuck my head up. Give me migraines, and I can’t fucking sleep when I take them either.”
“Ah,” I said, a knot of worry coiling in my stomach. I remembered how tired he looked when he showed up at my gig yesterday. “That’s not good.”
“No, it isn’t. Not to mention the fact that last night wouldn’t have happened if I was still on them.”
I frowned, not completely understanding.
He stared at the floor before his eyes lifted to mine, everything about his demeanour uncomfortable. “One of the side effects is not being able to get it up. They can piss off if they think I’m gonna spend the rest of my life like that. If this is what everyone else feels like they can fucking have it.”
I stepped closer and took his hand in mine. When Trev told me he was going to start taking medication, I naively imagined it would be an immediate fix, a miracle cure for all his problems. I didn’t think of the side effects, or how pills affected everyone differently. I didn’t realize he might be suffering even worse just to make the rest of the world feel better. Just to act in a way that didn’t put people on edge, while inwardly he was dying.
“That isn’t how everyone else feels, Trev, and if this is how the pills affect you, you shouldn’t be taking them. Talk to your doctor about your options, maybe he could have you switch to a different treatment.”
His blue eyes came to mine, and I suddenly saw the tremendous stress he was under. So many expectations now that he was going to be the star of his own reality show. The world was going to pick him apart, put a microscope over every crack to see what weak spots they could find. And though on the surface Trev had the polished, pretty-boy looks of a movie star, there were fractures underneath, so many of them just waiting to make him bow under the pressure.
He pulled me into his arms, his hug so tight it almost knocked the wind out of me.
“Don’t let me fuck everything up, Reyrey,” he whispered.
“I won’t,” I murmured, struck by the fervency of his request. Maybe he considered himself his own worst enemy, his mind his biggest challenge to overcome. Squeezing him back, I hoped he heard the seriousness in my words.
“I promise.”
Eleven.
“Let’s just leave them to work it out between themselves,” said Trev to Neil as he led him back out into the living room.
“He’s locked her in with him. He can’t do that,” Neil argued, agitation in his posture.
“I know, but they’re talking now. Maybe they’ll come to an understanding if we just give them some privacy.”
I wasn’t so sure about that, especially considering Leanne and Callum already had a heart-to-heart earlier and it hadn’t achieved much. Although saying that, I hadn’t been privy to the entire exchange. Anything could’ve been said after I stopped listening, and anything could’ve happened while they were out tonight.
James wished me goodnight while Paul gathered the Belgian girls and led them to the door, explaining that the ‘party’ was over. Not that it had been much of a party. They didn’t seem too happy about being dismissed, but they didn’t make a fuss either. Neil went to his own room and I glanced at Trev.
“Looks like I’m bedding down on the couch tonight.”
He frowned. “Why?”
I gestured toward the bedrooms. “My room is occupied.”
He scratched at the day-old stubble on his chin. “Ah, right.” He went quiet, thinking on it a minute, then said, “You can take my bed.”
I wasn’t surprised by the offer, but I shrugged it off nonetheless, even though I was exhausted. Now that I had a belly full of pizza I was so ready to go back to sleep.
“Don’t worry about it. The couch will be fine. Plus, I already got a few hours while you lot were out. You need to sleep more than I do.”
“I’m trying to shower,” I replied croakily.
“Then let me help.”
I went quiet as his hands journeyed about my naked, wet skin. He explored without hesitation, every aching, needful inch of me. He grabbed the bottle of shower gel and squirted some into his palm, then made a lather before rubbing his hands over my shoulders, down my back, and around to massage my breasts.
I whimpered when he finally dipped down between my legs and rubbed. I arched my spine, moving against his erection instinctively as his hips rutted into the soft cushion of my arse. We came almost in unison. I was just a few seconds behind him.
I wasn’t sure why we were so attuned to one another sexually. Maybe it was because we’d known each other for such a long time. There was comfort there, an inherent knowledge of the other’s needs and rhythms.
By the time we left the shower I was ready to go back to sleep—sexually exhausted. I put on a robe and handed Trev a towel to dry off. I left him in the bathroom and went out to see what there was for breakfast. His phone started ringing and I picked up his jacket to search the pockets. My hand met something plastic, but it wasn’t his phone. Pulling it out, I found a jar of pills. My eyes scanned the label before I could stop myself. It was a medication called Strattera, but I didn’t recognise it.
Trev must’ve heard his phone, because he stepped out of the bathroom. He stopped when he saw what I was holding, his mouth forming a thin line. Whoever was calling must’ve been put through to voicemail because the ringing stopped.
“I wasn’t snooping. I was looking for your phone,” I blurted awkwardly, and he came and took the pills off me. I noticed the container was pretty full.
“Selective noradrenaline re-uptake inhibitors,” he said quietly, his eyes downcast.
I furrowed my brow, confused. “Huh?”
“The pills. That’s what they do. They’re supposed to help me deal with my . . . issues.”
Oh. Realisation dawned and I felt terrible. This was Trev’s ADHD medication, little blue and yellow pills to help him stay balanced. I studied him, noting the agitated edge to his posture.
“Oh well, again, I’m sorry. I meant it when I said I wasn’t snooping.” Pinpricks stabbed at my chest; the excuse sounded so lame.
Trev ran a hand through his air, looking self-conscious, which was a rare sight for him. “Yeah. I’ve stopped taking them, so it doesn’t matter anyway.”
“You’ve stopped? Why?” I asked with concern.
“They fuck my head up. Give me migraines, and I can’t fucking sleep when I take them either.”
“Ah,” I said, a knot of worry coiling in my stomach. I remembered how tired he looked when he showed up at my gig yesterday. “That’s not good.”
“No, it isn’t. Not to mention the fact that last night wouldn’t have happened if I was still on them.”
I frowned, not completely understanding.
He stared at the floor before his eyes lifted to mine, everything about his demeanour uncomfortable. “One of the side effects is not being able to get it up. They can piss off if they think I’m gonna spend the rest of my life like that. If this is what everyone else feels like they can fucking have it.”
I stepped closer and took his hand in mine. When Trev told me he was going to start taking medication, I naively imagined it would be an immediate fix, a miracle cure for all his problems. I didn’t think of the side effects, or how pills affected everyone differently. I didn’t realize he might be suffering even worse just to make the rest of the world feel better. Just to act in a way that didn’t put people on edge, while inwardly he was dying.
“That isn’t how everyone else feels, Trev, and if this is how the pills affect you, you shouldn’t be taking them. Talk to your doctor about your options, maybe he could have you switch to a different treatment.”
His blue eyes came to mine, and I suddenly saw the tremendous stress he was under. So many expectations now that he was going to be the star of his own reality show. The world was going to pick him apart, put a microscope over every crack to see what weak spots they could find. And though on the surface Trev had the polished, pretty-boy looks of a movie star, there were fractures underneath, so many of them just waiting to make him bow under the pressure.
He pulled me into his arms, his hug so tight it almost knocked the wind out of me.
“Don’t let me fuck everything up, Reyrey,” he whispered.
“I won’t,” I murmured, struck by the fervency of his request. Maybe he considered himself his own worst enemy, his mind his biggest challenge to overcome. Squeezing him back, I hoped he heard the seriousness in my words.
“I promise.”
Eleven.
“Let’s just leave them to work it out between themselves,” said Trev to Neil as he led him back out into the living room.
“He’s locked her in with him. He can’t do that,” Neil argued, agitation in his posture.
“I know, but they’re talking now. Maybe they’ll come to an understanding if we just give them some privacy.”
I wasn’t so sure about that, especially considering Leanne and Callum already had a heart-to-heart earlier and it hadn’t achieved much. Although saying that, I hadn’t been privy to the entire exchange. Anything could’ve been said after I stopped listening, and anything could’ve happened while they were out tonight.
James wished me goodnight while Paul gathered the Belgian girls and led them to the door, explaining that the ‘party’ was over. Not that it had been much of a party. They didn’t seem too happy about being dismissed, but they didn’t make a fuss either. Neil went to his own room and I glanced at Trev.
“Looks like I’m bedding down on the couch tonight.”
He frowned. “Why?”
I gestured toward the bedrooms. “My room is occupied.”
He scratched at the day-old stubble on his chin. “Ah, right.” He went quiet, thinking on it a minute, then said, “You can take my bed.”
I wasn’t surprised by the offer, but I shrugged it off nonetheless, even though I was exhausted. Now that I had a belly full of pizza I was so ready to go back to sleep.
“Don’t worry about it. The couch will be fine. Plus, I already got a few hours while you lot were out. You need to sleep more than I do.”
