Knotted (Trails of Sin 1)

Can a soul be delivered from hell?

That’s where mine resides, dying a blistering death in the torture of Conor’s tears.

We’ve been at this for an hour, and I’ve only succeeded in triggering back-to-back anxiety attacks.

Tying her wrists with rope to the headboard shoved her straight into hyperventilation. Covering her back with my weight spiraled her into another sobbing, breathless breakdown.

While prolonged exposure to the triggers benefits her in the long run, it doesn’t help us tonight. She’s not using her voice or addressing her emotions. She’s just trying to keep her lungs filled with air.

I’m starting to convince myself she doesn’t need to do this. But I know that’s panic talking. It’s killing me to see her like this.

“Conor. Look at me.” Stretched out beside her on the bed, I tuck her tear-drenched hair behind her ear. “Tell me what those men did to you.”

Her gaze darts to the rope on her wrists. Her face scrunches in agony, and a pained keening sound erupts from her throat.

I wrap my arms around her and kiss the track of tears along her cheek. I could endure her misery if I knew it was helping her, but she seems to be retreating deeper inside herself.

Her memories aren’t completely repressed. Fragments of them surface in strobe-like bursts of words. It’s as if her mind is protecting itself by disassociating from the complete picture.

When I bound her naked, face down, and covered her back with my body, I hoped it would rewrite the script in a safe environment.

But maybe she doesn’t need that night rewritten. What she needs is to get in touch with her feelings about it and bear witness to it.

I’m going about this the wrong way.

“Hang on, girl.” I drop a kiss on her lips and reach for the knots on her wrists, untying her.

“You’re giving up on me?” She lifts her damp face, tracking my movements.

“No. Never.” I release her hands from the rope and guide her off the bed. “We’re trying something different.”

I yank off my shirt, slip it over her head, and straighten it around her legs. Then I unbuckle my belt and slide the leather strap free.

“Hold this.” I fold the belt in half and press the ends against her palm. “Like that.”

“What are you doing?”

Unzipping my jeans, I let them slide midway down my ass and kneel on the bed with my back to her.

“I’m giving you permission to be angry.” I turn my neck and find her eyes over my shoulder. “I’m empowering you to let go of every emotion, thought, and memory you’re suppressing. Channel it all through that strap and onto my back.”

“What?” She gasps. “No. I’m not going to—”

“Hit me, Conor!” I shout in a tone that makes her jump. “Let it out.”

She paces behind me, twitching the belt and breathing heavily.

“I’m right here.” I stretch my arms out to the sides. “I want everything you’re holding in, no matter how ugly or painful. Every bruise, fracture, ache, tear, scratch, and torment. What’s yours is mine. Give it to me. Beat it into me. Do it!”

Her hitched sob penetrates my ears and grips my heart.

Facing away from her, I sit on my heels on the edge of the mattress, hands braced on my thighs and back straight.

Then I wait her out.

Five minutes.

Ten minutes.

She’s not going to do it without motivation.

I draw in a breath and release the first painful shove on my exhale. “I fucked those women at the bar. All the girls we went to school with. Shannon, Tina, Courtney—”

The strap whips across my back with a stinging burn, and she cries out, a seething, gut-wrenching sound. “Damn you, Jake.”

I slide my tongue across my lips, tasting her rage. “I fucked you in a barn and didn’t tell you it was me. I let you believe you were forgettable.”

More strikes, one right after another. She has a strong arm, but it’s just surface pain. She’s not breaking skin.

“I left you in the ravine.” I close my eyes against the acidic memory. “You had just been raped and sodomized, and you begged me not to leave you. I did it anyway, too occupied by my own needs.”

Her fury explodes, unfettered and shrieking from deep in her chest. I soak in her pain and knot it with my own as she drives the belt against my back.

Every bite on my skin burns hot with her trust, branding me, possessing me. She would never raise a hand to another person. She hits me because I commanded her to do it, because she knows I’ll protect her in the fire of her anger.

I keep talking, keep spurring her with reminders of my deceit, omissions, and manipulations.

Until her shattered whisper cuts me off.

“The first one pushed me into the dirt, and he… He…” She swings the strap, pelting my ribs. “He forced himself inside my b-b-butt. He raped me there, and it… God, it hurt. So fucking bad.” Her voice breaks with tears, and she hits me again. “I lost my virginity back there, before I lost it the other way, and I fucking hate him for that. I wish I would’ve been the one to kill him, because I hate him so much for hurting me. It was excruciating, and I bled, and he wouldn’t stop. The pain was so deep…” She releases a soul-crushing cry. “It was so deep I felt it cramping in my belly.” She falls still. “Then the second one climbed on top of me.”