I’m a good guy. I’m not bad. But she’s acting like I am.
“No, Carrie, you did this to yourself, my love.”
She pulls her chin free of my grip. “This is all your fault. But you can stop it all. You can untie me and go and we can forget this ever happened. I won’t tell anyone, you don’t have to worry about that.” Her voice shakes, yet she sounds strong and confident. That’s the Carrie I used to know. That’s how she always sounded.
Even when she was afraid, she was strong.
Even when she felt weak, she carried herself like she wasn’t.
Determined and unwavering. That’s how I would have described Carrie, my old Carrie. The Carrie that I loved. I haven’t seen much of her since I got here, but I see her now, and it makes my heart soar. I smile, and she takes that for a good thing and she forces a smile back, which makes my smile grow even wider. And this is better. This is going much better.
“It’s all got a bit out of hand, hasn’t it?” she says.
And she reaches up and touches my cheek and smiles. My hand falls from her face and touches her hand. And I want to kiss her right now. Her touch is so gentle and caring. I feel safe and loved and wanted here with her. And it’s all going to be all right. I just know it. I knew she’d come around. I fucking knew it!
I lean forward, holding her gaze, and now I’m the one who’s shaking. I’m the one who’s afraid. And it’s perfect. It really is. Because that’s what we should be afraid of, isn’t it? Love. Love is scary and wondrous. It’s imperfect and perfect all at the same time. And Carrie is love. And I love her. And she loves me. And she encompasses everything that love is about.
Our faces are close together and I press my lips to hers. And at first she hesitates, but I’m not mad because I get it. And it’s good that she’s a little afraid of our love. And I tell her that.
“It’s okay to be scared. I’m scared too. It’s been so long, it will be like our first time.” I lean across and kiss her again, and this time there is only a little resistance from her. “I’ll make you forget you ever fuckedhim, I promise. You don’t need to be ashamed.”
Our lips are touching.
My lips are hot against her cold.
Soft.
Gentle.
I groan against her mouth, and I think she groans too.
My tongue reaches out for her, wanting to move against hers. I want to taste her. To be with her in every way. I groan again, and this time I know that she does too.
She pulls back, and I’m breathless and I’m smiling and I’m excited and nervous, and it’s like our first time all over again. Her hand isn’t on my face anymore, it’s on my chest, holding me back as if she doesn’t trust herself. As if she can’t contain her longing for me.
“It’s okay,” I say. “It’s all going to be okay.”
“It is,” she says, and I smile, and God she’s perfect. Even with her face all fucked up, she’s perfect. Inside and outside and everything in between. And I can forgive the mess, and her whoring ways. I can forgive anything and everything when she looks at me like that.
Her arm reaches back and I see it too late.
The scissors are in her hand and she stabs them into me.
Andthank God they’re the bluntest fucking scissors ever,I think as I move my hand to block the scissors from gutting me.
They slash into my hand, and blunt or not it hurts like hell. I cry out and she screams as she reaches back to stab me again. Or maybe she’s in shock by her own actions. I know I sure am. Either way, I’m quicker than her, even when I’m in pain, and I turn my hand into a fist and I smash my fist into the side of her face. The side that’s already black and bruised.
Andthat’s not going to come out in the wash,I think grimly.
She doesn’t cry out as she falls back against the sofa and her body goes slack, and I’m panting and gasping. I’m in pain and I’m in shock, and I’m angry and I’m furious and I have so much energy moving around my body that I don’t know what to do with it.
And my counselor-slash-therapist-slash-Mr. fucking Jeffrey was right all along.
Sometimes we do lose control when we don’t mean to. Sometimes we hurt the ones we love, even when we don’t want to. But sometimes, the ones we love the most hurt us the most, and we can’t control ourselves.
And though we might not remember doing it, that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.
