I scream his name this time, my voice high pitched and broken.
The door slams against the wall as he bursts in. He flicks on the light, his eyes dark and menacing, shirtless in boxer briefs. I throw my hands over my face and start to sob.
He’s at my side instantly, wrapping his arms around me. I climb onto his lap like a child and bury my face against his throat. He smells like amber and leather and safety. Like my Tommy.
“What happened, baby? What’s wrong?” His voice is rough, worried.
“I—I didn’t know where you were,” I stammer. “And it was dark. They kept me in the dark a lot. It felt like it was always dark.”
He presses his lips to my temple, rocking me gently. “I’ll fix it, baby. I’ll put some little LED lights in here, all different colors. You can pick the ones you like best, okay?”
I nod against his shoulder. “Okay.”
“Do you want to keep the lights on right now?”
I shake my head. “No. Well…maybe a small one. Like the hall light.”
He turns it on, a soft glow spilling into the room as he turns off the main light overhead, then slides back into bed. “Do you need anything else? Water? Something to eat?”
I wipe my face on the sheets and shake my head. “I need you to hold me.”
“Absolutely, sweet girl.”
He moves to lie behind me, pulling me against his chest, wrapping around me completely. This is how we used to sleep when he was inside me: his chest pressed tight to my back, his body curved around me, connected so there was nothing between us. I loved being so full of him. The connection with him. I miss it. I miss it desperately.
The more I think about it, the more I want it again. The more I need it. But I want him to need it too, to need me the way he used to. I want everything to feel normal again.
Guilt curdles the edges of these thoughts. What kind of person feels desire after what happened? What kind of womanthinks about anything close to sex when she’s supposed to be broken?
I don’t remember the details of what happened to me, but there are women who can’t stop remembering their assault, who can’t bear to be touched at all. Would they hate me for this? Am I betraying them by craving Tommy’s touch?
Dr. Rossi’s words weave through the mess in my head: there’s no right way to feel, there’s no wrong way to heal. I pray that’s true.
I pull Tommy’s arms tighter around me then press my hips back against him intentionally, testing. I move his hand so he’s cupping my breast, kiss his arm softly, hoping he’ll understand.
For a second, he doesn’t move. Then, he shifts his hand away, resting it safely on my waist. I move it back, this time sliding it under my shirt so that his big warm hand is on my bare skin.
His breath catches, but he freezes. I can feel him getting hard, his erection growing against my ass. When he doesn’t move, I shift slightly against him, pressing against him harder. I wait, but he still does nothing. He doesn’t react. He doesn’t touch me. Nothing.
I want to ask him to push inside me, not to fuck me, just to be close to me like he used to. But as I’m working up the courage to say the words, he slides his hand over my stomach back to my waist and shifts back so that his hard on is no longer touching me.
My stomach turns, and embarrassment spikes through me. I turn my face into my pillow, my cheeks burning.
Of course he doesn’t want me like that. Not anymore. Tears of shame dampen my pillow, and for the first time since I came back, I feel truly hopeless, like there’s no way back from this kind of broken.
24
Tommy
Iwake up early after a rough night with Gi. She had nightmares, waking up during the two minutes I was in the bathroom, so I’m holding her, watching her, making sure she knows I’m here.
When she blinks her eyes open, she doesn’t move and neither do I. I just stare at her, mesmerized as the light coming through the curtain highlights the gold flecks in her hazel eyes.
The way she’s looking at me is more questioning. Like she’s trying to figure something out, trying to figure me out.
We don’t speak as she strokes my cheek lightly with her fingertips, bringing them to rest on my lips. I close my eyes, enjoying her touch, then kiss her fingertips softly. When I open my eyes, she’s closer. With her fingers still on my lips, she kisses me, tentatively at first, then with more heat. Her hand slides to the back of my neck, and she pulls me in as she kisses me deeper.
I try to pull back, being careful like she’s made of glass, but she won’t let me be soft with her. She digs her nails into my chest, and my body reacts instantly, desperately, like I’m starving—and I am. I have been since the day I lost her. I kiss her back harder, losing myself in her, until she rolls me onto my back and straddles me.
