Afraid to Love by Leona Jackson Page A

hand.
    I studied her hand, taking in the sight of her ebony skin and the chewed edges of her nails. My mind refused to think past the nails. There was a story there. Cynthia must have noticed that I was staring at the aftermath of her nail biting habit, because she pulled her hand away.
    “I didn't like it,” she whispered. “I didn't like the ending.”
    “It's the only one that made sense,” I said, glancing down at her feet.
    Her toenails were painted a lovely shade of blue that complemented her dark skin. Another piece from the story. Had I included a description of her beautifully painted toes? Had I made her real enough? Had I given the ebony lioness all that I could? I shook my head to rid myself of the doubts I have after writing any story.
    “You're the writer!” she protested.
    “But the characters tell their stories,” I said.
    Cynthia took my hand again and pulled me down next to her on the bench.
    “She didn't get to tell her story,” Cynthia said.
    I tried to meet her eyes, but she wouldn't allow it. I frowned and considered leaving.
    “Then tell me what's on her mind,” I said, crossing my arms. “Tell me her story.”
    Cynthia gazed at me thoughtfully for a moment and her brown eyes finally met mine.
    “Her story is still in the making,” she said.
    I couldn't help but smile. She was getting better at polite word sparring.
    “So what happens next?” I asked with an arched brow.
    “This does,” she whispered.
    Cynthia wrapped her arms around my neck and trailed her fingers through my hair. I studied her expression, but it was blank as she leaned in close and brushed her soft, supple lips against mine. For the first time, it was she who moved her tongue between my lips and initiated the dance.
    Wrapping my arms around her, I pulled her closer to me. She climbed clumsily into my lap and pressed her breasts against my chest. I trailed my fingers down her spine and felt her tremble. What was she so afraid of? I wanted to ask, but Cynthia still held my mouth captive.
    When the kiss broke, she rested her head against my shoulder, but she didn't speak. I stroked her hair and was surprised at how soft it was. I always expected a weave to feel course against my skin.
    Cynthia looked up at me and then kissed me once again. The kiss was shorter, but more passionate.
    “I don't know what comes next,” she whispered.
    “Come with me to my mom's dinner party tomorrow,” I shrugged.
    “I thought your mom was dead?” she asked.
    For a moment her expression was confused, but it was quickly turning to anger.
    “She is,” I sighed. “Every year my dad and her sister throw a party on her birthday. They force us all to get together for a meal of her favorite foods. I know it's silly...”
    “I don't think it's silly,” Cynthia said as she touched my cheek.
    Her palm was warm against my skin. Our lips met in a hungry kiss and I held tightly to her, fearing that at any moment she would breakaway and flee from me once again, but she didn't.
    “Come to Germany with me,” I said.
    “What?” she asked.
    “I'm leaving Monday morning, just come with me,” I said again.
    “What?” Cynthia looked up at me and blinked. “Why are you leaving?”
    “I just need to get away for a while,” I admitted.
    “What about my job?” she asked.
    “Didn't you quit?”
    “No,” Cynthia sighed, “I didn't resign.”
    “Come with me anyway,” I said.
    “Okay,” she nodded.
     
                                                            Chapter 11: Cynthia
     
    Germany wasn't as great as Mark had made it sound, but I did enjoy myself. The hospital board allowed me to resign with the promise of good recommendations. While we were in Germany, I decided that I wanted to go back to school and further my education. I wanted to be something other than a nurse. I wasn't cut out to be on the bottom of the totem pole. I had always wanted to be a doctor and I was going to