He crouches down with me, his body cocooning mine while he reaches around my body and grabs the same pipe with both hands. The heavy weight of his head leans into the back of mine, and for the first time ever, I hear fear in his ragged breathing.
“It’ll pass soon,” I say, somehow able to get words to leave my quaking lips.
He doesn’t give me a verbal response, but I feel him pull in tighter around me. I do the same, and within seconds we’re practically one with the metal pipe that runs deep into the ground. The vibration against the palm of my hands is making me numb, but worse—I can no longer hear the screams from other students in the gym or nearby hallway. The storm, it’s too loud.
A large branch, or perhaps a piece of a nearby building, crashes against the heavy metal door that leads outside, and I flinch. Tory’s hands slide from above and below where mine are gripping to cover mine. His hands are nearly double the size of mine, his fingers filling in the gaps where I wrap around the pole, locking me against the metal. His head shifts just enough to bring his chin over my shoulder, and strangely, he begins to hum. I focus on the sound, learning the tune as he gives it to me in faltering bits and pieces. It’s vaguely familiar, and I’ve found my breathing has started to follow along.
“So, hoist up the John B’s sail,” he sings in a soft murmur. If I didn’t know how scared he was, I’d assume he’s nervous. He shouldn’t be; his singing voice, even this soft, is really nice.
“See how the main sail sets,” he continues, this time the faintest touch of his lip brushing against my ear. It isn’t on purpose, but every single nerve in my body tunes in as my skin reacts with a rush of pebbles that trail down my arms and legs.
The wind is crying outside our walls, and panic takes hold of my emotions. I shudder out cries as more debris smacks against the walls outside, but Tory continues to hum his sweet song against my ear. His voice shakes every so often, but nothing deters him from keeping up the rhythm and pace.
And then it happens.
There’s a difference in the way his mouth touches my exposed neck. It’s purposeful, even if feather light. There’s a taste taken with his lips, and he lingers for longer than a second, long enough for him to consider what his lips should do next. I’m frozen, less scared of the storm for this brief moment and more afraid of what’s happening and the question beating down my conscience. Do I want it to continue?
As if he can read my thoughts, Tory’s head tilts just enough to remove his mouth from my skin, the cool spot left from his lips drawing all my focus. The wind seems to be at its peak, a relentless hiss beating its way inside. Fear crawls back inside my chest, and Tory’s body rocks me side to side in slow movements, as if we’re lost at sea.
“Call for the captain ashore, let me go home . . .” His voice is a little stronger with this part and I blurt out a short laugh mixed with tears at the sentiment in his words.
“I want to go home!” I shout as the building quakes around us and we both start laughing hysterically, a mania taking hold in the moment.
“You know this song?” His voice is loud at my ear.
He seems so happy that I recognize whatever this is that I shout back, “Sure!”
The heavy patter of rain fills in the gaps left behind as the wind shifts direction, the destruction headed somewhere else. As the pounding subsides, Tory shifts enough to check my face, but his arms are still locking me down, his muscles still flexed as if ready to hold us both to the earth.
“You’re such a bullshitter,” he says, his voice raspy and mixed with laughter that’s probably leftover from the massive dose of adrenaline.
“Thanks, and I’m glad you survived, too!” I bite back.
“No, the song. You have no idea what that is,” he explains, finally easing his grip and scooting back enough for me to unglue myself from the pipe.
I stand, ass damp from the shower-wet floor, which I guess is a small price to pay for not losing the roof over our heads. I glance down and meet his sideways