“Talk to me,” I tell her softly.
She lets out a slow breath and is so forthcoming with me when she says, “I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you, and I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I just . . . I don’t like feeling the way she made me feel. It’s embarrassing.”
“She was nothing to me.”
Looking down, she hesitantly asks, “When did you . . . I mean . . . How long ago?”
“August or so,” I give her honestly. I brush her hair back when she closes her eyes and quietly say, “They were only there to distract me, but when I saw you, you faded everything I needed distracting from.”
“Did you love any of them?” she asks when she opens her eyes and looks at me.
“No.”
“Do you love me?”
“I’ve only ever loved you,” I assure her, not even wanting to think about the absurdity of her question.
When I roll myself on top of her, she doesn’t miss a beat when she pulls me down and kisses me. It’s strong and sure. It’s the first time she has ever kissed me this way, and I feel like I need it right now. The confirmation that we’re okay. I return her intensity when I dip my tongue inside of her mouth and start running my hand down her neck, over her shirt, and between her br**sts. She fists my hair, and I’m gone.
My desire for closeness takes over, and I need to feel her skin against mine. Slipping my hand under her shirt, I notice she’s still wearing her bra when I take her in my hand. Her nipple hardens as I slide it between my two fingers, and when I press them together gently, her body arches up into mine, and I can’t control the moan that comes out of me.
“God, I want you,” I whisper when I sit back on my heels and pull her up to me. I can see it in her eyes, the want, so I don’t ask as I slowly start peeling her shirt off when she lifts her arms up.
Tossing the shirt aside, I look at her as I gradually run my hands down her sides. She’s perfect in her purple lace bra. She doesn’t have large br**sts, but f**k, she’s sexy as hell, and I just want my hands all over her.
I peer into her eyes when she cups my face in her hands, and my heart starts beating in a way it never has before. “Babe . . .”
As I lay her back down, I drag my lips along her neck as she holds on to the sides of my head while I keep trailing down. I suck her nipple into my mouth, dragging my tongue over the swollen bud. Heat courses through me, and I need to feel more of her when I begin to run my fingers along the underside of her waistband. Hooking them under the fabric, I sit back, and when I slightly tug down, I see it.
No.
Suddenly, reality stabs into my chest, and I feel everything I never wanted to be true pour out of me. Time freezes. I can’t breathe, and the panging inside of me is unbearable. I know I can’t deny what I see, but I want to. Because it can’t be. It just can’t.
God, don’t let it be.
Slow motion. Everything moves in slow motion as I bring my hand to her hip, and with a trembling thumb, I drag it across what I can no longer blame on head-trips. I brush it again, not wanting to believe what my eyes see. A thin black outline of a tiny heart. That tiny heart from that night.
The thudding of my chest is painful; it’s the most painful thing I’ve ever felt in my entire life, and before I know it, she slings hers arms around me, but I’m in shock. I can’t f**kin’ move. I’m too scared.
It can’t be her.
Not her.
Not that girl.
Not my girl.
Squeezing my eyes shut, it’s all I see now. Her bloody thighs. Her beaten face. Her shredded nails.
“God, please! Stop!”
I hear it. Her voice. Her shrieking, desperate voice. Opening my eyes, I’m jittery. She has to feel it. Her body is clung tightly to mine, and I realize that I’m not touching her. I feel like I can’t touch her. Like I don’t know how, but I force myself to. And when I cautiously wrap my arms around her, I feel her shaking too. And now everything is clear. I can’t pretend that I don’t know exactly why she’s shaking. I’m such a f**kin’ dick, rubbing up on this girl because I can’t f**kin’ control myself around her.
God, what the hell is wrong with me?
Her body begins to soften into mine, and I don’t know what to say. How do I tell her? Do I tell her? Do I say something?
Say something.
“Candace.”
“Please, don’t say anything.”
Her voice is pleading, so I don’t. And now, I’m scared to take my hands away from her. Like she would break if it weren’t for my arms. I keep her close when I lie us down and pull the sheets over us.
She’s doesn’t say anything else, and the silence rings in my ears. My head is loud. It’s a maniacal filtering of memories, flashes weaving together to form a solid image that’s undeniable. But I denied it. How could I have done that when it all makes sense now? Every panic, every startle, her fear of crowds, her night terrors, her constant hesitation with intimacy. And f**k. That dumpster. How stupid could I be? She stood right there. She panicked . . . in my parking lot. My bar. That’s why she’s never come back.
I can’t be with her.
I have to be with her.
God, I love this girl so much. I can’t let her go even though I know I should. But with me, I have the guarantee that she’s safe. And I need her. Because it’s only with her that I’m finally realizing that I can be the man I never thought I could be, and I don’t think I could be this way with anyone else but her.