Cage

19.

Alex's POV

"I really need to be locked in here with you more often," Cage jokes and I smile.

"You know that spot where I was going to take you so we could read? We can use it to talk and figure out how to get you out. You're going to need to tell me more about what happened that day on the day of the murder, okay? We can talk about it tomorrow, because it seems like you're scared right now."

I nod in agreement, but a part of me doesn't believe he can save me. I can't get my hopes up.

I start nervously playing with my hair. "I'm not scared."

"You're not a very good liar." I fold my arms across my chest and roll my eyes. I can only see the silhouette of his body.

"Fine, I'm scared. I'm going to die. I can't lie to myself and believe everything will be okay."

"I told you that I'm going to help you get out of here," he tells me. "You're not going to die."

"Stop getting my hopes up. The chances of me getting out of this place are low."

He moves closer and takes my face in his hands. "Fine, you want the truth? Life isn't easy. Everybody is scared of something. You either face your fears, accept them or drown in them. I can't promise I will get you out, but I can promise I will try."

"What are you scared of?" I ask.

Cage drops his hands back to his side and goes silent for a really long time. "Nothing."

"You just said everyone is scared."

"Yeah, but I didn't say everyone wants to talk about it."

"Nobody wants to talk about fears. Nobody, including me. Unless it's dumb things like fear of spiders."

"Hey, spiders are scary, okay?"

I scoff and decide to provoke him by saying, "Manly."

Cage runs a hand through his hair and smirks. "I'm not insecure about my masculinity. I know that if I wanted you, I'd have you up pinned to the bed with your nails dragging down my back, screaming and begging me for more."

"Begging you for more? Because what you have isn't enough?" I don't know why I am saying these things. It does help distract me from thoughts that I'd rather avoid.

Plus, annoying Cage is a little fun.

"Di*k joke, huh? I could stretch you out. I'd put money on it."

His words make me blush, but then I realize something. He's thinking about having sex with me.

"I think I could handle you," I tease.

Wait, why am I flirting? He already agreed to help me.

Without warning, he pulls his shirt off. It feels like it happens in slow motion as he grabs the bottom of it and pulls it over his head.

"You know, if this whole cop thing doesn't work you could keep the uniform and become a stripper," I comment.

"You should see what I can do after I take it all off."

I walk closer to him. It's hard to see. So instead of looking, I run my hands down his body. I feel every curve of his muscles as I slide my hands across his smooth skin.

I can't believe this is happening. High school me would have never believed my life would end up like this; with me feeling up Cage Anderson in a jail cell.

I press my body closer to him and my slide my hands behind him. As my hands trail up his back, I feel his skin get rough. I hesitate for a second and Cage notices and quickly grabs my hands, pulling them off him.

"Cage...?"

"It was just a kinky girl who scratched me too hard. It's nothing."

I walk around him and trail my fingers across the scars. They're too deep too be nail scratches and they go horizontal. It's definitely not from sex.

He has his scars on the outside. Mine are on the inside. I didn't want to explain mine, so I won't ask him to explain his.

Acting completely out of character, I lean forward and kiss his back. I cringe at what I just did and step back, not knowing how he is going to react.

He turns to look at me. "What was that?" he asks.

I shake my head and tuck my hair behind my ear. "I-I don't know. Sometimes little things make people feel better. I don't remember much about my parents, but I remember every time I'd get hurt my mom would kiss it to make it feel better." I smile to myself. That's one of the very few memories I have of my mom.

"Your parents died?" he asks. "How?"

Just like that, I shut myself off. I have never spoken about it. Sometimes I remember, and the pain is excruciating, so I always avoid thinking about it.

"No," I whisper and shake my head. "I can't."

He pulls me into a hug which makes my heart feel warm. "Got any scars you want me to kiss?" he whispers.

I bite my lip as I pull out of the hug. I place my finger high up on my inner thigh. "I've got one right here."

He smiles and presses his thumb down on my bottom lip. "Is that a scar on your lip? I might have to kiss that, too."

0•0•0•0•0

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