We didn’t have to worry about rushing home, so he took me to a spot along the Columbia River that he liked. We walked along it for awhile, soaking up the sun, sights and sounds around us. I loved how fresh and crisp the air was through my nose and down my throat, mostly due to the millions of trees surrounding the city. And I loved the beauty of the river splashing along its course with the vividly green and white mountain filling in the background.
After that, we spent a few more hours relaxing at the theater. He was kind to oblige my request of a romantic comedy, since I really didn’t want to see anything that involved horror, torture, or scenes that were downright disturbing. Later, he insisted I help him make a simple dinner, knowing full well I needed a major crash course in cooking. But simple for me and simple for Nick were two completely different things. I’m not sure how much of his lesson I actually absorbed, because my instructor couldn’t seem to keep his hands off my body as he guided my every movement from behind. Though I will say that meatballs and rice was the perfect comfort food to end the day with.
14
I knew I probably shouldn’t be sharing a bed with Nick until the results came back, but I just couldn’t help myself. I needed him beside me when I slept, because it was the only time I felt safe enough to actually sleep a little through the night.
Even if there was a chance he may not be really mine, for today, maybe even tomorrow, he was mine. And I wanted him, wanted every single touch he was willing to give while I could still call him my own.
After my shower, when I perused the drawers of the dresser for the first time, I came across a collection of cotton tanks and shorts. I pulled a top out and stared at it longingly, remembering a time when I lived with my so-called fake parents, when I used to prefer the thin cotton over all others. Rubbing the tank between my fingertips, I let my butt crash atop the bed, beginning to debate whether or not to put it on. I hated feeling embarrassed about my skin, even horrified at times.
I shook my head at myself. When was enough going to be enough? Nick had already seen them several times, particularly the worst of the worst. Yet he was still here. His hands still continued to caress my skin without hesitation, without disgust. He moved me into his home for crying out loud! So if he could see past the abnormality, why couldn’t I?
I sucked it up and put on a tank and a pair of short shorts, but still covered it up with a silk robe that I left untied, merely crossing the fabric across my body and securing it closed with fisted hands. I slowly, and carefully, walked to the master bedroom, silently wishing Nick would already be asleep so I could slip into bed unnoticed.
No such luck. He was crossing from the bathroom to his side of the bed when he caught me peeking around the corner. “You coming to bed?” he asked. Somehow he even made a pair of boxers and a gray cotton t-shirt look incredibly sexy. And I hated to think it, but sometimes I felt so ugly beside him, beside anyone that had managed to keep their skin healthy and undamaged.
“Yeah,” I said in a not so convincing voice, taking the hard step into the room. But I had yet to take more than just that one.
“Something wrong?”
“No,” I said innocently. “But can we turn off the lights?”
He took in a deep breath, his eyes noticing my bare legs sticking out beneath the bottom of the robe, finally understanding the reason behind my hesitation, as I had always worn pants to bed. He slowly walked towards me and tipped my chin up at him. “Megan,” he began softly, “I’ve already seen them. Up close and personal. They don’t make me want you any less.” His hands moved to grasp both cheeks, my body automatically inching forward to find his, and my hands settled on his waist. “You have no idea how hard it was for me this past month. Finally finding you and not being able to just pull you into my arms? It was so damn hard not to kiss you. I’m sorry if this comes off rude, but I don’t give a shit about your damn burns. I’ve been without you too long and I need you. I don’t care if you want to hide from the rest of the world, just don’t hide from me anymore.”
I nodded, afraid my voice would crack or falter. He tricked me with the kiss, distracting me as his hands slid down, landing on the base of my neck. He swept the silk off my shoulders and the robe fell to my elbows. Giving up on his waist, I dropped my arms to let the robe fall all the way to the floor before slipping my arms around his neck.
I stood there kissing him, basking in the enjoyment of his hands rubbing up and down my back, from the ribcage to my hips. Playfully, he pushed me away so we could get into bed on our respective sides. But even with the extra confidence, I still kind of hurried to get in and cover myself up.
Once he turned off the lamp, I settled into my favorite position, my head on his chest, my hand available for him to gently stroke. We cuddled for a few minutes in silence, our hands the only movement between us, our eyes adjusting to the darkness, the nightlight in the bathroom lightly filtering out into the bedroom, making our bodies slightly visible.
Out of nowhere, he said, “I think you were right about your handlers.” Confused, my eyes looked to him, my forehead wrinkling. Understanding my silent meaning, he continued, “I’ve been thinking about it, and I think they actually died on you.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, those detectives told us that most of the girls stolen were usually sold immediately and kept drugged to be sex slaves. But there are some who are meant for a more substantial position, some twisted version of a willing companion. For those girls, the job of the handler was to brainwash you, then prepare you for the life chosen in advanced for the person who bought you, to make you feel not only obligated, but desperate to please him. From what you told me, that man expected you to live with him and be a willing sex partner, but you weren’t. You were brainwashed, but never broken in for him. So, yeah, I think your handlers actually died and he took custody of you before you were ready.”
“And when I didn’t feel obligated…” I began.
“You were converted to the other type of sex slave. The one that had to be drugged to be kept in line,” Nick finished.
God, as if my intestines weren’t already twisted into a thousand knots. Brainwashed but not taught submission. I was nearly broken, my life shattered into so many pieces I wasn’t sure I’d ever get them back in working order again. I was freaking Humpty Dumpty, a shell of my former self, trying desperately to seal the cracks and fill myself back up with what I had lost.
But maybe I was going about this the wrong way. Maybe the answer wasn’t finding what my past lost, but what my future could entail me: relief, forgiveness, acceptance.
I rolled myself over and allowed Nick to spoon me from behind. His hand was gently brushing my skin as it stroked back and forth across my thigh. For once in my life (at least the part I could remember), I found the courage to wear a tank top and shorts in front of someone else, and Nick didn’t hesitate to show me how perfect a gentle touch from the one you adored could be. The motion was moving and hypnotic and made me yearn for more.
“Nick,” I said quietly, still turned away. “Will you touch me?”
I could almost feel his smile as a breath of air warmed the back of my neck. “I am,” he whispered, his hand squeezing my thigh to prove his point.
I rolled my head his way, catching the lift to his eyebrows in the dim light. “No, I mean really touch me.”
His hand halted, stopping to rest on my bare skin. After thinking on it a moment, he replied, “Can I? Yes. Should I? No. I don’t want to rush this. Not after everything that’s happened.”
Because the last men who touched me that way did horrible and unspeakable acts to me.
I rolled his way, causing our bodies to connect in random places. His hand simply took up residence on my hipbone, leaving a soft layer of cotton between our skins. But I wanted that contact. “I’m haunted by all these horrible, negative images. I need to know there’s something better, to feel something so pure and incandescent, that it’ll wash away the evil. And I want that touch to come from you.”
His eyes lit up a little, but his smile weakened, both elated and disturbed by my words. “Alright,” he said softly, “but you have to tell me if you need me to stop.” I nodded, and closed my eyes when he asked me to.
Fingertips lightly circled my shoulder. From there, they trailed down the ridges of my scarred arm, over my wrist and index finger, and down my upper leg. He resumed stroking my thigh, this time allowing his hand to creep beneath my shorts, a little more with each passing. A little farther, a little farther... My upper thigh slid forward, resting atop his. He squeezed my waist, then trailed back down along my inner thigh. The location surprised me, tickled me, and I jerked, rolling flat onto my back.
A few seconds of silence passed between us, but since I didn’t contest or open my eyes, his movement resumed on the back of my arm, gently sweeping up and down. When he lifted my forearm off the bed to kiss the inside of my wrist, I smiled.
As he shifted on top of me, the mattress sank and molded against the weight of our bodies. His breath heated my neck, his nose skimming the surface, teasing and tickling me, making the fine hairs stand on end. When the kisses began atop my shoulder blade and his hand massaged the opposite side of my neck, a wonderful feeling flooded my insides, and light whimpers escaped my mouth. I’d never been touched so gently before, like I was delicate and worthy of the time and attention it took to arouse me.
The longer he worked my neck, biting, kissing and licking, the more the tantalizing tingles began to course through my veins. His hand swept south, barely grazing my breast along the way, settling down on my waist. But I wanted him higher, wanted his touch to be rougher, something to combat the electricity zinging around inside my belly. I think it surprised him when I reached over to guide his hand back to my chest, because the kisses came to an abrupt halt. But he still didn’t respond, so I pressed him firmly against me, molding his hand around the curvature of my breast. Finally taking the hint, his hand began to squeeze on its own, and the muscles in my stomach tightened. It didn’t take long for him to reach underneath the thin tank obstructing his view. I sneaked a peek, my nipple so erect it was hard to believe I was wearing anything at all.
He pinched me, his fingers squeezing tighter and tighter, and that action activated something inside me. I gasped, my breaths deepening in my lungs, and I moaned, indulging in the pleasures of his touch. Every muscle between my neck and the tops of my feet stiffened. My back bowed upward, pressing my belly flush against his chiseled abdomen.
His hand slid down as he slithered off and lay sideways beside me. My insides were screaming, angry that his hand returned to tracing circles around my hip, but the softness of his words made me forgive him.
“Would it be such a bad thing if you turned out to be Claire?”
“I thought you said I was Claire?”
“I’m asking how you feel about it.”
I opened my eyes and turned his way. “Bad? No. I think it’d be a good thing for everyone all around if I was. But I don’t think you guys quite realize that I won’t be the girl you all remember. If I turn out to be Claire, then she’s officially gone. The daughter they raised and shared all those memories with? Gone. The girlfriend in all those pictures with you on your phone? She’s gone, too. You guys are so focused on proving that I’m Claire, that I’m not sure you’re really grasping that in the end, I’m still not going to be her.”
“Are you afraid I’m only here because I want Claire back?”
“Isn’t that why you came looking in the first place?” I challenged.
“Yes, but what I found was Megan. The girl that currently owns my heart is you. I’m not with you right now because I long for Claire or secretly hope you’ll get her memories back some day. I brought you back here with me because I want Megan.”
“Then why bring up Claire?”
“To find out your feelings towards her and her family. I know we’ve already submitted your samples for the DNA testing, but I can answer that question for you right here, right now, if you’d like.”
“Oh, yeah? How so?”
To my disappointment, and to the annoyance of my eyes, he turned on the bedside lamp to the lowest setting. “I’ve seen Claire’s body before, and I can remember three distinct freckles in places you don’t let see the light of day.” With a crooked smile, he cocked his eyebrows suggestively. “You game?”
Having his hand caressing areas that yearned for his touch? Abso-freakin’-lutely! I just wished that light was off.
“You sound awfully confident,” I teased, aching for him to start already.
“Well, can I tell you a secret?” I nodded, and he tapped his finger against the right side of my neck, just behind my ear. “Claire has a freckle here, too. And once you told me about the tattoo, I knew you and Claire were one in the same.”
“Freckles are pretty common though.”
“Not on you. Will you at least admit you don’t have that many?”
“There’s a limited number, yes.”
“So if I were to call three of these freckles out, you’d have to admit that I know what I’m talking about. That you were once Claire Whitaker.”
“If you can hit all three, then yeah, you win.”
His smile turned deliciously wicked, and his fingertips began thumping and crawling down my side, down my hip, and down my thigh to my knee. He grabbed behind my kneecap and hitched my leg over his. It slightly tickled as his fingers continued to run their way back up my thigh, crawling beneath my cotton shorts, finally settling on a spot always hidden by my underwear.