Karin Slaughter - Blindsighted

Jeffrey watched all this, concerned. Sara seldom drank, and when she did a glass of wine could turn her tipsy. He had never seen her drink anything stronger than a margarita their entire marriage.

Sara shuddered as she swallowed the drink. "How much was I supposed to put?" she asked.

"Probably a third of what you poured," he answered, taking the drink from her. He took a small sip, nearly gagging from the taste. "Jesus Christ," he managed around a cough. "Are you trying to kill yourself?"

"Me and Julia Matthews," she tossed back. "Do you have anything sweet?"

Jeffrey opened his mouth to ask her what the hell she meant by that comment, but Sara was already rummaging through the cabinets.

He offered, "There's some pudding in the fridge. Bottom shelf in the back."

"Fat free?" she asked.

"Nope."

"Good," Sara said, bending at the waist to find the pudding.

Jeffrey crossed his arms, watching her. He wanted to ask her what she was doing in his kitchen in the middle of the morning. He wanted to ask her what had been going on lately, why she was acting so odd.

"Jeff?" Sara asked, rooting through the fridge.

"Hmm?"

"Are you looking at my ass?"

Jeffrey smiled. He hadn't been, but he answered, "Yeah."

Sara stood, holding the pudding cup in the air like a trophy. "Last one."

"Yep."

Sara pulled the top off the pudding as she scooted onto the counter. "This is getting to be a bad thing."

"You think?"

"Well." She shrugged, licking the pudding off the top. "College girls being raped, killing themselves. That's not what we're all about, is it?"

Again, Jeffrey was surprised by her cavalier attitude. This wasn't like Sara, but lately he wasn't sure exactly how she was.

"I guess not," he said.

"You tell her parents?"

Jeffrey answered, "Frank picked them up at the airport." He paused, then said, "Her father." He stopped again. The sight of Jon Matthews's anguished face was not something Jeffrey would soon forget.

"Father took it hard, huh?" Sara said. "Daddies don't like to know their little girls have been messed with."

"I guess not," Jeffrey answered, wondering at her choice of words.

"You would guess right."

"Yeah," Jeffrey said. "He took it really hard."

Something flashed in Sara's eyes, but she looked down before he could tell what was going on. She took a long drink from her glass, spilling some down the front of her shirt. She actually giggled.

Despite his better judgment, Jeffrey asked, "What's wrong with you, Sara?"

She pointed at his waist. "When'd you start wearing those?" she asked.

Jeffrey looked down. Since the only thing he was wearing were his green boxers, he assumed that's what she meant. He looked back at her, shrugging. "A while ago."

"Less than two years," she noted, licking more pudding.

"Yeah," he offered, walking over to her, arms out from his sides, showing off his underwear. "You like 'em?"

She clapped her hands.

"What're you doing here, Sara?"

She stared at him for a few seconds, then put the pudding down beside her. She leaned back, her heels lightly hitting the bottom cabinets. "I was thinking the other day about that time I was on the dock. Do you remember?"

He shook his head, because they had spent practically every free second of ever)' summer on the dock.

"I had just gone for a swim, and I was sitting on the dock, brushing my hair. And you came up and you took the brush and you started to brush it for me."

He nodded, remembering that was the very thing he had been thinking about when he woke up in the hospital this morning. "I remember."

"You brushed my hair for at least an hour. Do you remember that?"

He smiled.

"You just brushed my hair, and then we got ready for dinner. Remember?"

He nodded again.

"What did I do wrong?" she asked, and the look in her eyes almost killed him. "Was it sex?"

He shook his head. Sex with Sara had been the most fulfilling experience of his adult life. "Of course not," he said.

"Did you want me to cook you dinner? Or be there more when you got home?"

He tried to laugh. "You did cook me dinner, remember? I was sick for three days."

"I'm being serious, Jeff. I want to know what I did wrong."

"It wasn't you," he answered, knowing the excuse was trite even as he finished the sentence. "It was me."

Sara sighed heavily. She reached for the glass, finishing the drink in one gulp.

"I was stupid," he continued, knowing he should just shut up. "I was scared because I loved you so much." He paused, wanting to say this the right way. "I didn't think you needed me as much as I needed you."

She leveled him with a gaze. "Do you still want me to need you?"

He was surprised to feel her hand on his chest, her fingers lightly stroking his hair. He closed his eyes as she traced her fingers up to his lips.

She said, "Right now, I really need you."

He opened his eyes. For just a split second, he thought she was joking. "What did you say?"

"You don't want it now that you have it?" Sara asked, still touching his lips.

He licked the tip of her finger with his tongue.

Sara smiled, her eyes narrowing, as if to read his mind. "Are you going to answer me?"

"Yeah," he said, not even remembering the question. Then, "Yes. Yes, I still want you."

She started kissing his neck, her tongue making light strokes along his skin. He put his hands around her waist, pulling her closer to the edge of the counter. She wrapped her legs around his waist.

"Sara." He sighed, trying to kiss her mouth, but she pulled away, instead letting her lips travel down his chest. "Sara," he repeated. "Let me make love to you."

She looked back at him, a sly smile on her face. "I don't want to make love."

His mouth opened, but he did not know how to respond. Finally he managed, "What does that mean?"

"It means…" she began, then took his hand and held it up to her mouth. He watched as she traced the tip of his index finger with her tongue. Slowly, she took his finger into her mouth and sucked it. After what seemed not nearly enough time, she took it out, smiling playfully. "Well?"

Jeffrey leaned in to kiss her, but she slid off the counter before he could. He moaned as Sara took her time kissing her way down his chest, nipping the band of his underwear with her teeth. With difficulty, he knelt on the floor in front of her, again trying to kiss her mouth. Again, she pulled away.

"I want to kiss you," he said, surprised at the begging tone to his voice.

She shook her head, unbuttoning her shirt. "I can think of some other things you can do with your mouth."

"Sara-"

She shook her head. "Don't talk, Jeffrey."

He thought it was odd that she had said this, because the best part of sex with Sara was the talking. He put his hands to either side of her face. "Come here," he said.

"What?"

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

"I don't believe you." He waited for her to answer his question, but she just stared at him.

He asked, "Why won't you let me kiss you?"

"I just don't feel like kissing." Her smile was not as sly. "On the mouth."

"What's wrong?" he repeated.

She narrowed her eyes at him as a warning.

"Answer me," he repeated.

Sara kept her eyes on him as she let her hand travel down past the waist of his shorts. She pressed her hand against him, as if to make sure he got her meaning. "I don't want to talk to you."

He stopped her hand with his own. "Look at me."

She shook her head, and when he made her look up she closed her eyes.

He whispered, "What's wrong with you?"

Sara didn't answer. She kissed him full on the mouth, her tongue forcing its way past his teeth. It was a sloppy kiss, far from what he was used to with Sara, but there was an underlying passion that would have buckled his knees had he been standing.