But as I continue to sink into the very fulfilling act of hating myself, I suddenly catapult upright as the light is flipped on, and I’m flooded with intense and unwelcome light. As I look with squinted and painful eyes to the switch, I see Derek standing there. His face is harsh, angry even, but he can’t hold my eyes, and his gaze shifts to the floor almost instantly. I can’t tell what is going on in his head, and he’s giving me nothing to gauge his feelings by. I sit up, irritated and angry at the intrusion.
“At least keep the lights on so I know you’re not drowning.”
As I watch, his eyes shift from mine once again. He looks around the room, even walks to the toilet where my vomit is left unflushed. After he’s flushed the toilet, he returns to the side of the bathtub, still shifting his gaze from mine continuously. How is it that the man who can freeze me dead in my tracks with his searing and penetrative stare can’t hold my gaze for more than a moment? Do I appall him so much? My resentment of earlier still gnaws at my heart, and I want very much to make him suffer for my pain. He watched me. He must have. He certainly knew what I was doing before he barged in on me. His betrayal hurts deeply.
“Did you enjoy watching him fuck me?” My words are an angry and resentful bite.
He looks at me in shock, as though my question struck him across the face. “No…”
As quickly as his gaze finds mine, it flits away once again, but I won’t let up so easily. “I thought you weren’t going to watch.”
“I tried not to…” He trails off with some hidden emotion plaguing his eyes. The very same eyes he still refuses to show me. My resentment builds further. Could he only look at me … show me some degree of humanity. But he refuses.
“Why won’t you look at me?” My question is filled with accusation, and the hurt that stimulates it.
He thinks long and hard with a furrowed brow and a pained face before swiftly kneeling by the side of the tub and pulling my head to face his, his hands gently but firmly on my cheeks. He stares deeply into my eyes, holding my gaze for the first time since entering.
“Looking at you has never been a problem for me.” But as he speaks, his eyes flit away and his head sinks. He looks like he’s in pain, and I want to exacerbate it. I want to twist it like a knife in his side.
“Like I said, why can’t you look at me?” His face remains down, his head slowly shaking from side to side before he finally gives over to whatever battle he’s been fighting in his soul.
He looks at me harshly, and with a pained and clenched face, he answers, or rather he yells, “Because I feel bad! I feel guilty. Damn it!”
Could I not see the pain behind his eyes, I might mistake his words for anger, but the pain is numbing, and I crumble at its sight. As the first of my tears falls, I turn from his face, but he doesn’t want to lose my eyes now, and he begs. “Please look at me. I need to see you.”
I turn slowly, tears still streaking down my face. He looks intensely at me once again, his confession liberating his eyes from their restraints. He breathes a deep breath and continues to look at me. His eyes are softer than I’ve ever seen them. He’s hurting. He’s sharing my pain as much as he’s able, and feeling his own painfully. It means so very much to my wounded and broken soul, so very much more than I ever expected from him. But as I watch him, his eyes slowly close.
“Why are you here?” It’s as good an opportunity as any to ask.
His eyes snap back to mine in confusion. “To make sure you don’t drown yourself.”
But he’s missed the point. “I mean, why are you in this place? You’re miserable. Why do this to yourself? You said you’re here for a reason. What is it?” I want to know. I have to know. He’s using me to torture himself, and for what? But the instant furrow of his brow tells me he won’t be giving up his secrets today, and I have to concede; I get that.
With a final shake of his head, he rises. “It doesn’t concern you. Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He pauses at the door just long enough to remind me that the light stays on, and then he disappears from the room.
When I finally exit the bath, I stand again appraising myself in the mirror. This time, my loathing is faded, and my body is too tired to hate myself. I know he’s watching, and I want him to see me. I collapse into my bed, naked and ready to disappear into sleep, but as I start to relax, my phone rings. When I pick up, he’s there.
“Are you okay?” His voice is quiet.
“No.” It’s the most honest answer I can give him without confessing how much hatred I have for myself at the moment.
“What can I do to make this better for you?”
I think long and hard before speaking. Whatever marginal amount of restraint I normally have is nonexistent at the moment. “Make love to me.”
“You know I can’t do that tonight,” he speaks quietly.
With my hesitation gone, I don’t even attempt to restrain my thoughts. “Hold me.” My words are met with silence, long and lasting. After I tire of waiting for some response, any at all, I end the conversation. “Good night, Derek.” I hang up without hesitation, and without waiting for him to ignore me any longer.
Chapter 19
The warmth of his body next to mine, the strength of his arms as they enclose me in his embrace, the gentle caress of his lips along my naked shoulder, the incredible electrified trail that his fingers burn over every inch of skin that they touch, those are the incredible sensations that I wake to. It takes many long and confusing moments to realize I’m not dreaming. He’s here. He’s with me. The bathroom light is on, and the door cracked. The light filters softly and subtly through to the bedroom, and as my consciousness returns to the present, I register that he’s lying behind me, his body held snuggly to mine.
I reach to his hand that is gently stroking my upper arm as his mouth kisses softly along my shoulder blade. When my fingers reach his, he gently strokes them, and with a whisper, he reassures me. “I’m here, Ash.”
My emotions overcome me and I turn to him swiftly, attacking his mouth with mine. I’ve not tasted these lips in nearly two weeks, and I’ve needed them. He clutches at my face as he returns my passion. His tongue plunges deep into the silken depths of my mouth. He touches every surface and claims every hidden corner. None of the hesitation of our first kiss is present. He’s here, he’s committed to my needs, and I wonder if they aren’t his needs as well.
As his kisses taper off and he searches my eyes, longing for our connection, I open up to him. “Will it always be this hard?”
He thinks, his worry showing visibly on his face. “I don’t ever want this to be easy for you. Not you.” He shakes his head as he looks away, once again lost in his thoughts. But he’s not finished speaking, and when he does, he sets my soul at ease. For how long, I don’t know, but he tells me what I need to hear in this moment. “But I will always be here after they’re finished with your body, to reclaim every inch of what those disgusting men take from you. You belong to me.”
“Do you think I’m gross?” I croak out on a sob of stifled pain, but he reaches back to my cheeks quickly and reassuringly.
“Never…” He’s speaking quietly, and searching my eyes for understanding.