Cutter
The moment he finished inside her, he knew that he'd made the wrong decision when he let his physical needs take control of the rest of him. Now, laying here in his bed with the woman he'd once loved, he realized how horrible of an idea this had been.
He shook his head, trying to clear it.
This was what he'd wanted, wasn't it? To have her in his arms, to feel her clinging close to his body? But, this wasn't how he'd wanted it, another voice said from deep inside him, a voice he knew came from his heart, from his sense of honor and conscience. He hadn't wanted to have to rescue her like this, from an abusive relationship. He'd wanted her on his own terms, all those years ago.
It wasn't that she was damaged, or anything like that. That hadn't even registered in his mind. Instead, it was that tonight was supposed to be her wedding night. She was originally going to have been with her husband, not with some lowlife biker in a clubhouse on the outskirts of town. Sure, Cutter had picked her up on the side of the road, and he was hiding her. But that just meant he shouldn't have been doing this. He shouldn't have been taking advantage of her.
“What's wrong?” Liona asked from beside him. “You okay?”
He shook his head and sat up in the bed. “I'm sorry,” he blurted out, not thinking. He looked off, away from her, into a corner of his room. He couldn't face her right now. “I'm so sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” she asked, sitting up in bed and putting her arm around.
“I'm sorry,” he said again, breathing deep and trying to control his anger at himself.
“For what?” she asked carefully.
Her touch felt amazing. It felt perfect. That wasn't what he needed right now. This wasn't what he needed. He'd been free of these thoughts for years, he'd traveled down this road and come back form it once before.
“We shouldn't have slept together,” he whispered, barely loud enough for even him to hear.
“What?” she asked, still whispering but louder.
“We shouldn't have slept together,” he repeated, this time loud enough for her to hear it clearly, but still not loud enough to be heard through the walls. “I'm sorry, I should never have taken advantage of you like that.”
“Take advantage of me?” she asked, pulling him closer, her hand over his bicep. She shook her head. “You didn't take advantage of me, Desmond.”
“You were supposed to be getting married today,” he said, his voice firm, pained. He was angry with himself, though, not with her. He went to get up from the sweat soaked sheets. “I never should have done this. I should have stayed on the couch. And my name's Cutter.”
She tried to hold him back on the bed, but he just shook her off.
“What? What are you doing?” she asked as he searched on the floor for his underwear.
This was a weird turn of events, and would almost be funny if it weren't for the circumstances. Here he was, trying to find his underwear on the floor of his own bunk, so he could go sleep on the couch. All because of a woman he hadn't seen in nearly a decade, coming back into his life unexpectedly.
“Are you leaving me?” she asked, sadness entering her voice.
This was just getting worse and worse. Not only was he taking advantage of her, but he was hurting her all over again, and now in new and different ways than before. Now, he was abandoning her. He found his boxers after a few seconds of searching and slipped them back on. “I can't sleep in here,” he said. “I'm sorry.”
“You are leaving me, then,” she said flatly. The sound of oncoming tears was building up in her voice.
He wanted to stay. He wanted to stay more than anything he'd ever wanted. But he was afraid. Afraid of what she might think, and afraid of what emotions this all might awaken in him. He shook his head again.
“I'm sorry,” he said. “I just ... I shouldn't have done this. This isn't about you. It's about me.”
She looked away, brushed off a tear from her eye. “Fine,” she said. “Whatever. Just, come back to bed. Okay? I wouldn't be able to sleep all night with you out there on the couch by yourself. Or, at least let me take the couch.”
Sighing, he stopped and looked at her.
“We don't have to cuddle, or hold each other, or anything,” she said, her voice still full of sadness and resignation. “I just don't want to feel like I kicked you out of your own bed. Especially not after what you did for me today.”
He gritted his teeth and looked away from her, to the Vanguard flag hanging on his wall. “Fine,” he said. “I'll stay. Okay?”
She scooted over, making plenty of room for him.
Deep down, a part of him knew that he'd regret this. Or, at the very least, he knew that it would change things for them. Honestly, though, he didn't know if that was for the better, or not. Change was a powerful force, and it could be one for good, or for ill. He walked back over to the bed and sat down in the spot he'd just left. He kept his briefs on and swung his legs up onto the mattress.
Still naked beside him, Liona slid beneath the covers, pulled them up tight to her neck.
Finally, after what seemed like hours of staring at his ceiling and mulling over his track record of very poor decisions when it came to Liona Copeland, he drifted off to sleep.
A few hours later, though, he awoke to the sounds of soft crying. She was on her side, crying into her pillow, her back turned to him. He didn't know what to do. He felt like whatever he did, he'd somehow make it worse. He cursed himself silently as she continued to cry. Whether he still loved her, or not. Whether she was supposed to have married that piece of shit Wyland today, or not. Whether they'd just had sex, or not, ...she was still his friend. And, at least with their history, and the friendship she showed to him while they were back in high school, he owed her some semblance of comfort and compassion.
He reached out, touched her shoulder. “Hey,” he whispered, pulling her towards, “come here.”
His gesture did nothing to stop her tears, but she rolled over anyways and pulled herself against him. Her naked body pressed into his form, seeming like she was made to perfectly fit against him. Cutter wrapped his arm around her, pulled her tighter against him, and let her cry on his chest. Her tears fell, dappling his black-inked tattoos, and he just grasped her closer. Soon, the tears stopped, and her breathing went from shallow and fast to deep and measured. She was asleep.
This was what he'd tried to avoid by sleeping on the couch. Cutter began to feel a change in himself. He frowned inwardly, cursing and shaming himself for having walked right into what he saw coming from a mile away.