“I want you to touch me.” His eyes flicker away from me, and I see his jaw tick. He swallows. “I…” His mouth closes abruptly, and his cheeks turn pink. His shoulders stiffen a little, and I swear to fuck, I see him flinch.
“Malin.”
He comes toward me, taking his hands from mine, and pushes me backward. I’m surprised when he climbs on top of me,putting his face in mine. All those strange ticks fade away now that he’s close.
“I’ve learned that people don’t actually want to know the details about my relationship with Ryan, despite them asking. Or not asking. Or wanting to know why I want to know something,” he says. “So I don’t know if you want an actual explanation or if telling you that I want to see if it’s different, like kissing you is different, will suffice.”
My stomach churns. Idon’tactually want to know the details of what that sick man did to Malin. A damn child in his care! But maybe Malin needs to tell me for himself.
“Do you want me to know?” I ask.
Malin doesn’t answer right away. He glances away, and his gaze stays locked somewhere for a minute before he looks at me again. “Everyone tells me that what I felt wasn’t real,” he says. “I was a kid. I didn’t know any better. How Ryan felt about me wasn’t real because I was a child he was abusing, taking advantage of… etc. I’m so tired of hearing that, so maybe I want to say some things and to have that not be the response.”
“Okay.”
“I didn’t like it when he touched me. Almost never. I mean… not under my clothes. I hated that touch. I loved it when he hugged me, though. When he held me. I felt wanted. I don’t care what anyone says, Iwaswanted. I’m not saying that’s an excuse for the other things he did to me, but I don’t actually think that he didn’t love me.”
His words are breathless. There’s moisture glistening in his eyes. I’m not sure if he wants a response at all, so I don’t offer one. I’m not even sure what to say.
“What everyone fails to comprehend is that for me, it was real. Regardless of how wrong and disgusting and sick it all was—it was still real.”
“It was,” I agree.
“I’m so tired of people telling me it wasn’t.”
“That sounds frustrating.”
“As if children don’t have feelings. I was fourteen when he was killed. Fourteen. Were my feelings any less real just because I was a victim of something sick?”
“No.”
“Then why does everyone insist that they are? He didn’t hit me. He didn’t break my arm or leave bruises on me. I never bled. I wasn’t malnourished, and I had more toys and shit than anyone else on that island. Yet adult abuse victims are sympathized with because they’re old enough to havevalidfeelings, and their staying in those situations is excusable because they love that person, and it’s hard. But me? It wasn’t real. Simply because I was young.”
A tear trickles down his cheek. I watch it until he sniffles, and then I meet his eyes.
“I’m not making excuses for him. I’m not saying that…” Malin sighs. “I just… I thought kissing was gross. I hated his tongue in my mouth. It made my stomach churn. I hated his hands under my clothes and in other places. I hated all that stuff. It hurt.” He gives me a demure look. “Which I understand is the sexual assault of a child. I don’t disagree. I even agree that if Ihadwanted it, it would still be very wrong because I was a kid and our bodies aren’t mature enough to even want that stuff.”
“You’re talking about two different things. The emotional stuff is what you take issue with people contradicting,” I note.
“Yes. I agree with the physical stuff. To some extent, I even agree with the emotional stuff. Yes, when I was six and eight and ten, I wasn’t old enough to understand what an adult kind of love felt like. But does that mean my little nieces and nephews don’t know what it means to be loved? To feel loved by someone and love them in return? Do you know, when I look at the way they’re treated by their parents, I see how I was treated by Ryan? So many of those interactions—I’ve had them myself, Gracen. But it’s not real for me because he also abused me. But it’s real for them because they’re not abused.”
“I’m sorry.” I cup the side of his face. “You’re right.”
His shoulders sag a little. “I hated kissing him. It was gross. That’s something I hated right up until he died. I didn’t think kissing you would be different, but it’ssodifferent.” He offers me a little smile. “I hated everything he did to me under my clothes, but… my body is being weird now, and I… kind of want to know ifyoutouching me under my clothes will feel different too.”
Chills race down my spine. “I—okay.”
“You don’t want to.”
“No, no. I do. I just… This is kind of heavy right now.”
“Oh.” He adjusts and half slides off me. I laugh and pull him back. “I don’t mean you. You’re not heavy, Malin. I just mean this talk is kind of heavy, and I’m not sure it’s the right time to… touch you.”
His look of disappointment nearly has me changing my mind. I bring his eyes back to mine. “I want to. Malin, I’ve beenabsolutely mesmerized by you from the moment I first saw you. But you’ve been through some shit, and I don’t at all want what we do tied to anything from your past.”
He sighs, his frown deepening. “Everything will be tied to my past. It won’t ever go away. Therapy doesn’t make him go away. Killing his cultists doesn’t make him go away. Nothing does. That’s like asking me to stop being the height I am, Gracen. It’s not a fair request.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” I grip his hips and then roll us so he’s under me. His breath catches, eyes widening. I kiss him softly. “I’m sorry. I swear to you, I’m trying very hard to understand what you need, and I think you’re telling me what you need, but I’m really nervous about it being too closely linked to what you’ve been through. How about we compromise?”
