I try to hit him. Fists against his chest, no real strength behind it, just rage that needs somewhere to go. Cursing him through tears. Every obscenity I know, and I know a lot. Boston Irish upbringing, good for exactly two things. Catholic guilt and creative profanity.
He takes it. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t stop me.
When I’m spent, he pulls me against his chest.
I should fight. Should shove him away and crawl back to my room and never look at him again.
Instead, I cling.
His hand strokes through my hair. Soothing. Wrong.Right.I lean into it before I can stop myself.
“I know,” he murmurs against my hair. “I know. Let it out.”
I sob into his shirt while he holds me. The monster who just proved my body is a traitor. And I find comfort in his arms because I’m broken too, because understanding him doesn’t make me hate him less, but it makes me hate myself more.
“You can hate me and want me,tesoro.” His voice is quiet. Certain. “They’re not mutually exclusive. Your body knows what it needs, even if your mind won’t accept it yet.”
The worst part is, he’s right.
I hate him. Want him. Need him.
Came on his hand while saying no.
And some sick part of me wants him to do it again.
He carries me inside. I don’t fight. Can’t. Boneless and wrecked, and something fundamental shattered inside me.
He sets me on my bed. Pulls the blanket over me. Brushes hair from my face.
“Sleep, my Violet.” His voice is soft. Almost tender. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
I don’t answer. Can’t.
Just curl on my side, his scent on my skin, his touch still echoing through my body.
Everything I thought I knew about myself is gone.
My body is the enemy.
And it just won.
16
ELIO
Iclose her door with a soft click.
Quiet. Controlled. The same way I’ve closed a thousand doors in my life. After meetings, after interrogations, after putting bullets in men who deserved it.
Walk away.
Three steps. That’s how far I make it down the corridor before my legs stop working, and I lean against the wall beside her door, breathing hard. Lungs burning like I’ve been running. My hand is still wet.
Withher.
I bring my fingers to my face. Inhale.
Christ.
