He tilts his head and deepens the kiss, his tongue playing alongside mine, promising delights that I’ve never known and never had much interest in.

Until now.

Until Cole.

When he pushes inside, I don’t resist. I’m lost in all that he’s making me feel and my brain is turned completely off.  I hear the slam of the door as he kicks it shut and that’s the last thought to register until I feel his hands at my breast.

My nipples are painful points and I moan into Cole’s mouth when he pinches one between his fingers, rolling it through the material of my lacy bra and single-knit sweater.

“I need to be inside you,” he groans, his other hand falling to my butt and squeezing, pulling my lower body into his. I feel the long, hard ridge of his erection and moisture floods my panties.  “I can’t think. I can’t eat.  I can’t even grieve anymore. It’s all about you. Everything is about you.”

It’s as he speaks that I smell the alcohol. It serves as a bucket of cold water in my face. Apparently Jason was right. He’s been with Jordan. Drinking.

I push at his chest.  “Cole, wait.”

His hands are everywhere, teasing and taunting, awakening feelings I doubted I’d ever feel at the hands of a man.  But I have to ask him about Jordan. I have to know before this can go any further.

“Cole, please.”

“Please what?  Please take off my clothes?” he says in his throaty voice, his hands tugging at the hem of my sweater.  I push them away, but they come right back.  “Please touch me?  Please taste me?  Because I will. I’ll touch you until you can’t think. I’ll taste you until you beg me to let you come.”

Part of me thrills at his words, but part of me needs room, needs time.  Needs him to stop for just a minute.   Another man and another voice is standing between us, touching me in the same ways, but scaring me rather than pleasuring me.

“Cole, stop.  I need to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk. I want to feel. I need to feel.”

He’s not listening to me and the scent of alcohol seems to be getting stronger and stronger, dredging up memories I’ve tried for years to bury.

“Cole, please,” I plead, pushing at his hands, trying to keep my composure.  My chin is trembling and I feel the icy fingers of panic clutching at my heart.

“’Please.’ I love that word on your lips,” he confesses, still not grasping the hysteria that I’m spiraling toward.

“Cole, stop!  I mean it!”  The more insistent I become, the more it seems to provoke him.  “Cole.”

“Eden,” he whispers, the slight slur to the word taking me back in time.

I have to get away. He has to stop touching me.  I can’t breathe, but it’s not in a good way.

I sink my fingernails into the backs of his hands, dragging them away from me.  “Stop!”  My words ring through the room, shattering the silence that falls between us when he finally lifts his head.  I feel on the verge of a full-on panic now and I can’t hold back the tears.  “Get out of my house!”

He looks stricken, but also confused.  Now I can see the dazed way his eyes stare into mine. He’s drunk. This isn’t the Cole I thought I knew.  The Cole I knew would never do something like this. But maybe I didn’t really know him at all.  Maybe the Cole I thought I knew was nothing more than a product of my imagination.

My breath is coming in big, heavy sobs and I’m shaking.  The fragile wall that I’d built separating my past from my present is eroding, melting away like the grasp I have on my composure.  Memories are colliding with my five senses and suddenly the man in front of me is the same one who still haunts me, who still terrorizes my dreams.

“Eden,” he begins, but I cut him off.

“Get out, Cole.”  When he doesn’t move right away, just stands staring at me, I shout, “Get out!”

I double over, wrapping my arms around my middle in an effort to still my jittering insides.  I see Cole’s snowy boots receding as he backs toward the door.  I don’t move until the cold wind hits my face as he exits.  But then I crumble to my knees and sob until I fall into a dreamless sleep.

SIXTEEN

Eden

I FOCUS ON Emmy’s voice as she reads to me. This is part of her schooling.  She learns best if I can make it fun for her.  I guess most kids probably do. It’s one of the most magical parts of my day, too.  Her intelligence and animation never cease to make my heart swell with pride.

I watch her little mouth form the words, words far beyond the reading level of other children her age. I watch her little fingers turn the pages, faster and faster as she gets older.  I watch her little eyes follow the sentences, sparkling with delight as the story progresses.  This little girl, this little miracle, is my whole world. Has been since the day she was born. She saved me from…well, she just saved me. Plain and simple.

I’ve always applied myself so fully, so deeply to loving her, to protecting and caring for her, so much so that nothing else mattered.  And while I’m still applying myself to those same things, right now it doesn’t seem to be very effective in quieting the ache that’s been emanating from my heart since I opened my eyes this morning.

Cole.

My insides squeeze painfully at just the thought of his name passing through my mind. It drags with it the fright and disappointment from last night.

How could I be so wrapped up in a man I hardly know?  Why would I allow that to happen when he’s obviously got a metric ton of issues?

It’s the same question over and over again–Why him?  Why him?  Why him?

I’m getting no closer to an answer.

The snow is pouring outside, burying us deeper and deeper in a wintery wonderland.  Before, I was sort of looking forward to it in some strange way–being snowed in.  But now, I just feel suffocated.

It’s almost eight when the power goes out.  I bathe Emmy by candlelight with the last of the hot water. She laughs and plays, thinking the whole ordeal is great fun. It’s when I get her out to dry her that I’m reminded how wise she is for her years sometimes.

“Why are you sad, Momma?” she asks, cupping my cheek with her tiny hand.

“I’m not sad, sweetpea.  I’m just trying to hurry so that my daughter doesn’t turn into an ice sculpture right in front of me.”

This does nothing to eliminate the worry I find in her eyes. It breaks my heart to see anything other than child-like love and awe and carefree happiness there. Her eyes have seen too much in her short life; I don’t want to add to her scars by letting her see too many of mine.

“Are you scared?”

I close my eyes and lean into her warm palm.  “No, baby. Are you?”

“I’m only scared of leaving you.”

“Well then you shouldn’t be afraid. You won’t ever have to leave me.”

“But what if I do? You’ll be sad and no one will make you happy anymore.”

“You’ll always be here to make me happy, sweetie. And you’re all I’ll ever need.”

I need to get past this Cole thing and get back to just Emmy and me against the world. We never needed anybody before.   We don’t need to start now.

Once Emmy is dry, I start stuffing her quickly into her clothes.

“Do you think he’s still sad because he doesn’t have a little girl anymore?” she asks, holding onto my shoulder as she steps into her panties.

I don’t have to ask who she’s talking about, but I’m very curious to know why she’s thinking about him.  It seems that Cole has a hold on this household.

“He’ll probably always be sad, but that’s not her fault.  That just means that he loved her sooo much.”

Emmy grins at me.  “You make him stop being sad.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He looks at you different, Momma.  He wants to kiss you. I can tell.”  She giggles, all little girl now.  “Momma and Cole sittin’ in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g,” she sings.