Flirting With Chaos by Kenya Wright

Author:Kenya Wright [Wright, Kenya]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Contemporary
ISBN: 9781623420604
Google: VMjqnQEACAAJ
Amazon: 1623420601
Publisher: Omnific Publishing
Published: 2013-11-15T10:45:31+00:00

Chapter 14

Grave Cake

“I DON’T HAVE ANY REGRETS, but I am worried that he’s going to act different. I think if we hadn’t had sex last night, then we would be hanging out today.” I cut a slice of the cake, set it on the paper plate, and put everything in front of my father’s grave. “Instead, he’s avoiding me, or maybe I’m just imagining it all.”

Sunlight seeped through the tree branches that hovered over Dad’s gravesite. A guitar carved in white stone served as his tombstone. His name glittered in gold letters formed by his actual guitar strings. Flowers already scattered the ground. His fans still came to show their respect throughout the year, but hoards visited around his birthday. In order for me to have this time to myself, I’d worked with the cemetery owner to visit two hours before the public was given access.

“In the end, it doesn’t matter.” I cut another slice of cake for Kaden like I’d promised him days ago. “If we never return to how we’ve been, then I’ll just find new friends and maybe another guy. What I truly found out last night is that I am capable of being touched by a man.”

I’d tried in high school, but the emotional wounds had been too deep then. My first kiss with Clayton Jenkins had ended in a fit of tears and vomit. My second kiss finished with nothing but vomit. After that, the word had spread all over school that Rain Kenner ranked high on the freak scale. Not even hanging with Jude had eased the harsh jokes and ridicule. When college application time arrived, I’d picked art schools far away from home, my private school, and all of my dark memories. Jude hadn’t appreciated my leaving, but he’d understood. Somehow he’d convinced me that Sarasota would be the best place for me, due to it being far enough away from Miami for me to get some distance but close enough for him to fly up and whip someone’s ass if they messed with me.

With a new past and an image to create that wasn’t connected to my junkie father’s, I had started dating again at art school, only to discover that hives rose on my arms when I thought of my dates touching me. My school therapist had explained that all of my body’s reactions came from anxiety at being touched. I disagreed. She’d assumed I’d been molested or raped since I wouldn’t tell her what my real problem was. But no one had inappropriately touched me in a sexual way during my childhood. Eventually, she’d diagnosed me with post-traumatic stress disorder.

No shit.

She had suggested taking my time when dating, work on building trust with the prospective guy, and then doing breathing exercises before I finally decided to kiss him. It had freaked me out that all of that was required for just a simple kiss. Meanwhile, when I had gone back home and visited Miami, Jude’s lips and fingers touched me constantly with no effect, except shivers of desire that crept up now and then.

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