Getting into bed, I sit back against the headboard and watch her as she ties her hair up on top of her head.
“Come over here,” I tell her as I wrap my arms around her.
She slips her arm around my waist as we lie here. It feels good to have her close after the shit day I’ve had. She’s always has this effect on me, and I’ve never needed it more than I do now.
When I kiss the top of her head, she runs her fingers along my scar, asking, “How did you get this?”
“My dad.”
“Sorry,” she says as she looks up at me.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to bring it up if you aren’t comfortable talking about it.”
“Babe, I’d tell you anything.” She keeps her eyes on me when I open up to her and show her the side of me that no one else gets to see. “I came home from a party one night and walked in on my father beating the shit out of my mom in our kitchen. He smashed a coffee mug into the back of her head, and I lost it. I started whaling on him. Eventually, he managed to get his hands on a butcher’s knife.”
“Oh my God,” she whispers. I know it can’t be easy to hear, but I give her this, knowing that I hold what is probably her darkest secret.
“That’s the night he died. He left, and my mom called 911, so we were taken to the hospital by ambulance. The next morning, we were back home, and two cops showed up at the front door to tell me about the car crash.”
“I don’t know what to say,” she quietly admits.
Running my fingers up and down her arm, I tell her, “There’s really nothing to say. I hated him. He had beaten the shit out of me my whole life. He didn’t even need a reason. Sometimes he would just come home from work and knock me around for the hell of it.”
“But why?” she asks, and when she looks up at me, her eyes are rimmed with tears.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I do know that he couldn’t stand me. He hated me just as much as I hated him.”
“What could anyone possibly hate about you?”
Her words are sweet, and I lean down to give her lips a quick kiss before she continues, “So . . . nobody knew?”
I shake my head.
“How did you deal with all of that alone?”
“Vices. In high school I used to do a lot of drugs, but I stopped shortly after my dad died. I felt like what happened to my mom that night was my fault. I was wasted and passed out at a party when I should have been at home with her.”
“That wasn’t your fault though,” she tells me.
“I know that now. But it got me to give up popping so many pills. In turn, I just traded one vice for another. I was searching for a way to numb myself. I’d been doing it since I was a little kid, and by the time he was dead, it was all I knew to do. So I kept looking for ways to escape.”
“I can see that,” she responds. “The need to hide.”
I shift us down so that we’re lying on our sides. She hides behind her dance and school. She busies herself when there isn’t anything to really keep her busy. She’s an overachiever, but I don’t point out her vice, instead I reveal, “I don’t want to hide from you though. You’re the only one I can say that about.” She runs her hand along my cheek, when I go on, “I’ve always been scared to connect with women.”
“Why?”
Giving her my fear, I let it all out there. “Because I’m afraid I’ll wind up just like him.”
Keeping her hand on my face, she whispers softly, “That won’t happen.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because you’re the kindest person I know. Because you’ve never put yourself before me. You’re a genuine guy, Ryan.”
“You’re probably the only woman who would say that about me.”
“But how well did they know you?”
“They didn’t. Nobody does except you.”
“Can I ask you something?” she says coyly.
“Anything.”
Closing her eyes, she lets out a slow breath and then asks, “If you never wanted to connect with those girls, then why sleep with them?”
“Because they offered me an escape. If even for a few minutes, it was my way of disconnecting.” Tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear, I lean my forehead against hers and tell her, “I was too scared to feel because I hadn’t ever done that before. I don’t know what it’s like to care more about someone other than myself.”
“But why me?” she breathes.
“You’ve always intrigued me. You aren’t like any girl I’ve ever known. Without even trying, you get me thinking about myself and what I want out of life. You’re everything I never thought I wanted, but when I met you, you were everything I needed.”
She rests her hand on my jaw, and slowly runs her thumb along my lips when she says, “Somehow, you make up for everything I was missing before you. I have a hard time opening up to people; I know that. But I don’t want you to doubt that you have me, because you do.”
I know she struggles, and I’m still waiting for the day she will drop that wall with me to feel safe enough to tell me she loves me, but this . . . this lets me know that she’s trying.
“God, you are so much more than I deserve,” I breathe against her mouth before I kiss her.
I take what I learned last night and refuse to let it stand in the way of what we have together. I’m not gonna beat myself up because I want to touch her, because I know that each touch I want is because I love her. And that’s the only reason. I simply love her.