As usual, I couldn’t control myself when my brain went foggy. That girl needed to keep that in mind if she wanted to avoid similarly heated arguments in the future.
I knew she’d clocked my frequent, strange, and inconsistent behavior in the past, but I wasn’t expecting to hear her say something like that.
She hit the fucking nail on the head.
Like I didn’t already know I was sick.
And what about her? Did she actually know? Or had she just been talking out of her ass? Had she figured it out?
In any event, I’d never have the guts to talk to her about my history. I’d never talked to anyone about it, in fact, outside of my family and Dr. Lively.
What was I supposed to tell her? That a grown woman abused me? That I’d been subjected not only to physical violence but also the emotional and psychological kind? That what I had gone through made me essentially dysfunctional in any human relationship?
Kimberly had exercised her power over me, a type of possession that had turned me into nothing but an object.
I was nothing to her and, even now, I still felt like my body was worthless, just like it had been back then.
I couldn’t “talk” to Selene the way she wanted because, in my mind, there was only one form of communication: sex. My body, my corporeality, was the only way I had of seeking peace or relief. I could never have had a normal relationship with her.
And that was the problem.
Sooner or later, Babygirl would have demanded a real relationship with me. But she was absolutely perfect, and she deserved better than a man who still lived cheek to jowl with his fractured sense of self. Someone who lived with the memories of blackmail, humiliation, and the wordless violence inside him that nevertheless cried for vengeance.
That’s why I had behaved so disrespectfully toward her. It was why I tried to make her feel inferior, to make it clear to her that she could never have me.
And she bolted away from that.
She bolted away from me while I just kept smiling like a total dick as I thought about how I’d made her so weak for me with just the slightest contact.
I rubbed my crotch, adjusting the hard-on that I’d had to force myself to keep in check when I had her pinned up against the door. What I should have done was ignore her completely—from the moment I sensed her presence to the moment I caught her peeping at me to the moment I got a whiff of her coconut scent. But, in the end, I gave up.
I gave up like a fool the moment my eyes met hers—blue as the ocean, deep and so pure that they triggered the kind of lustful thoughts I’d never had toward anyone else. All I had to do was glance at her for a moment, and I was longing to wipe that prim, little-girl look off her face. I wanted to strip her passionately, lick her everywhere, and touch her voraciously—I wanted to fuck her. I wanted with all the visceral desire surging inside me to fuck her.
I wanted more than some boring, childish fumbling because I was accustomed to lewd, filthy, perverse sex. I wanted to bend her over and dominateher completely. I wanted to take my pleasure from her, pounding into her right there against the door without so much as cursory foreplay. No sweet nothings or chivalrous compliments.
Just the way I always did it with everyone else.
Maybe with her I’d even achieve orgasm, as I hadn’t in weeks.
I could have performed an experiment, but instead reason prevailed. Instead of taking it all from her, I restricted myself just to touching her and breathing her in. I was still pissed off from the morning—I hated how she’d thrown such a bitter truth in my face—but I also didn’t want to use her like an object.
I wanted more, especially from her.
Because she was just a girl. My Babygirl, to be precise.
And it wouldn’t have been fair to demand something she wasn’t ready or wanting to give me. Like I’d told her, I felt her arousal and her fear as well. She wanted to kiss me, sure. But I could also see the terror in her eyes.
In the end, that was the same reason I wanted to push her away and why I hadn’t gotten in contact with her after the accident—a choice that made me feel guilty—because I was still living with the fallout from what had been done to me. All I could do was perpetuate the same pain over and over again using a psychological mechanism that punished me but soothed the Boy.
That’s why I didn’t want her to get involved in my whole clusterfuck. The women I usually had sex with were always consenting—they agreed to use me and be used in return. But they weren’t like Selene.
Lost in my musings, I stared at the door Babygirl had backed into during her weak escape attempt. I smiled again and ran a hand through my hair, still soft and damp from the three showers I’d taken. I’d need to take another right away, though, because that ordinary girl had me ready to erupt.
Under the spray of the water, I once again found myself lost in a vortex of my own thoughts. The world was full of girls like her. And yet, Tinkerbell was something rare as fuck.
She was so lovely, and she felt like a dream. So pure, she reawakened my desire every time.
She was beauty and pain at the same time, seductive and awful, like an angel was awful. She provoked awe.
