He gave me an apologetic look, mistaking my silence for uneasiness. "I'm sorry my life sounds a little complicated. I promise it isn't always like this. I just wish I'd sought help sooner."
I shook my head and patted his thigh. I immediately removed my hand when his hard muscles moved under my palm. Instead, I reached over and twined our hands together. "I'm sorry you're having a hard time with your family. I hope there was a genuinely good reason for her to keep that from you." I stared down at our hands. Mine so small; his big, yet we fit perfectly.
"As for seeking help,youhave to decide for yourself when you're ready. I should have sought help sooner, so I know how you feel. But it's never too late to improve yourself."
He tilted his head, and I interpreted his silent question. He'd shared so much with me. Things I knew were painful and super personal. That, of course, didn't mean he was entitled to receive the same response from me. But staring into the same whiskey eyes that had melted that frosty exterior the first time he asked to share my table, I knew I couldn't imagine not reciprocating.
"Can we eat and talk?" Relief lit his eyes, and he gently pulled me up.
I watched from the kitchen table as he warmed up the taco shells before setting the mince— which smelled delicious—cheese, sour cream, and guacamole. I wanted to help, but he refused, so I sat there with my hands folded, mooning over him while he moved around his kitchen.
He eyed me as I scooped my toppings with vigor before I took a large, satisfying bite. I'd been so worried about who that blonde woman was that I hadn't eaten much all day.
"This is delicious," I complimented before scooping another shell. He smiled at me as he chewed, but there was still an anticipatory question in his eyes. I was procrastinating, but I hadn't spoken to anyone about this except Dr. Anna. The only one who knew a little of what my life was like had been Lissa. But we weren't friends until 8th grade, so she hadn't seen the worst of what I had been through. A lot of the shit that happened to me later on, I hid from her.
"I didn't have the best childhood," I started, staring down at my third taco. "When I was seven, my dad left us. Mom told me he left us for a new family; other times, she said he died, and other times that he just didn't want to be a dad anymore."
Brian's brow furrowed at my words. "Shit."
"I have very vivid memories of him leaving. I remember the feel of his hand as he ruffled my hair, and I remember my mom cussing him out before she started sobbing." I picked at the edge of a taco shell as I allowed memories I hadn't revisited since my sessions invade me. "Trouble is, all my memories of my mom and dad together were happy.Iwas happy. But now I wonder whether I'd just created false memories of it all."
He placed his food down and reached out to grasp my hand. I felt bad that I was ruining our appetite. But once I started, I couldn't stop. "My mom had terrible relationships with men. Once Dad left, it was like she tumbled into bed with new guysnearly every month. Sometimes, they moved in with us, and sometimes, they hung around for a few days before leaving."
I took a deep breath, dropping my gaze from his. "There was a lot of abuse. Emotional and physical."
"From these men?" His voice was tight.
"Sometimes. But mainly from my mom. She turned into a drugged-up drunk." That was putting it nicely.
His hand tightened and loosened on mine. "Wa-was there ever any sexual abuse?"
"Some of the men did try to touch me." Brian closed his eyes. When he opened them, their mahogany depths swirled with a tortured emotion.
I shrugged a slim shoulder, wanting to lessen my experience to alleviate the pity I knew he felt. "There was a caress on the leg that made me uncomfortable or a hug that lingered more than was necessary. I ended up having to lock my room." I saw that handle turn way too many times.
"Her relationships with men and her inability to parent bled into my personal relationships. I formed sexual relationships that weren't healthy because I was seeking a safe place to belong. I tried to find validation in the relationships I formed with men. I was determined not to turn out like my mom, but ironically, I did just that."
"You dated men who treated you like shit." It wasn't a question. He knew what I meant, the same way I knew just by looking at him that he'd already slotted himself into that category.
I grasped his hand tighter and placed my other on top of his, soothing any anguish he might be feeling. I didn't want to go into further details about my life and comb through every bad decision I'd made with men. Because, honestly, we'd be here all night. But confiding with Brian that small tidbit of myself didn'tfeel wrong or uncomfortable. It felt right. Being here with him felt right.
"Thank you for sharing that part of your life. I knew something horrible must've happened in your childhood. I understand why you never wanted to talk about your parents or your life as a kid. I can't imagine what you had to go through."
My face heated as he brought my hand up to place a soft kiss. "I know I fucked up multiple times, but I want you to know that I'm all in with you," he stressed. "I'm not seeing any other woman; I'm not interested in seeing any other woman but you. The women I previously hooked up with I either met on a dating app or at a bar. I deleted my profile on that app after meeting you." He held my gaze. "After I met you at the cafe."
My breath hitched at his words, and I felt my cheeks heat.
"I'm one hundred percent in with you, and I hope you are, too. Or eventually will be," he added dryly.
I hid a small smile as a bloom of warmth spread across my chest. I nodded slowly. "I'm not interested in seeing anyone else, either. I want to keep exploring this as long as you're always honest with me and we keep communication open."
Another squeeze to my hand. "Absolutely. I agree."
The residual knot in my chest unraveled completely at his words. This was what it felt like to be in an honest and healthy relationship. We were open and vulnerable, setting boundaries and being receptive to the other's faults. We were patient as we both navigated our personalities and triggers. He and I were on the same page, and I felt a big chunk of my wall crumble.
After that, the heaviness between us lifted, and our conversation flowed freely. We moved away from serious topics, instead focusing on getting to know each other better. We polished off the tacos and moved back to his couch, where he put on a movie.
We pretended to watch it, but the heat between us became too much to ignore. His thigh had brushed against mine multiple times—not always by accident—and our hands would brush together and linger as we shared a bowl of caramel popcorn. Being so close to him fueled the flames of desire that had been burning low in my groin.
