I take a breath just to remind myself that I can. My mom was never a good mom; she was abusive but never left a mark. She always made sure there was never any evidence pointing to her being less than perfect. To everyone who knew us, we lived the perfect life. We had the perfect home, the perfect yard, and she was the perfect mother, who had perfect hair, clothes, and makeup. Everything about her was perfect, and she made sure I was perfect—at least what everyone saw of me.
“Do you think that really happened? That she tried to drown me?” I wonder out loud, feeling his body wrap tighter around mine and his muscles tense. We’ve talked some about how it was for me growing up. I try to avoid talking about it as much as possible, even though he asks often. I just don’t like the look that comes across his face when we do discuss it.
“Do you?” he asks gently.
I take another deep breath, tucking my face into his neck, letting his warmth and smell take away the last of the nightmare. “Yes.” I nod, feeling his arms go tighter before he lets me go and gets out of bed, muttering a quiet, “Fuck,” under his breath.
“Oh God,” I whimper, feeling sick. I sit up, holding the sheet to my bare chest, looking around for quick escape. Tears start to sting my nose and I fight them back, knowing that there is no way in hell I will cry in front of him. Not now.
“Fuck!” is roared, and I turn my head just in time to see one of the new bedside lamps fly across the room, hitting the sliding glass door.The lamp bursts into thousands of pieces while the door somehow doesn’t shatter. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants, pacing back and forth, running a hand through his hair as I try to think of something to do or say to calm him down.
“I’ll leave,” I tell him quietly, fear settling in my gut.
His pacing doesn’t change, and his fists clenching and unclenching tell me everything I need to know about his state of mind. I start to wonder if I do this to people, if I make them want to hurt me.
“I’m so sorry,” I whimper.
His head swings my way, and his eyes look me over, going from hard to soft. “Jesus, baby.” He comes towards me and I hold up my hand, trying to ward him off. His eyes drop to my hand then move back up to my face. “I would never hurt you.”
I know this; I know deep down that he wouldn’t, but I just watched him freak out, and that has put some fear in me.
“Never,” he repeats, and that’s when I notice that my body is shaking so hard that the bed is vibrating. “It was either the lamp or track down your mom and put a bullet in her.”
I feel my eyes widen as he shakes his head.
“I would kill her, baby. Without a second thought, I would end her. I know you don’t understand, but this is me. I protect the people I love. I hate feeling helpless when I know I can fix this. Knowing that someone who has harmed you is out in the world, walking around, does not sit well with me. It goes against everything I am to let her get away with what she did to you.”
“You love me?” I ask, ignoring everything else he just said, my mind zeroing in on that one fact.
His eyebrows rise and he shakes his head. “What do you think we’re doing here?”
I swallow and shrug my shoulders at his familiar words.
“Baby, you need to start looking at what’s going on around you.”
“You never told me.”
“I show you every day,” he says, looking dumbfounded.
“You should have told me you loved me.” I resort to getting angry. Why the hell are guys so damn stupid?
“Love.”
“What?”
“Iloveyou. It’s not past tense. I love you now and will love you until my heart stops beating.”
My belly flips and I shake my head. “I’m in a whole lot of love with you too.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.
“I didn’t know until today.” I shrug, pulling the sheet up higher on my chest.
“What?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Iknow you love me,” he says, and I’m sure he did know, because he knows what love feels like.
