Chapter 2

Justin's POV

Secret:

Kept hidden from knowledge or view; concealed.  Dependably discreet.  Operating in a hidden or confidential manner.

A lock and key, bound with cables of steel, hiding the truth, concealing what makes me different, what makes her my addiction.  For years, I have masked my abilities, never allowing anyone to get a glimpse into my head.  Not even her.  The one person who has fed my cravings, given me her hand, a touch of her skin, all that is needed to unlock the potential onslaught of thoughts, emotions, ideas...unleashing her mind. 

The swirling serenity, the unending amount of information that is conveyed in one touch, her thoughts, feelings, hopes, desires, and fears, everything easily at my disposal.  She's a wealth of knowledge, unknowingly allowing me access to the utmost private thoughts with a simple stroke, hand-to hand contact, skin-to-skin, nothing kept hidden, and nothing secret.

Her mind is like a drug to me, sinking its teeth into my very being, pulling me further inside of her, fueling my desperation to contain her, to dominate her in every way imaginable.  The twisted thoughts are a constant buzz in the background of my head, intensifying with each opportunity I am given to see her soul.  The desire to protect and possess her continually plays a ravenous conflict in my mind, never choosing the right option, always letting my need to control her win out.  Somewhere inside of me, I know it's wrong, I know that using my ability to manipulate every situation, every decision, every idea that threatens to expose me, to pull her away from my grasp, influencing the outcome to draw her nearer, to claim her as mine.

Because that's what she is...she's mine.

Ever since she walked into my life fifteen years ago, the girl next door, that's all she was supposed to be...nothing more, nothing less.  Until a graze between flesh, a flash in my eyes, and a game that has spun deliriously out of control.  The game has always been about how to stay one step ahead of everyone else while continuing to be two steps ahead of her, never winning, never ending.  It's been years of spinning the lies, influencing circumstances to always pan out in my favor.  I have never felt regret or remorse for the things I have done, until I look in her blue eyes-warm, trusting, open-she sees right through me, ruptures the walls that I have placed up around my heart, around my mind.  She slices through it all, with just one look, one touch, she cracks my resolve and brings the world down around me, and she doesn't even know.

She's a part of me, so deeply engrained in my system, the igniter of my addiction, the fuel to the flames of deception.  She's the single piece of truth in my life, and yet, I use her, I deceive, I drain, soak up everything she's willing, and unwilling to give; I consume it all like a starving man's only meal.  The power, the control, it intensifies my need to have her, all of her.

This desire brings me to her doorstep, nearing midnight, my bag weighing heavily across my shoulder, the darkness shrouding my form, and the only sense of light being provided by the moon in the distance.  It's been six months, six months since my last project, six months since I last saw her face, touched her skin, felt her warmth, and experienced her mind.  The drought nearly has me salivating at the opportunity to feel the soft cadence of her mind, let it encircle me; wrap me in a cocoon of sincerity.  Just one fix, one hit of the high her mind provides, I just need one chance to provide that reassurance, to both her and myself, that despite it all, she's still going to be there.  After all, I come back for her.

Cautiously, I raise my hand and tap softly against the wooden frame, the echo resounding in the emptiness of my mind.  I ache for her, to fill my mind with her image, her breath, her scent, pull it in my lungs and let it multiply until I feel like I might explode.  One touch, skin-to-skin, a solidifying stroke that fills me up, lets me know she is still a part of my life. 

Suddenly, a light flickers above, cracking once before establishing itself and its powerful glow.  Raising my head, I prepare myself for the onslaught, the anger, the hurt, the temptation to just take her into my arms, press her body into mine, engulf her small frame, to hold her, to know that she will forgive me, if given the chance to touch her.

The door creaks open, slowly at first and then wider and wider, until her head peaks around the corner.  Her naturally dark hair is pulled loosely on top of her head, a few strands falling around her face, her captivating eyes squinting with sleep, a plain white t-shirt covering her torso, and a pair of black pajama pants adorning her legs.  She's the picture of perfection, one that I just woke up, after disappearing for months on end, not one call, not one text, not one word spoken between us. 

She's my best friend and I can cut her out of my life faster than a blink of an eye and pull her back in just as easily.  She's my toy, an innocent bystander in a sick game of deception, a pawn amongst kings, and even though I know playing with her is wrong, I cannot stop myself, for she is mine, and I will not allow anyone else to have her.

"Autumn," I whisper her name, nothing more than a soft brush in the darkness, sliding between the two of us, solidifying that she is in front of me.

She eyes me skeptically, never pushing the door open, never closing it either.  A balance.  A choice.  She doesn't shut me out, but she doesn't invite me in.  I can feel the adrenaline starting to pump through my veins, the chemicals creating a rapid fire of ideas in my head, opportunities, thoughts, all ways to manipulate her-to consume, take it all in, and plant the seed that erases the latest transgression. 

"What are you doing here, Justin?" Her voice is strained, both from sleep but from pain, I can feel the sadness vibrating off of her in waves, and it flickers against my mind, lashing out and trying to derail everything.  I cannot get caught up in her pain, her worry, her questions; all I can do is assure her that I am back, for now.

"I missed you..."  It's a loaded phrase, the words dangling in the darkness, swirling around her, and the wheels start to turn.  Her eyes give her away, the windows to the soul, and hers have always been mine.  She missed me, too.

She sighs, the air rushing out of her in haste.  She's never been able to fully let me go, to move on from this friendship that has been our security, the one constant in each other's lives.  We're each other's life jackets in a turbulent ocean, the seatbelt in a car crash, and the parachute during the jump.  I won't let her move on, no matter what; I won't give up my place in her heart to anyone, not now, not ever. 

"It's late." Her words are meant to turn me away, to be the nail in the coffin, but I know better.  That's just her way of voicing her disproval of my disappearance and my reappearance.  She never asks for the details and never pushes for the explanation she knows I won't give.

"Better late than never?" 

And with that, the door opens and she steps back to allow me into her house, her heart, and her mind.  It's the rush of vanilla and honey, security and openness, warmth and home.

Stepping inside, the surge of victory hot in my veins, I brush past her, reaching down to place a gentle kiss on her cheek as I walk into the foyer.  The spark of electricity at the contact, it's a buzz that I have yearned for, and I can feel myself falling into her thoughts, trying to find the one piece that she continually tries to cover, to deny.

My fingers are lingering on her face, brushing her hair behind her ears, and never losing my touch on her.  My eyes begin their investigation of her own, hunting, scouring, searching...trying to uncover the buried treasure of her mind.

Alarmingly, she breaks the contact before I can find it, before I can feel the rush of relief in my veins, knowing that everything is how it's supposed to be.

"I'm going to sleep," she says, turning away, and I can feel the annoyance at her defiance transferring into a scowl on my face. 

"Don't be difficult, Autumn," I chastise, reaching out to pull her closer, my hand wrapping around her wrist, holding her near.

Slowly, I take one step closer, my body merely inches from hers, and the only sound is the ragged breaths between us.  Inhaling, I suck in her scent, allow it to seep into my bones, and fill me with her warmth.  God, I've missed her. 

Dipping my head lower and lower, until I am directly in front of her, I start my exploration, skimming my nose along her tender flesh, feeling the connection deepen, opening her world into my own.  Her eyes flutter closed and her defenses are down as she gives herself freely to my touch.  My discovery takes me along her cheek, across the tip of her nose, and to the other side.  Gently, I pull back, replacing the connection with my hands on the side of her neck.  Slowly, I lower my head until I am just barely touching her, feeling the heat of her skin, her flesh, she's finally in my arms, and I plant a kiss on each of her closed eyes.

"You're so beautiful," my voice is barely above a rough whisper and I can hear the intake of breath, the forceful swallow, and the alarm in her thoughts.

"What's wrong?" I ask, pulling back, allowing her the chance to regain a sense of equilibrium.

She shakes her head back and forth, choosing not to say anything and trying to squirm away from me, away from my touch.

Alarmed by her reaction and desperate to find the missing piece in her thoughts, I reach for her hand, the connection surging throughout my mind and I frantically pick through each image that assaults me.  A coffee cup.  A pillow.  Blankets.  Bed.  An alarm clock.  Everything mundane, nothing that matters, nothing of significance, and I can feel the anger brewing, knowing she's hiding something from me. 

I tighten my hold on her hand, yanking her forward and her eyes widen at the forcefulness.  And that's when it slips, that's when her mind flashes the word, the picture, the person.

"Who the fuck is Ryan?"