Chapter Text
I fucking hate being right. Never thought I’d feel that way, can’t believe I actually miss being wrong, shit-eating smug grin isn’t fun anymore when Ethan looks ready to cry. I told him he’d never hear the end of it, but I was lying. I’m not saying shit about what happened. I don’t plan to, don’t know what the fuck I’ll say. We have more experience with this being flipped around. We’d both be handling this better if I’d been wrong, he’d been right.
No, that’s pretty fucking stupid, that’s just about the stupidest thought I’ve had in awhile, and it’s the one Ethan catches me having when he decides to get my attention.
“Sacha?”
Tentative smile, eyes bright, face wavering close to getting wet again because my dumb fucking navigator is stuck in a sad guilt-loop I’m not sure I can break him out of.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks. Fucking anxious about it, that way he gets when he catches me staring without actually looking at anything.
This is what I get for swallowing a handful of sedatives that smeared yesterday into grey blur, don’t really remember much after sitting in the ambulance with Ethan. I’ll have to tell Beth the good news first before admitting she was right about four being too many. I want to see if I surprise her with the good news, though, I’ve already started thinking of the most dramatic way to explain it. I think I’ll open with hotel caught fire and just see where things go from there.
Ethan’s still waiting on an answer. I could lie, say I was thinking about Essem missing me or something stupid like that. I could say I was thinking about nothing, if I really wanted to make him cry. I could point out something over his shoulder, make a snide comment about continental breakfast, don’t even know what the fuck that means but I bet he does. Bet he’d explain what makes it continental as opposed to regular breakfast if I asked. I got lots of options to get him off my fucking back about being tired and bleary-eyed. I think I earned myself some unquestioned being wrong on easy things, after doing so much hard shit right.
Anything other than honesty’s just going to make him worse, even if the honest answer’s going to do it just the same. I wasted time thinking about it. Thanks to the whole reason he’s asking in the first place, it already took me too damn long to respond. Looking at his anxious expression I realize there’s no right answer, I’m totally fucked.
“I was thinking about yesterday.”
“Oh.”
Absolutely does not make me happier to be right about this either, Ethan’s expression upside-down sideways with worry. He gets small in his chair, flashes me a meek, apologetic smile. I see him glance aside, scope out the hotel staff. I think if that curly-haired manager shows back up my scared, skittish navigator might crawl under the table to hide. Probably start bawling, take all the fun out having him on his knees between mine.
My fingers roll over the table. His gaze flicks to the motion. He knows I’m over here thinking about yesterday and getting upset. No secret what happened, why it happened.
I force a tight smile. Not going to fight with Ethan on our honeymoon, goddammit, I did not spend months and months looking forward to this only to have something fuck it up. I’m not going to say anything else about yesterday, bad enough I'm sitting here thinking about it. We’ll focus on today.
“What’d you want to do?” I ask.
Ethan likes making plans. Fucking loves it, gets him wet to start pulling out guidebooks and talk excitedly about crap we both know we’re not going to go do. I might not be a total stick in the mud anymore, but I’m sure as fuck not going to hike to the top of any mountains to look at a bunch of water go over some rocks. I’ll go stick my hand in the shower spray if Ethan wants to see water get everywhere.
His turn to answer, I’m waiting on him to say something. He looks blank, has no fucking idea what I want from him.
“Ethan? I asked what you wanted to do today.”
“Oh.” Still blank, but he knows he’s suppose to respond.
Goddamn do I need him to stop saying oh in that oh I’m about to cry way that he’s been doing all morning. I know yesterday sucked. I know I woke us both up in the middle of the night with a bunch of bullshit. I know I’m not doing great today. I fucking know exactly how much I’m not doing that great right now, but I want to try anyway. I need my fucking navigator to get his head in the game, but I can't get mad at him for it. My poor fucking navigator is spiraling out on me, looping around in guilty circles over something I'm not even mad at him for.
I look beyond his sad sorry face for a moment, look past him to the pretty breakfast buffet, the big gorgeous windows. Fucking sunshine and rainbows outside, don't know why he has to look so miserable.
“It stopped raining. We could go to the beach.”
“Oh… Yeah, we could.”
Three whole extra words this time, but they just push him closer to the edge. Fuck. If he starts crying I can’t do this. I’m leaving. I start eyeing the exits, start planning my escape.
I think a little more carefully about what I just said, how he’s reacted. Not the beach, then. It’ll stress him out trying to keep track of me if I get in the water, he knows I’m shit at swimming still even if I’m not stupid enough to go wandering out into the ocean. Maybe he thinks there’s sharks in the fucking water, I don’t know, I just know the beach is out. Not doing that today.
Really I don’t think he’d be happy if we went anywhere with people, a crowd, anywhere too open where it’s hard for him to keep an eye on me. It needs to be inside, needs to be somewhere contained. I can’t sit in our room all day, I didn’t come all this way to just fucking sit in a room, I can do that at home. Ethan’s not going to want to hang around the hotel lounge, definitely can’t take him to the pool, actually the whole hotel’s making him look nervous. I’m not sure what he’ll do if he has to meet back up with that curly-haired manager, and I don’t want to find out either. I’ve got to get him out of the hotel.
“Let’s go see a movie.” Suddenly, too sudden, I make him flinch with it. I lower my voice, grimace what I hope to fuck is a nice smile. “There’s a theater around, right? Let’s do that. Let’s watch a movie.”
Movie theater’s a good one, cozy, relaxing, I’ll let him lean into my shoulder, I’ll put my arm around him, he’ll like that. Real easy to keep an eye on me if I’m right next to him, and he likes watching movies. Not too many ways in and out of a theater, either, he can pick a spot to watch all of them in case I go for one. Brilliant.
“Oh. Yeah...”
Fuck him, it was a good idea so why’s he looking miserable? Jaw clenching, snarling, trying real fucking hard to sound nice and not quite managing it. “We can do something else.”
“No,” he says softly. Eyes down, poking at his food. “Movie sounds fine. Fun. It sounds fun. Let’s go watch a movie.”
Says it like I’m offering instead to beat the shit out of him for a couple hours, which is how I know Ethan’s just dying to talk about yesterday. He loves that kind of shit, loves getting to fuss and apologize and be fucking miserable.
Seriously might have been easier if I’d been wrong. That’s about the worst thought I could be having. I don’t want to ask Ethan what he thinks, if he wishes he’d been right and I’d been wrong. Probably not. Seriously can’t imagine a world where Ethan would be happier for me being the one to get dragged out by the cops, him being the one waiting in the ambulance making nervous-nice with a bunch of fucking strangers while scared out of his goddamn mind.
Doesn’t matter that I already told him it was fine, I get it, I know why yesterday became such a fucking disaster even though I did everything right. I know he doesn’t trust me. Don’t blame him at all for it, told him from the get-go that was fine. He’s smart not to trust me, and I’m not out to make him start. Safer for us both if he doesn’t trust me, sucks it’s that way, but I get it. He can’t trust me. Guess him pretending sometimes might be nice, even if he knows it’s only a matter of time until I fuck this up. He should at least let me try to do this before he decides I can’t. I need him to help me get things lined up so I can take the shot. He’ll never know how good a fighter I can be for him if he won’t let me try.
Stupid fucking navigator. Lost his fucking head over a fire alarm, wasn’t even a real fire.
“Sacha?”
Quiet, scared, desperate like he doesn’t think I’m going to respond. Shit. He definitely caught me that time, I zoned out hard on him, no idea what I was looking at or how I looked, no fucking idea what I was doing besides getting lost in my own head.
I shift, try to be subtle about how I fast I stick a hand down the front of my pants, how frantic the gesture gets when my pocket’s empty. I left my medicine up in the room. I remember seeing it next to the sink, I left it there without thinking.
Fuck.
Okay.
Okay, that’s fine. Fine, took too many yesterday all at once anyway. Beth’s not going to like that, but I’ll gloss it over with the good news, about the fire. I kept my shit together for that, and this is just fucking breakfast. Continental or not, I can handle breakfast without losing my shit. This is fine.
“...Sacha?”
He looks ready to call me Cain, he’s ready to sob, run, hide, scream -- I’ll throw this whole fucking table to the floor if he does. I’ll show him what resisting arrest really looks like, really set this hotel on fire for him, set this whole goddamn vacation on fire. I’ll fuck this up, if he wants to see me fuck this up, because we both know exactly how capable I am of doing just that. I am making him live each day terrified of the one where I fuck this up.
I straighten some, pull myself together. I can do this. I can be nice to this dumb fucking navigator I’ve roped into spending the rest of his life with me. I can at least manage one fucking nice week for him before I make the rest of his life shit.
“Yeah. Yeah, Ethan, fine. I’m fine.” I flash him a tight, terse smile, make an effort to speak slower, nicer, less irritated and nervous. “Sorry. I’m fine.”
I can get through this fucking awkward as shit breakfast. I took down a fire yesterday, breakfast is a fucking cakewalk. I’ve done enough awkward meals with Ethan to handle this one. I force myself to focus on the ridiculous fucking minutiae of taking the next bite, exactly how I have to pick up the fork, press the stupid flat tines into the pastry so it’s nice, polite.
I should have told Ethan I wanted a road trip with dive bars and shitty motels rather than this fine china-twinkling resort we’re stuck in for the rest of the week. Just a fan-fucking-tastic set of walls and doors I’ve found for myself, even comes with a pretty balcony view. I’m chewing this pastry like I could kill it somehow, rip it the fuck apart with my teeth. I want to hit someone, something, fuck this so much. I hate the days when just eating breakfast is a fight.
Ethan watches me without seeming like it, worried and scared, poking his breakfast. He’s going to cry, with or without me being nice about it, he’s going to get scared and cry even if I do the right things. He glances up, big blue eyes gone liquid. Shit. He’s already started.
I push my chair back, stagger, nearly knock over my water, holy shit calm down. I get untangled from the chair and get upright, clutch shaking hands into the back of it for balance. “Going to the room.”
Not asking it, telling him, I need to get the fuck out of here. Immediately, his presence not required nor especially wanted, do not stop me or ask stupid questions, I am leaving.
His eyes widen some. He’s not being so scatterbrained this morning he doesn’t know what’s happening, what that tone means. He sits there pretty lips trembling, lashes quivering, three seconds away from sobbing. Has the fucking gall to look me right in the eye and whimper, “Oh.”
I can’t fucking look at him anymore. I can’t be nice to him, if he’s going to fucking cry. He needs to snap the fuck out of this guilt-loop, cut himself some slack, I’m not pissed that he fucked up. I did all the right things, I handled it, it sucked, but I did it. He doesn’t need to be sad and scared anymore. He doesn’t have to cry.
Shaking, chest tight, I need to leave -- right now, right the fuck now.
I hear him say something, hear him call my name after me, sounds frantic even though I just told him where I was going, always make sure to say where I’m going if I can. Put a fucking ring on him, put one on me, put his goddamn contact info around my neck to wear all the time, he doesn’t need to be scared.
Probably doesn’t make him feel any better, seeing me run off like this, but fuck him. I can’t do this right now. I can’t be nice to him. I can’t fucking do the first awkward cry-over-breakfast shitty day of our marriage, I’m not even out of the easy fun honeymoon part yet.
I get in the elevator, punch the button. Nothing to do but wait, got myself nice and trapped in a square box, nothing to do, hardly anything to look at, nowhere to go, can’t even fucking pace, fuck. I grip my fingers into my hair, know I’m freaking out, doesn't fucking help to know I'm freaking out, need to stop, I’m alone in this small fucking box, can’t fucking breathe, try anyway, think about the floorplan of the apartment, try to remember exact details, colors, try to fucking focus, doesn’t fucking work, holy shit I am really freaking out, try something else, get help.
Get my phone, look at the time, do math, wince, probably not awake. Stare down at my shaking phone, hands shaking, fuck me, fuck this, fuck timezones, oh my God help me.
Shit, fuck, okay. Focus. Fuck it time. Time to fuck this, I’m out, three-at-once time, bad day, tell Beth about it later just fuck it for now -- I juggle my phone into my other hand, let it fall straight to the fucking floor, don't care, dig into my front pocket and realize the pills are in the room. Fuck. Fuck, no, I knew that -- that’s why I’m in this elevator.
Holy shit I’m a mess, where’s my phone.
I snatch the phone up off the elevator floor, attack the fucking thing, start the call anyway, fuck timezones. Fuck he better be awake. Listen, heart pounding.
Third ring, more like a protest than answering. “...nnn.”
“Hey, Aleks.”
“Nnnm?” Still not awake.
“How’s the house? How’s the cat? Stupid motherfucker giving you any trouble?”
Long pause, the silent sound of him figuring out just what the fuck’s happening, why the hell I’m calling at a weird hour asking him dumb questions.
“Cat’s fine.”
“That’s good. Anything interesting happen?”
“Drank the last of the milk.”
“You or Essem?”
“Me.”
“Oh, good. It was going to expire.”
“Yeah.”
I watch the floor numbers get bigger, listen to Aleks not know what else to say. Sometimes I have no fucking idea why he even bothers.
“I guess that’s it.”
“Sure." He sounds relieved. "See you Saturday?”
He’s questioning this, like I’m going to announce Ethan and I decided to stay in the tropics. Bought ourselves a straw shack under a fucking waterfall. Or maybe he’s just trying to ask if I’m okay without actually asking me, because it isn’t that often I’m desperate enough to bully him into answering the phone. I know he hates it. Idiot doesn’t have to keep answering if he hates it.
“Yup. Coming back Saturday.”
“Okay."
We hang up, or rather I hang up. He’d probably stay there giving me bullshit responses until my phone battery died, but the elevator’s stopped, I’ve got stuff to do now besides annoy Aleks. I limp down the hall to the room, get there, realize I left my fucking room key on the breakfast table.
I say it aloud, sharp and distinct. “Goddammit.”
I even remember putting it down, thinking to myself it should go in my pocket, forgot about it almost immediately. I wonder if that’s what Ethan was trying to tell me, sounding so frantic, when I ran off on him. At least I have my phone on me. I put a hand to my chest, feel through my shirt to the stamped metal and chain of my dog tags, get a hard fist of fabric around the steel. I ran off without thinking, needed to leave so bad I got myself lost.
I stand there, staring at the locked door, holding the dog tags through my shirt. This going to be so fucking awkward when Ethan shows up looking for me. Worse if I try to doubleback now, because the last fucking thing I need is to be somewhere else when Ethan thinks I’ll be here.
I get leaned into the wall, press my shoulders into it, use the wall for leverage to make sliding down to the floor easier. I keep one leg curled to my chest, let the fucked up one do its own thing. I thumb into my contacts, force myself to scroll past Abel, Aleks, Beth -- I start the call, put my phone back to my ear.
“Hello?” He answers on the first ring, sounds braced for anything and everything. He’s the one I usually annoy all the time at weird hours asking dumb questions. He knows to expect this crap from me.
“Hey. I forgot my key.”
“I know, I have it. It’s on the table.”
His voice is soft, controlled. The way I bolted out of there like the room had caught fire must’ve slapped sense into him. I’d take the fire again over this shit. Awkward breakfasts are the worst, means the whole day's fucked if I can’t keep it together.
“Are you busy?”
Even though it’s a dumbshit question, he’s nice and gentle about answering. “No, I’m not busy.”
I close my eyes, grit my teeth. I’m going to be nice back to him if it kills me. “Can you bring it to me?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll head your way?”
“Yeah. I’m in the hall.”
We hang up, or rather I hang up. Definitely know Ethan would keep the call going forever, bet he’d love having an instant way to ping me at all times. I should have told the shrinks just to cut a fucking hole in my head, give Ethan a scoop and let him go to town finding the answers he wants. What are you thinking? Where are you going? What are you doing? Where are you? Who are you with? Where have you been? What happened? Are you okay? Are you sure you’re okay? Are you absolutely sure you’re okay or is this the day you break my heart and leave me?
I thunk my head into the wall. Stare across at the bland arrangement of tastefully off-white walls and trim, maroon and navy carpet, boring, fuck this hotel. Fuck this hotel, fuck this trip, fuck trying to relax, fuck making Ethan happy, fuck pills that steal time from me and turn me useless, fuck feeling scared and weak, fuck working so fucking hard at this all the goddamn time I can’t believe I forgot the fucking key on the table, shit!
Ethan finds me like that. Sitting on the floor, forehead into my knee, bad leg twitching, all of me tense and shaking, breath tight, cold sweat, panicked and hating it. I thought I’d be in the fucking room for this at least, not stuck out in the hall.
I hear his footsteps, hear the way he starts walking quicker as he gets nearer, knows I’m not sitting out here for the fun of it. I hear him beep the key against the lock, the door opens, I don’t hear him say one word about the fact I’m out here in the hall freaking out. It’s nothing unusual, I do this all the time at home, this is me being wrong and him being right like always. This is our normal. The door closes, the latch clatters shut, it’s quiet.
I hear him come back out a few minutes later, comes over to stand next to me, crouch down next to me with what he has in his hands. Fucking never letting Ethan pick the hotel again, he found some goddamn fancy saucer to hold two round little pills. Glass of water and my room key go right next to the tiny plate. He is just un-fucking-real sometimes. He straightens, turns to leave.
I call him back. “Hey.”
His sandals shift on the carpet, he hesitates with the door propped open. I roll my forehead over my knee, lift up my head. He’s watching me, worried and scared, at least he’s not fucking crying. Longer I watch him back, less scared he looks, more sad he looks. Fuck. I think he’s figured out what I’m working up the nerve to say to him.
Makes me lose my nerve. I look somewhere else, look at whatever’s not him. “Yesterday sucked.”
“Oh.” The door eases closed, latches, both of us out in the hall now. “Oh, Sacha. It wasn’t so bad.”
“No, it sucked.” I press my face into my knee, fight tears. I try not to fucking cry and do it anyway. I get breath-hitched weepy in the way I hate and can’t do anything about. “Ethan, it sucked . I didn’t have my pills, I didn’t have my phone, I didn’t know where you were --”
“I know. I know, I’m sorry.”
“-- I was so scared, I didn’t know what was going to happen, what I might do, if this was it, it would all be over, I’d never even fucking see you again just wake up somewhere wrong --”
“Oh, Sacha -- Sacha, no --”
He’s in front of me now, melted into softness, gone stupid with it, crying because I’m bawling, I can’t stop. I can’t get mad at him for crying when I start doing it first.
“-- I wanted to run, but, I couldn’t leave you, I couldn’t leave, I couldn’t go look for you either, I didn’t know what to do, I had to get help --”
“I’m know, Sacha, I’m so sorry.”
I don’t know why he wants me to talk if he’s just going to interrupt. I don’t know why he’s so fucking unhappy when he was the one who wanted to do this, he wanted to talk about yesterday.
“-- then you show up, useless as shit. I fucking needed you, Ethan, I needed my navigator and you weren’t there. It sucked, it just fucking sucks sometimes and that’s not fair, I'm sorry, you shouldn’t have to do this, you should be able to fuck up sometimes --”
“Oh, Sacha --”
“But I’m trying, Ethan. I swear to God I’m trying, I’m trying so goddamn hard and I just can’t, I fucking can’t, I can’t do this --”
“No, you can!” He turns dry-eyed, desperate. He pushes his fingers through my hair. He strokes my shoulder, flutters at me. “Sacha, you can. You can do this, you're doing it. One day at a time, baby, you can do this. Yesterday’s over. You did it. Focus on today.”
“Today fucking sucks. It just started, and it already sucks.” Like our honeymoon, like our marriage, didn’t even make it a fucking week.
“It’s not so bad,” he soothes. “Today’s not so bad, Sacha.”
“Today sucks,” I sob.
It’s a bit of that for a while, my poor dumb fucking navigator having to sit there listening to his fighter whine and moan like a little bitch. Eventually I stop, get sick of feeling sorry for myself, make myself sick with sobbing. I let Ethan drag me off the floor, dump me into bed.
I’m on my fucking honeymoon, in bed with this hot piece of mine, and everything’s miserable. Seems about right, feels just like home. I don’t know why I made us both come all the way out here just to watch movies in bed like always on shit days.
He might be the best navigator, but he’s still stupid enough to let me talk him into this mess. I’m the only one of us who’s ever been smart enough to leave, but he makes me stupid enough too that I keep coming back. Makes me so stupid that I get terrified thinking I won't get to come back, won't know how. I wear his fucking name, where to find him, I keep it around my neck so I'll never lose him, even if I get lost.
It’s a lot of that, an entire day of that, being sick and miserable. Later when Aleks is actually awake he texts me, I text him back. Ethan sucks it up to go face down the hotel staff, comes back to the room with a deck of cards and gets me doing something that takes more focus than staring at a screen. Aleks sends me a picture of Essem, I wonder how long he had to chase her around the apartment to get her dumbass face actually looking at the camera. I show it to Ethan, let him get curious about what the fuck Aleks and me are talking about, hand him the scoop and let him go to town with it.
I wake up in the middle of the night, or maybe I’m not asleep yet. Everything’s slow about coming together. I’m in a bed, not my bed, but this hot piece of mine’s in it with me so I guess that does make it mine. I got tickly little fingers scratching into my hair. He’s awake. I can hear something, television maybe, I part thickness from my eyes briefly to see it’s all flickering glow and soft volume, murmured background nonsense. Hotel.
Ethan slips from the bed, he must think I’m asleep. I certainly slump heavily enough into the empty warmth he leaves behind to be asleep. I think my eyes went shut again. I think I remember a shit day, grey blur, Aleks sent me a picture of the cat. Awkward as shit breakfast that morning, wanted the day over faster, I popped a double-dose of sleeping pills before bed. Great getting me to unwind, just sucks if I do this bullshit later, being alert inside while dead to the world outside. As far as side-effects go, it could be worse.
Ethan’s back in the bed, pushes me out of the way to get comfortable, definitely thinks I’m asleep. I hear the soft scritch-scratch of pen on paper. He’s writing this one down, it’s late enough that I did it. I got all the way through the day without fucking it up too much. I get to try again. I get to be here for tomorrow.
“What day’s it?” That slurred out mess is me, speaking, can’t get too mad at him for always pestering me with questions when I do this to him, always bug him at weird hours with dumb questions.
“Two hundred seventy-six,” he says softly, whispers it like I’m asleep even though I’m talking to him. Always sounds like that when I get like this.
When I try to shift he helps, drags the bad leg for me since it’s dead weight. I get flopped into him, cuddle up against my navigator since I’m asleep, doesn’t count.
I get to mumble my dumb questions right into his neck now. “Think I’ll make three hundred?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”
“Four hundred?”
“Sure,” he says.
"Five hundred?"
My eyes are closed, everything’s dark, but I can hear him smiling. “Yes, but I might run out room by then.”
“Get you another one for Christmas.”
“No… No, don’t do that,” he says quietly. I don’t think he likes that he does it. I hope I’m not being a jerk asking about it.
First time I caught him at it, we had a big fight. I know it was day eighty-something because he fucking counts them, I saw all the numbers before he ripped the journal out of my hands. I saw some of what he wrote. A lot of cussing and screaming followed. I stormed out, just said going for my destination that time, took off without my phone or meds. I couldn’t be too mad at him for getting frantic and chasing me down.
I can’t be mad at him for keeping count, either, when he knows it’s just a matter of time. I’ll fuck this up eventually. I try not to let it scare me, try more not to let it scare him, but it’s so fucking hard sometimes. It’s the hardest goddamn fight of my life, and I don’t think I’m ever going to win. Good thing I’m a tough stubborn asshole who doesn’t know when to quit.
It gets tangled into a sigh, tumbles out as heavy as the rest of me. “Sorry.” I chew around my numb lips to get the words out, they’re important. “I’ll do better tomorrow.”
Ethan’s fingers tremble as they run through my bangs, brush the hair aside, guess he wants a better look at my drooling mean mug of a face. I don’t hear him say anything back. Maybe I’m asleep all the way through, maybe I’ll stay that way for the rest of the night now.
He whispers, like I really am asleep. “Sacha, you’re doing great. You did great today and yesterday both, day before that, too -- You are doing such a good job, baby. I can tell how hard you're working at this. I'm proud of you.”
He’s an idiot. My dumb fucking navigator says the stupidest things. I get so fucking crazy sometimes just trying to make everything nice for him because he’s like this, he’s soft and stupid. I feel him shift, hear the blankets rustling. Ethan’s nose bumps my cheek, his tender lips find my slack ones, he presses close. I hear him sigh like he's going to fall asleep.
He leaves the television on, knows I like the background murmur blocking sounds that aren’t normal, aren’t home. He’s smart like that, knows all this shit without me having to point it out, learned quick about the stuff I did have to point out. If he knew already why I was upset, why’d he make me talk about it? I knew he was sorry. I know what it’s like to do the wrong thing despite trying hard. It fucking sucks.
I got one final dumb question for him before I’ll shut up and let us both get some sleep. “Ethan, do I make you happy?”
His breath drags in, shaky and wet, but it comes out steady and smooth. "Yes." I got him back at the controls again, he’s willing to line up the shots for me like I need. “Yes, Sacha. You make me very happy.”
“Yeah,” I say. Kiss him, there on his neck, some sloppy bite thing that’s more like clever drooling than anything. I hope he likes it. I hope he likes the way I say it nice. I say it real fucking nice for him so he knows what I mean. “Yeah, okay.”
“Yeah. Okay,” Ethan echoes. He always sounds so much nicer than me when he says it. He strokes my hair, idly traces ticklish touches over my shoulder, turns a kiss into my forehead and leaves it there. He doesn’t say anything else, but I know what he means. I know exactly what this dumb navigator of mine is thinking, because I’m thinking it right back at him.