Since I don’t know her name, I’ve been calling her Springs.

She quiets down and settles against me again, and I do something weird, something I’ve never done before, and I’m glad she’s asleep for it.

I inhale the scent of her hair, and my eyes roll to the back of my head when I smell peaches. I have to hold back a groan and many, many other things that are not appropriate right now.

I’m such an ass.

She rolls away from me, and blood rushes through my arm. Static tingles my fingers, and I slide my arm out from under her and then fix the sheet as it slides down her shoulders. She has a small tattoo right under her collarbone, simple, delicate, and sophisticated. It’s a simple flower, a rose. The line work is thin, which gives it a feminine, elegant appearance. I want to lean down and kiss it so badly, but it’s selfish thinking, considering everything she’s been through. I shouldn’t want her like I do. I have no right.

There are a few things I tell myself to stay away from.

Love.

And hate.

I like to be balanced. Being right in the middle means nothing can go wrong. There are no expectations to be met. No promises can be broken. No disappointment can be felt. No love can be lost.

I live life in the middle for the most part. Personally, I think it’s worked out pretty well, minus being whipped and strung up like a pig for standing up for what I believe in.

Keeping my desires close to my heart saves me, even if what I want suffocates me every day.

Even though I want love, even though I want more, and I don’t want to slide between the legs of a club whore, I’m scared.

What if I’m just like my father? What if what I have isn’t enough, and I’ll want another life, another family? What if his bad blood runs through my veins, and I’m just this piece of shit human being? Maybe I try too hard to be a decent man because inside I know just how rotten I am.

My stomach growls, yanking me out of my pity party. I rub my hands over my face and look at the time. It’s four in the morning. No wonder I’m hungry. I missed dinner, and that means she did too.

I sit up and swing my legs over the bed as I stretch my neck left, then right, getting the cricks out. My boots hit the floor with a soft thud, and I look over my shoulder to make sure I didn’t wake her. Her curly hair looks like a huge cotton ball on the pillow. Her body is covered by the sheet and all I see are those curly coils. I chuckle to myself and fight the urge to reach up and run my fingers through her hair.