–Georgia: I can only imagine how he treats her when they’re alone. And he’s so controlling about her dating life!
–Georgia: He always talks crap about her boyfriends, but he also puts her down, like she doesn’t deserve to be with them.
–Georgia: It’s like, MAKE UP YOUR MIND, OLD MAN! Either they’re unworthy of her or she doesn’t deserve to be loved by them.
–Georgia: He constantly fat-shames her, too. I’m surprised she doesn’t have an eating disorder.
Forget just punching him. I should’ve broken his jaw so he couldn’t speak.
–Georgia: I honestly don’t know how she puts up with it.
I do. It’s easy for an outsider to say, “Cut your ties,” or “Stand up for yourself,” or “How can you let ’em talk to you like that?” But with parental figures, it’s so much harder. Molly’s mom died when she was just a child. Her dad is the only one left in her life.
But apparently he’s abused his authority and her trust and love for him all these years. It explains so much about her feeling that she won’t ever be loved. The way she cried, and spoke of her mom as a ghost who’s ashamed of her.
I wish I could fix it for her. The fact that I can’t makes my blood boil.
The door opens, and Molly walks in with a broad grin, carrying a tote bag full of books. It kills me to know that underneath her friendly, bright demeanor is a heart full of scars.
But I put on a smile to hide my inner turmoil. “Did you get everything you want?”
“Yup. And to make it even better, I spent Owen’s money.”
“Owen’smoney?”
“You know, the gift card he gave me on my birthday.” She laughs, but the sound is a bit hollow. “I think I’m going to read for a bit.”
“Okay. I’ll be in the pool if you need me.” I have to burn off this dangerous, churning energy. Otherwise I might just do or say something I shouldn’t. I don’t want her to think I pity her for what happened to her. She has too much pride to put up with that.
“Have fun.” She goes upstairs, probably to make use of the library and its espresso machine.
I change into bathing trunks and do laps until my lungs burn. But my head is absolutely clear, and my heart is full of regret.
I shouldn’t have thought she was too young for me and stayed away for so long. Then I would’ve been able to shield her from her abusive dad and all the shitty exes she’s had. She wouldn’t have to carry so much baggage from her past, and perhaps she’d see herself now the way I see her.
I swim for an hour, but it doesn’t help much. Anger at myself, regret over what I didn’t do and fury at her father still beat dangerously in my chest. I get out of the pool, stretch and grab a quick shower.
Even as I stand in my bathroom, freshly washed and in a clean T-shirt and shorts, I still feel like shit. And I need to see Molly. She clung to me last night like she was afraid of losing me, but I’m the one who’s afraid of losing her. I do everything in my power to show her how wonderful and lovely she is. But if she has trouble believing it… Then it may all be in vain.
All my life, people have called me smart. Capable. Hardworking. I’ve always been able to do whatever I set my mind to. But I don’t know how to heal her heart and repair the damage that’s been done to her.
I walk to the library and stick my head around the doorframe. Molly is curled up in one of the armchairs under a throw blanket. Her flip-flops lie on the floor underneath the espresso machine stand. A book lies facedown on her stomach, her eyes are closed and she’s breathing evenly.
Either the book’s boring as hell or she’s tired from last night. Probably the latter—we didn’t sleep much.
I press a gentle kiss on her forehead. Then on her pretty cheeks.
She makes a soft noise in her throat. “Mmm.” Her eyes still closed, she cups my cheek. Her small hand is warm and reassuring—I’m here. I’m yours.
I turn my face so I can kiss the center of the palm. A heartbreakingly beautiful smile slowly covers her face. I kiss her gently, just a brushing of lips. Then I lick her mouth.
She parts her lips and lets me in. I position myself between her thighs and deepen the kiss, tasting her. She’s so warm and sweet, like heated honey. There’s a languidness, too, like she wants to savor every second.
I oblige. Our tongues continue to tangle leisurely, like that’s the only thing in the world that matters. She runs her hands along my shoulders, then drags them down until they’re resting over my chest. She always positions her right palm so it’s over my heart, which beats only for her.
She sighs softly, the same sound she lets out every time her need for me starts to fill her veins.
I push the blanket out of the way, then pull her shorts and underwear down. I dip my fingers between her legs and find her hot and slick. “What filthy things were you reading?” I whisper.
