Chapter 41: 40

I haven't had a nightmare in weeks.

At first, I thought it was Schumacher's sleeping pills and his sometimes-not-attended-once-a-week-free-therapy sessions. However, after spending just a night away from Lorraine in a Connecticut hotel, I was quick to realise that it wasn't Schumacher's therapy or his horse pills.

It was Lorraine. The brown eyed brunette I knew shit about a year ago.

My nightmares stopped the first night we had sex.  And I haven't had another ever since. It was a startling realisation, one that made it hard to think—hard to breathe, even—because I have lived the better part of my life trying not to need anybody or depend on anyone for matters of the mind. So it was crazy that a girl who wasn't in my life a year ago was the magical solution to the torture that plagued my soul almost every night when I should be sleeping.

Okay, I wasn't so delusional to think that Lorraine possessed magical abilities that made my delinquent nightmares stop permanently—it wasn't even a thought that I was willing to embrace or accept. But when I saw her earlier that night, sitting in my bed, in my room, waiting for me—I simply couldn't let her go. Nightmare or not. I wanted her there.

And nothing could have terrified me more.

Other than the lucid dream I now seem to be having, despite feeling the heaviness of Lorraine as she's sprawled on my chest.

F*ck.

The reasonable part of me knew Lorraine wasn't the magic solution but as I lay here now, feeling the soft inhale and exhale of her breath, I know that a part of me secretly wished she was. A part of me secretly wished that I had a valid excuse for keeping her around—a reasonable excuse for why I'm becoming so f*cking attached, a reason why I find myself thinking about her at the most random times or why it's so important to me to see her smile, hear her laugh.

F*ck.

It's just not that simple. It can't be—nothing ever was. Everything is always complicated when it comes to my life. Even my dreams.

As usual, I'm very aware of my surroundings. Lorraine is sleeping peacefully next to me, me with my arms around her, but in my head, I can see the chaos unfolding. The scenes are all too real and I already know how it's going to play out. The dream is always the same.

I'm tied to a chair and I can't stand up. I'm forced to relive the same events. My mom finding out about my dad's other family. Her relapse. Robin's death. My accident. It's the same f*cking thing, over and over. And I can't get out.

"Charlie?" I know it's Lorraine's voice, but I can't bring myself to open my eyes. I knew she was bound to wake up with how I'm writhing around the bed and digging my hands into her skin. Unintentionally.I can't get out of the dream. I'm f*cking terrified and my heart is racing a mile a minute. "Charlie wake up."

I'm shaking violently when the dream stops and I manage to open my eyes. Lorraine is staring at me worriedly, her eyes filled with fear and panic. "Are you okay?" She reaches out to touch my face. I realise that I'm sweating a lot.

I open my mouth to speak but my throat is dry as hell. She climbs out of bed and grabs me the bottle of water sitting on my study. I sit up and drink the whole thing. I rest my head against the headboard, shutting my eyes and counting to 100 as Schumacher instructed me to do. I'm only on 61 when I hear Lorraine's voice.

"Do you always have nightmares?"

When my eyes open, Lorraine is staring at me worriedly. She's standing by my study in nothing but my oversized white t-shirt. It's far away—too far away for my liking. But I let her stay there. I'm scared to let her into my head—afraid of what she'll find there.

Nevertheless, I manage a nod. "Since I was 9." Saying it out loud makes me realise just how long I've been dealing with this. "It stopped for a while and then I go through some traumatic shit and I'm right back where I started."

"Do you want to talk about it?" She whispers. I don't. I know I don't. The last thing I'd want is for anyone to feel pity for me just because they know my story. But I'm also tired. Tired of keeping everything all bottled up. I need a f*cking escape, a safe space, an outlet. I know I do.

"I can't tell you about it if you're all the way over there." I tease.

Lorraine doesn't smile, she just walks back and climbs on the bed. I'm glad for the warmth as she snuggles up next to me, her head resting on my chest. She doesn't say anything but I know she's waiting for me to talk—I almost don't.

Almost.

"I had a good early childhood. When I think about it, my childhood was awesome. My parents were almost perfect in my eyes—especially my dad. I f*cking adored him." My hands come up around her, pulling her closer as I remember moments from my past. Memories I cherish and hold so dear to my heart. "My dad got me my first basketball, took me to my first game, he was at every of my game. He was my biggest supporter. My mum wasn't always as blatantly obvious with her affection as my dad because of how she was raised but she still loved me as a mother should. To me life was perfect. Until one day, my mum came home from the hospital—she was like 6 months pregnant with my sister—crying. Then, life as I knew it was over." I pause. "Turns out my dad had another wife hidden in Beverly Hills and all the business trips he claimed to take to Boston were just a 45 minutes drive away from our Silver Lake house. My mum was devastated. Especially because my dad's other wife was also 6 months pregnant."

Lorraine raises her head to look at me. I'm afraid to look at her. Afraid of what I'll see in her eyes. She doesn't speak, she only hugs me tighter.

"It was messy. My dad tried to take me from my mum—succeeded for a couple of months because he had lawyers at his beck and call. I hated it at his BH mansion, his wife was too nice and my dad had changed. It was like he was a different person. He felt no remorse for what he did to my mum and I hated him for it. I hated him for breaking up our family. Anyways— one day, I went to go visit my mum after my 5th birthday and I found her on the floor, bleeding. She had cut her own wrist. If I had called 911 any later, she would have died and I think a huge part of her hated me for saving her life."

Lorraine drops a single kiss on my chest. And the little gesture encourages me to continue. "Later that night she went into early labour and I found out about her Schizophrenia. My dad let me stay with her because of that. I had to take care of my mum and my baby sister for months and I was just shy of 5. Eventually my mum got better but her attitude towards my sister and I didn't. I guess she saw too much of our father in us and I don't blame her. The man put her through so much shit. I found solace in my sister and basketball. She was my responsibility—especially after finding out she had the Schizophrenia gene. I did everything I could to not let her out of my sight but she was a tough one. I couldn't control Robin. She did whatever she wanted and I let her."

"You can't control everything Charlie." Lorraine breaks her silence. "You were also just a child."

"Do you not see?" I almost scream. My voice is hard as I stare down at Lorraine. "I let her get away with too much. She was barely 15 when she got pregnant with Mila. And the very thing I was protecting her from—the very same thing I didn't want to happen to her happened. For the second time in my life, I walked in on my family member f*cking mutilated and bleeding out. Robin had done the exact same thing as my mum —except I couldn't save her. I couldn't save Robin."

"Charlie—"

"She was everything good. She was funny, and brave an tough but she was also in a lot of pain. A father that didn't care to know her, a mother who hated her and a selfish brother. She had to grow up early —I wanted to shield her from that but I failed. I had one job and I f*cking failed and I have no excuses. None."

"Okay." She whispers. "Okay." She says again, running her hand comfortingly over my hands. We sit there in silence, Lorraine doesn't keep her hands off me—it's like she wants me to know she's there. I'm grateful for it. I only manage to go back to sleep hours after her.

****

When I wake up again the next morning and turn to pull Lorraine close to me, I'm met with an empty bed. I groan, eyes opening to look for my phone. Without thinking, I call her but it goes straight to voice mail.

F*cking great.

Lorraine emerges from the bathroom as I go on to text her. She's wet and covered in my fluffy towel that's almost reaching her feet. She's all covered up but I know what she looks like underneath that towel and my brain conjures up a wet version of it. My eyes darken and I feel all the blood rush south to my already hard morning wood. Her face breaks into a shy smile when she catches me watching her.

"I borrowed your stuff. I hope you don't mind."

"It's okay." I say, realising that I meant it. She could use all my shit and I wouldn't mind. I'd never mind. F*ck. I get out of bed and walk to her, not caring that my hard on is visible in my briefs. I love that she checks me out and shivers when I tilt her chin up for a quick kiss. "I thought you left." I murmur against her lips.

She frowns a little "why would I leave?"

My blue eyes search hers. "Maybe last night was too much for you." I'm ashamed to admit it. Lorraine has seen a part of me that I've always managed to keep locked up inside of me. A part I'm always running from.

"You telling me about yourself would never be too much for me." Her eyes soften, "I'm not going anywhere Charlie Murtaugh. Unless you want me to." She adds quickly, on second thought.

I understand her clearly. I try to think of the thousand reasons why I don't want a relationship but nothing comes to my head. Not a single thing. Because the two things that have kept me away from a relationship are my dedication to basketball and the fear of betrayal but as I stare at Lorraine, I have no doubts.

So what the f*ck is stopping me?

"No." I say, pulling her closer to me and expertly tugging on the towel so it pools around her feet. "No, I don't want you to go anywhere." Her gasp of protest is lost in my mouth and immediately her body responds to the kiss.

She wraps her hand around my neck and her legs around my waist as I lift her, letting my hands dig into her perfect as f*ck ass as the kiss gets deeper and intense. She moans when I squeeze it, wiggling against me. She's wet already and it's so hot. She's killing me.

I set her down, breaking our intense kiss with a wet smack. I tear my boxers off, making sure to keep my eyes on hers. Her lips are swollen and her pupils are dilated as f*ck. She looks so beautiful—it's almost heartbreaking. I take pride in knowing I'm the only one who has ever seen her this way. And f*ck me, I want it to be that way forever. The thought of her being like this with another guy brings a nasty feeling of hotness to the bottom of my belly and makes me want to smash my fist into a wall.

"What?" She asks worriedly as I sit on the edge of the bed and reach out for her.

"You can never get like this with another guy. Ever." I tell her. I don't care if I sound jealous. I feel jealous. I see no reason to hide it.

"We aren't exclusive Charlie, you can't ask me for that."

My eyes snap to hers as I grab a condom from my drawer. She's being serious. I rip it from the package and roll it on. "We can come to a mutual agreement." I tell her. She climbs on my lap, straddling me. "Later." It takes all my willpower to concentrate as she slowly guides herself down on my dick, taking me in slowly, until I reach the very hilt. "F*ck." I hiss. She's all wet and tight around me. It kind of feels like heaven. "You feel so good baby."

Lorraine's head rolls back, a moan escaping her lips when she rolls her hips, her nails digging into my shoulder. It's not the first time she's riding me (and I'm f*cking glad because I don't think I can play the role of the dutiful teacher right now). I love when she's on top because I know she enjoys it—even though she gets tired quick and makes me do all the work until she cums. "F*ck." she pants when she starts sliding up and down, making sure to rub her clit against my skin. "Charlie I—mmnh."

"You're doing good baby." I encourage her, hips thrusting in rhythm to hers. One of my hands settle on her waist, helping her slide up and down whilst the other fiddle with her tits and play with her hair. "Right there, right there."

"Faster—please." She whimpers. Something I've now come to know she says when she's tired and getting slow and really needs to orgasm. I lift her and turn her on her back, not once coming out of her.

"We need to work on your riding game. You can't keep quitting on me sophomore." I steal a kiss, as I start pumping into her.

"Shut up." Her sass ended up coming out as a moan. I slam into her as fast as I can, my hand coming down to rub on her raw clit. She buckled beneath me, shouting my name as she comes. It was so hot, I come right after. Lorraine melts into me and I gather her in my arms as her eyes close sleepily. She opens them when she realises I'm lifting her up. "What are you doing?"

"We're having a shower."

"But I just had a shower." She whines.

"This one's even going to be better than the last because I'll be in it. And we're going to go again."

She rolls her eyes but I don't miss the wicked gleam in her eyes. We go again, and again. And we don't leave my room for the entire day. When we're not aimlessly making out and cuddling, we're watching greys anatomy. I even ordered us takeouts and we talked about nothing and everything. Lorraine's childhood—I've always known she's an only child. She had a bit of trouble having friends because of her selective mutism. Lorraine was able to speak just fine at home but couldn't in other setting. After years of hard work in speech therapy, and the support of her parents she was able to make progress. She spoke about being in high-school and how the only way she was able to express herself was through writing. It's why she loved being on the school paper and why she wants to be a journalist.

We both grew up differently. Lorraine had her own struggles but she had parents who supported her through it. She loves them dearly—I can tell by how she speaks about them. I loved hearing her talk about nothing and moan and eat. I loved every second it.

I hated that Saturday morning came.

****

It's Saturday morning and the guys and I planned to have a celebratory breakfast—now brunch—for making it all the way to the finals. Plus, Coach finally got an email that LA Lakers reached out about me and want me on their team which is f*cking great news. We'll have all the paperwork's signed by Monday and finals next week. Life is good-all things considered.

I'm parked up in a corner by Lorraine's apartment waiting for her to get changed and come back down.

She was there when I got news about being drafted. I asked her if she wanted to come to the brunch with me. I'm glad she said yes. I want to celebrate with her as much as I want to celebrate with the guys. Maybe even more than the guys. Despite spending the whole day with her yesterday, I'm not ready to let her out of my sight.

Boy, am I gone?

I sigh when my mothers voicemail comes on again. It's the fourth time I've called her since hearing the news about being drafted. Despite my anger towards her, I call her at least once a day. She never answers her

phone but always sends a picture of her and her friend or a message to let me know she's okay. Whenever I respond, she never texts back. Ever. But at least I know she's okay and she looks healthy. She has her lithium.

I sigh, sending her a text.

CHARLIE: I got drafted by the NBA. Lakers. Signing paperwork on Monday. Call me back when you get this Mom.

She reads it immediately. Three dots appear at the bottom and I realise that my heart is racing. The bubble goes on for like ten seconds, but the message never comes. I shake my head and shut my phone as Lorraine climbs into my jeep. She's changed into a lilac crop top and blue jeans.

"Hey," she smiles. "This was the only purple thing I could find to honour the lakers."

I look at her, completely mesmerised and utterly confused at the same time. It was such a girlfriend thing to do. And I know that it shouldn't feel good that she even thought about wearing a colour that matches that of the lakers but it does. My own mother couldn't even congratulate me. So this means a f*cking lot.

"You didn't have to, anything would have been fine." I say shyly as I start driving. I instruct her to put on her seatbelt because she always forgets. It's crazy how she always forgets. But it's cute. "I should start giving you driving lessons."

"Yes I did, we're celebrating." She smiles. "And really, you'd do that?"

"Yeah if you promise to blow me after every lesson, why not?" I tease.

"Charlie!" She blushes, deeply and I smirk. "I'm not promising anything." She tries to look stern but I can see the sides of her lips twitching. I know she's open to the idea.

"It doesn't have to be every single les—"

"Charlie!"