I force my eyes open and head up.
His face is so serious and so gentle that it causes a burn to spread throughout my chest, searing every empty space. The gaping holes left where innocence, purity, and goodness once resided never to return. All the dead, dark crevices that were hollowed out and numb. . .until now.
Dammit.
“I can’t fucking breathe,” I whisper.
“Hey. It’s ok. It’s just me.” He takes the tiniest step closer. “I won’t make that move. Ever. You’ll have to do it or at least give me permission.”
I stare at him, like really stare at him, patient, kind, and so damn decent. There’s no frustration or nervousness, just what I think might be…longing—tender and sweet.
Something hurts deep inside, like a knife slicing me right through the middle.
For the first time in my life, I want to know what it feels like. I want to know kind hands and soft lips, and it to be of my choosing. And I want it to be Cole. I want to know what only he feels like.
A raging fire crawls up my throat. My fear collides with the anger that this simple and innocent thing is so excruciatingly painful. It hurts in every place where it should feel so good.
I don’t know if I can fight through it. I’m scared to. I don’t know what’s on the other side, or even worse. . .the in between.
It’s ok to want him to touch you.
Ahh! I press my fists to my eyes hard, and colorful stars burst forth.
Fight for myself.
I want to be brave enough.
I drop my hands and force myself to face him.
He’s just. . .waiting.
I let my breathing slow and take a small step forward.
He only watches just. . .being here with me.
I take another, making a choice with the only man I’ll likely ever trust enough to help me.
My toes bump his, and he exhales but still doesn’t move.
I study his face. His eyes, the brightest blue I’ve ever seen. Even in the dim light of the pantry, I see the intensity, but it isn’t the kind to run from. He isn’t afraid, and it makes me want to be brave.
He’s giving me time, and I know if I stepped out of this closet right now, it’d be ok. We’d be ok.
Believing that makes me want to try—to let myself, let us, see what it’s like.
I swallow the massive ball of fear that’s stuck somewhere between my chest and my throat. “I need your help,” I whisper.
He stares into my eyes. “Ok.”
“I need you to. . .participate.” I squeeze it out before I run.
His chest starts flowing in and out a little more quickly against my own. “Are you sure?” His hands remain at his sides.
“I think so.”
“It’s only me,” he reminds me.
I inhale his scent and hold on to it. “I know. I couldn’t do this with someone else. I don’t. . .want to. I’ve never wanted to.”
