Okay people we still have the self-harm issues so old warnings still stand, also our characters get a little frisky, but I like playing with them so no satisfaction just yet. :)!
The sun was shining as Jim reached into the cupboard for another pan, the dying light refracting as it hit the metallic surface, a rainbow pattern manifesting on the cream worktop and he smiled at the simple joy of it. The weather was still holding, the warm spell of May prolonging itself, making summer seem somehow a possibility. He paused in his ministrations, stirring the boiling tagliatelle distractedly, his attention caught by the sight of June through the window. He raised an eyebrow as she stretched up to the washing line, her slim waist clearly outlined, among other things he noted, with not an entirely disinterested glance. She held a wicker basket carefully balanced on one hip, into which she was throwing the dry washing and he smiled wistfully, perhaps in younger years she would have balanced a child off her hips and before he could stop it the thought ‘your child’ flashed through his mind. Still stirring at the pasta in a steady rhythm he carefully stopped that line of thought, knowing where regrets and misgivings could take him. That was one thing they’d always stressed at the meetings, how depression makes you crave control, whilst at the same time locking you into a cycle where it’s constantly out of reach. One of the most important lessons he’d ever learnt was learning to accept there are somethings in life you can’t change.
The sound of the backdoor snapped him out of his reverie and he turned to the stove startled to find the pesto sauce bubbling furiously, splattering the range and worktop. She wandered over; the basket still cradled securely on her hip and surveyed the mess.
“I said cook me dinner not wreck the place.” She observed dryly passing through, as she went to drop the ironing on the floor of the lounge, kicking it nearly behind the large potted plant.
“Hey, you get what you get lady.”
She sauntered back into the kitchen that wonky smile he knew so well fixed on her face, it was the wicked glint in her eye that he wasn’t used to, but he loved it just the same. “Just teasing.” She said and kissed him briefly. As she moved away he wrapped his arm around her, the wooden spoon he held in his hand dripping sauce onto the lino as she felt herself pulled into another kiss, this one deeper their mouths open, tongues exploring, tasting, teasing, entwining. The broke apart as the pasta boiled over furiously.
June eyed her cooker with askance and then cast a disapproving look up at Jim, “You need house training, “and then before he could respond asked brightly, “need any help?”
“I think you’ve been enough help.” His tone was mildly sarcastic.
“Me?”
“You started it.”
Debating whether or not to argue to point she left it and instead leaned back against the worktop, resting her elbows on the cool plastic. “Ah well, you look cute in a pinny.”
Jim audibly chocked on the comment as he arranged the chicken breast in the pan and glanced over at her, her face holding a smugly satisfied expression. Oh well, he thought, two can play at that game, later. A playful June, another thing about her he didn’t know, sure he’d seen it a few times at work, but to have that light, slightly tender, mischievous sense of humour directed at him was bliss. He stole another glance at her and she smiled, half shyly, as she was caught watching him work. The dying afternoon sun was just visible on the horizon, sinking low beyond the line of oaks in the mid distance, and it’s light framed her, throwing her face into partial shadow. His chest constricted as her beauty hit him and then his head soared as he realised she was here with him, not some romantic fantasy silently wished in the night, something to hope for in the dawn, but real. Flesh and blood, warm and whole.
He caught her eyes with is own, deep drown depths, “I love you.” He admitted, the confession startling him as it broke into the authenticity of day.
June stared at the man before her, dressed in an old red pinny of hers, far too small for him, looking faintly ridiculous as he spent his Saturday merrily cooking her dinner for her, willingly with her despite knowing what he did. Her eyes became glassy as the truth of Frank’s statement hit her, she could so easily hurt him. Vowing never to intentionally do so she raised herself up and padded over to him, her bare feet silent on the floor. He had turned back to the stove, embarrassed at his clumsy declaration. Lifting herself up on tiptoes she drew her arms around his waist and pressed her lips to the back of his neck.
“You’re an old softie Jim Carver, but I like you like that.” Her breath was warm on his neck and she rested her head on his shoulder, content to remain in the embrace.
Reluctantly he spoke up, “If you don’t move we’re going to have a disaster on our hands.”
“Hmm, what’s that?” she asked lazily, making no effort to unravel herself.
“The pasta and chicken will not be ready at the same time.” he replied, his tone deadly serious.
She laughed and pressed a last kiss to his skin before slipping back down to her heels and resuming her position by the sink. They were silent for a few minutes until June spoke.
“I don’t like doing it, you know.” She began conversationally, her tone light, but distant.
“Cooking? I know!”
“Cutting.” He continued to oversee the food, allowing the comfortable silence let her know she could continue.
“Was it like that with you?”
“Yep.” He said slowly, “You tell yourself that today you’re not going to do it, you’re not going to even pick the bottle up, you’ll go for a walk, watch the telly but…” he shrugged and his words fell away and she picked up the thread.
“You end up fixated on it, craving it, hating yourself more all the time for wanting it, you promise yourself it’ll only be once, or perhaps twice but as soon as you start it hits you with a vengeance and all thought of reason goes out of the window and before you know it you’re staring at your own skin, sickened, bloody, bruised and raw.”
Her tone barely hid the disgust she felt and turning the gas off he lifted the heavy metal pan of pasta from the ring and set it down in the sink, turning to her he opened his arms and drew her into a gentle embrace, kissing her hair unsure what to say. She snuggled into his hold, resting her hands lightly on her chest until she shifted restlessly and he pulled back draining the pasta with practised ease. “Dinner’s ready,” He said softly.
***
It was now a week since they had returned from Leeds, those two and a half weeks seeming almost unreal to both, a time out of time, when all the rules seemed to have stopped. ‘Neither of us has managed to return to how it was’, June realised, unsure if that carried positive or negative connotations, on the upside her relationship with Jim was progressing well, she felt comfortable around him, content and happy, a change from the restless prowling her body and mind usually seemed intent on. And yet this was dangerous as well, circumstances had changed, and she had no idea why or how really and that disturbed her, set her on edge and there was always something niggling at the back of her mind telling her she didn’t have control of this situation at all. Knocking the locker door shut she slipped the light jacket over her shoulders and left the WPC’s locker room to find Jim. He was leant against the wall chatting lightly to Cass and smiled warmly at her as she approached.
“Sarge.” Cass acknowledged and then scuttled away down the corridor before June could reprimand her for not being on the front desk.
Jim chuckled and turned to her, “So Sergeant, your place or mine?”
Her gaze whipped round the corridor quickly and she frowned “Will you keep your voice down.” She admonished realising it was a slight overreaction but the feeling of panic and fear of lost control was worming it’s way to her consciousness.
“Sorry” he threw back petulantly.
She sighed, well the evening could only get better, “Yours, it’s closer.”
Three hours later they were sat in companionable silence in the living room of Jim’s flat, the occasional rustle as he turned a page of newspaper or she a page of the book she’d found on one of the shelves. He soon finished, and folding the pages untidily together he dropped it onto the floor beside his chair and went to join her on the sofa. June smiled and accepted his offer of an arm, snuggling into his side, feet drawn up onto the blue cushions, book still in hand. The silence continued for a few more minutes.
“What are you reading?”
She didn’t respond, simply held the book up to him so he could read the cover himself, “Tipping the Velvet’. Don’t know it.”
She laughed, “Well it’s one of yours!”
“Got plenty of books in here, don’t mean I’ve read any of them.”
Again she didn’t respond, quite content in the world of fiction and the silence reigned briefly again as Jim began absentmindedly tracing patterns on the skin of her waist where her top had shifted slightly.
“So what’s it about then?”
She sighed, and how am I supposed to tell you that if you wont let me read the book, “And stop it you’re distracting me,” she informed him in a voice of mock annoyance and she swatted at his fingers.
“Complaining?” he grinned.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She said as she closed the book over her finger and lifted her head to his accepting the kiss. As it deepened she let the book slip from her fingers and turned her body into his, his hands settling her onto his lap.
She smiled leisurely against his mouth and carefully arranged herself into a more comfortable position as his hands stole around her slim waist insinuating their way under her top, resting on the warm, smooth skin of her back. It felt good, she realised, to be held securely like that, his large hands tenderly possessive, like he was never going to let her fall. Deepening the hitherto gentle kiss June arched into him, her breasts pressing against his chest, nipples tightening slightly at the contact and she heard his sharp intake of breath. Breaking the kiss Jim dropped his lips to her neck, nipping and biting at her skin teasingly, his tongue tracing idle patterns, lapping at her salty taste.
“Leave a mark and I’m going to let you explain it to the rest of the relief tomorrow.” She warned breathlessly, dropping her head back, granting him full access. He chuckled and feathered his way up to her face, kissing her cheekbones and closed eyes delicately.
“Want me to stop?” he murmured in her ear.
“I don’t remember telling you that.” She quipped as she reclaimed his mouth, her kiss demanding and heavy as she deftly opened the top buttons of his shirt and ran her hands across his chest, her fingernails scratching lightly at his skin making him shiver pleasantly. She smiled again, that lazy, cat like smile, enjoying his reaction to her touch, there was that light, mischievous side again Jim noted happily. Dragging his hands away from the small of her back, applying a firm pressure to her skin he drew then up the front of her body his hands resting on her ribs, just like before, his thumbs deliberately reaching out to stroke at the bottom of her breasts. And just like before she stilled, “Jim…you don’t…” She began, but he silenced her taking her lips with his own he carefully ran his hands over the smooth, soft silk of her bra, warm from the heat of her body. Her breath quickened appreciatively and he slowly let his fingers drift towards her nipples, drawing ever decreasing circles on her chest, but with a wicked grin of his own removed his hands to her stomach as he neared his goal. Recognising the game he was playing she refused to show her frustration at his actions and instead let his teasing continue. Drawing his hands once again up her body, his fingers paused this time at her cuts reaching out to trace their lines, strangely smooth under his touch.
The chiming of the small grandmother clock in the corner startled them both apart guiltily and breathless and June suddenly realised that she had moved, her legs now straddling his thighs and she felt a slight brush creep over her features. Catching his eye they both dissolved into laughter, soon startled again as the ringing of the phone tore through the flat. Rolling off him, onto the cushions June straightened her clothing as he rose and walked into the kitchen, lifting the receiver there.
“Hello?…Oh, erm…I dunno mate...I’ve kind of got company...no, no.…just an old friend...” he wandered into the lounge and at her expectant eyebrows mouthed ‘Tony’ at her. “You sure?…No, yeah definitely some other time…we can sort it out at work tomorrow…yeah sure, see you then…night.
“What did he want?” She queried as her replaced the receiver and appeared in the doorway.
“Just a drink.” He answered, buttoning up his shirt again, “I said I had company.”
“Go.” She told him, and could see him waver, the indecision clear in his open book features.
She lifted the book to the coffee table, “Your friendship with Tony needs some work.” She pointed out.
He nodded, knowing the statement well himself, torn between his desire to stay with June and his duty to his friend.
She disappeared out of the room for a second and came back holding his shoes and coat. Proffering them to him she kissed him lightly, “I’ll still be here when you get back.” She watched as his eyes expressed their gratitude and returned the brief kiss.
“I won’t be late.” He promised.
“Good.” She muttered into his mouth.
God we sound like a married couple she thought in askance, eight days and I’m telling him not to be late when he goes to play with his friends! She carefully tried to suppress the deep sense of unease that idea created within her, the light-hearted image an attempt to deny, but it would do little good she realised, feeling that odd tension beginning to rise again.
***
Jim let himself neatly into the flat and dropped his keys into the small bowl he’d eventually placed on the low shelf there after three years of loosing them every time he put them down. He poked his head around the door into the living room but both it and the kitchen beyond were in darkness. Slightly puzzled he wandered down the narrow hallway to his bedroom; her car was still parked outside so she couldn’t be far. Opening the door his heart softened and he smiled. June was curled up on his low bed, her face turned away from him dressed in one of this old shirts, the room in semi-darkness illuminated only by the small bedside lamp, she was perfectly still and he guessed she was asleep. He wandered past the bed to the wardrobe and hung his jacket up, turning back to June, but instead of the sleeping face he expected to see her eyes were open staring blankly at the far wall, her arms hugged tight to her chest, her body stiff and unmoving. Suddenly concerned he paused to take in the rest of the room, and his heart sunk as he noticed a Swiss Army Knife resting on the cabinet next to a handful to stained tissues.
“What happened?” He asked evenly and watched as her body tensed further.
“I’m sorry.” She stated.
“That wasn’t the question I asked.” He said evenly, perching on the edge of the bed beside her suddenly noticing a series of cuts on her thigh, most curling away hidden where her leg pressed into the bed clothes.
“It’s not bad. It’s an old knife I tend to keep in my bag, you have no razors I could take apart.”
He placed his hand tentatively on her hip, surprised at the heat he felt emanating from her skin, and then as he let the full weight fall onto it he could feel raised skin beneath and realised that she must have cut most of her upper thigh.
That did it for June, the pressure of his hand on her hip pressing her body down into the mattress adding to the burning and stinging, broke the emotionless calm she was feeling and she began to sob quietly. “I’m sorry.” She kept repeating, her voice uneven. “I am so sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“You shouldn’t have to see this.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I do.”
“What happened?” He asked her again.
“I don’t know, I don’t. I’m scared, I couldn’t stop, it’s never been like that before, I just felt like…any patch of skin which was undamaged I had to cut it, mutilate it, and I don’t know why. I’ve never done that before. I’m scared Jim.” She cried, turning over slightly and lifting the shirt hem glancing down at her thigh, closing her eyes against the knowledge.
“It’s not that bad.” She repeated.
Jim looked at the mass of cuts, rows of straight lines overlapping each other large flecks of congealed blood massing where they met, the area spanning from her hip to just below mid thigh, some still not even visible to him. “Looks pretty bad to me.” He commented.
She shook her head vehemently, trying to deny the reality of her actions, “The blade’s blunt, it won’t cut well.”
“Which simply means you’ve got to try harder and it does more damage.”
She half laughed through her tears, of course he knew, the cider or vodka debate. Up until now she’d have taken the vodka every time, the wonderful burning pain as the tiny blade slices into flesh, the sharp, high resonance of it for the seconds afterward and then the disappointment as it fades, prompting to slice again and again, until the whole are is red, hot, burning and stinging. But she’d liked the blunt blade tonight, the joyous freedom she felt having to press it so hard, so firmly against her flesh, no hiding in clinical precision, neat parallel lines, but this mad hash of red web, damaging herself slowly, deliberately, surely. Her voice remained mutely silent as her mind raced through the thoughts and she felt the numbness spreading through her again, that odd, empty feeling in her stomach, limbs weightless again, except for the pain in her thigh it was almost as though she wasn’t real. She shuddered at the thought and was surprised as Jim lifted the bedclothes around her.
He sighed at her silence but understood perfectly how difficult it was going to be for her to talk and began to methodically tidy the room, clearing away the bloodied tissues and flicking the knife back into its sheath. Laying it down on the dresser he reached in and collected his own nightwear and began to leave the room.
“Jim?” She queried.
”You stay in here, I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
She rolled onto her back, wounds safely hidden beneath the blankets and for the first time since he had arrived back really looked at him. She smiled at him, liking the way the muted lights cast his form, shaking her head.
“There’s no need.”
“You can’t drive home in that state.”
“I’ve bloody worked in worse,” she snapped and then muttered, “Sorry, I tend to get snappy…afterwards.”
“I’ll be fine on the sofa.”
“There’s no need.” She stressed having to smile as his eyes widened.
“Oh…you…don’t mind.”
She sighed deeply and rolled her eyes, “Jim Carver, we are both adults and hardly innocents at this game, I think we can handle one night in the same bed. Or do I have to make that an order?” She added glibly, her Machiavellian side raising its head briefly.
Deciding that an irked superior officer wasn’t what he wanted to cuddle up with that night Jim headed silently for the bathroom and changed quickly, pulling on his boxer shorts and an old faded Genesis T-shirt and paused to wonder briefly if this relationship was always going to be so topsy-turvy, but pushed the thought to the back of him mind for later consideration after more research. He slipped into his bed, marvelling at the way her subtle scent had already invaded, and perfectly content he shuffled closer to her warm body, draping his arm over her waist, resting on her stomach. Turning her head she kissed him goodnight and squirmed her body into his own, enjoying the weight of his arm as it drew her close. She closed her eyes, safe and warm, it had been too long since she’d felt this way, too long indeed. Shame those cuts weren’t going to allow her much rest.
To Be Continued...
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