She whirls around, her soaked hair clinging to her face. Even in the darkness, I can see the mixture of anger and pain in her eyes.
“Go back inside,” she says, her voice trembling. “I’m fine.”
“You’re standing in a thunderstorm yelling at yourself,” I point out gently. “That’s not exactly the definition of fine.”
“What do you want me to say, Shepherd?” she demands, her voice cracking. “That I’m a mess? That I can’t even handle someone telling me I’m beautiful without freaking out? That’s what you said, right? You didn’t say I was goddamn fuckable?”
“What?” I step back, putting more distance between us for her sake, but also because I’m shocked she’s even asking me that. “Sutton, why on earth would I ever say?—”
“See?” She flails her arms. “I knew that’s not what you said. I fucking knew it, but my brain wouldn’t let me hear anything but you’re so goddamn fuckable.”
I shake my head, confusion etching across my face. “Sutton, I don’t understand.” I take a step closer, rain plastering my shirt to my skin. “Tell me what you need. Space? I’ll give it to you. Someone to listen? I’m right here.”
“What I need,” she says, laughing bitterly, “is to not be this fucking broken!” She gestures wildly at herself, water flying from her fingertips. “I need to be normal. I need to not panic when a good man touches me and says nice things to me.”
My heart clenches in my chest and my shoulders fall. “Sutton?—”
“Do you know how fucked up that is?” she continues, pacing again, barefoot in the cold, wet grass. “To want someone so badly but then the second it gets real, you completely fall apart?”
The raw honesty in her voice pulls at something deep in my chest. I want to wrap her in my arms, shield her from whatever demons are chasing her, but I hold myself back. Right now, she needs space more than comfort.
“I like you,” she says suddenly, stopping to face me. “I like you so much it terrifies me. And I want you—God, I want you—in a way I’ve never wanted anyone before. But the second things get real, I can’t…” Her voice breaks, and the sound cuts through me like a blade. She brings her clenched fist to her chest like she’s trying to push away the pain. “I can’t separate what’s happening now from what happened before.”
I take a cautious step toward her, rain streaming down my face. I’ve been wanting to ask about her past for a while but figured I should wait until she’s ready. I guess it’s now or never.
“What happened before, Sutton?”
Her eyes meet mine, dark with pain and something else. Shame, maybe. It makes my chest ache to see it there.
“He used to think I was beautiful. He said I was beautiful…” She cringes in pain. “And so goddamn fuckable…right before he—” She cuts herself off, wrapping her arms around herself like she’s trying to hold the pieces together. “They always say you’re beautiful right before they take what they want.”
My stomach drops. The pieces click together in a way that makes me want to punch something. Or someone.
“Sutton, you don’t have to believe anything I say if you don’t want to, but I would never?—”
“I know that!” she shouts over the rain. “That’s what makes this so fucking infuriating! I know you’re not him. I know you wouldn’t hurt me. But my body doesn’t know that. My brain doesn’t know that.” She looks up at the dark sky, letting the rain pelt her face.
“But I want to know it,” she says, her voice suddenly quiet, almost lost in the rain. “I want my body to know you’re different.”
I stand there, rain soaking through my clothes, trying to find the right words. This isn’t about me. This is about her. About whatever happened to make her associate intimacy with pain.
“Can I come closer?” I ask, keeping my voice steady despite the weather raging around us.
She hesitates, then nods, a small jerky movement.
I take slow, deliberate steps toward her, stopping when we’re close enough that I can see the raindrops clinging to her eyelashes. “I’m not going anywhere, Sutton. Not unless you tell me to.”
“Why?” Her voice breaks on the word. “Why would you want to deal with…” She gestures at herself. “I’m a broken mess.”
I take a tiny step closer, enough to offer my hand to her which surprisingly, she takes. “You’re not broken, Sutton Price.” Her sad eyes find mine in the darkened rain and I reach up to softly move a few drenched tendrils from her face. “You’re just…chipped.”
Her lips part slightly as she takes in my words, rain streaming down her face and mingling with what might be tears. For a moment, we just stand there in the downpour, her hand trembling in mine as she cries.
“Chipped,” she repeats, her voice barely audible over the rain.
“Like your teacups,” I say gently. “Still useful. Still stunning. You still have a purpose in this world. You just have a few battle wounds to accessorize your story.”
She laughs—a small, wet sound that catches in her throat. “That’s a nice way of saying damaged goods.”
