Tied (All Torn Up 2)

“So the fuck what?” My self-hatred has joined our little get-together on the blanket and has no problem rearing its ugly head.

“Maybe you did some bad things, but you’ve done a lot of good things, too.”

So many bad and ugly things. Things that would make her never want to look at me again.

“That doesn’t change the shit I did. Nothing can change that. Ever. Good doesn’t erase bad.”

“No, but you don’t have to punish yourself. You’re a good person. You saved and kept Poppy. You took care of Boomer and kept him. You taught me to drive. You gave me a cell phone and soft blankets. You’re my best friend. Every day you take care of me, you let me see Poppy, you make sure I’m safe, you make me feel special.”

“Maybe that doesn’t make me a good person, Holly. Maybe that makes me a person who’s just obsessed with the first person to give me any fucking amount of attention. Or maybe I just like to collect things as messed up as I am.”

Her face falls, and I immediately want to eat my obnoxious words, which couldn’t be more untrue. Hurting her, this one little gem in my life, is unacceptable. I refuse to be that person anymore.

My psychiatrist’s words echo through my mind. Fear of trust. Fear of intimacy. Fear of giving and accepting love. Social and familial avoidance. Extreme self-loathing. Low self-worth. Unnatural focus on physical appearance. Drug addict. Severely depressed. Repressed memories. Deviant sexual behavior. Self-harm risk. Possible danger to others.

She tries to sit up, and I put my arm around her waist and hold her down, ignoring the terrified stare she pins on me.

“No. I’m not letting you run off.” I lower my voice and loosen my grip on her waist. “I didn’t mean what I said.” She turns her head away from me, a tear sliding down her cheek, and she stares blankly off into the distance. I can see her shutting down, running to the safe space in her head where she can slam everything out. Including me.

Fuck.

“Holly…I’m sorry. It’s hard for me to talk about my father and my past. It makes me want to just hurt myself and anyone around me. It fucks my head up, but I’m trying to be better.”

Silence.

“I care about you. And not for any other reason than you’re beautiful and sweet and every day is better with you in it.” I touch the side of her head and gently turn her to face me. “You make me feel a little bit less messed up, and you make me want to be less messed up.”

“Really?” she squeaks.

“Really. You make me smile every day. Even when you’re not here.”

If I wasn’t lying so close to her, I never would have heard her next words. “You make me feel that way, too.”

She sniffles, her eyes showing a glimmer of a sparkle, and all I want is to see her smile at me again. I brush my thumb across her cheek to wipe her tear away. The intimate touch causes a tiny gasp to escape her, my barriers snap, and I lean down and cover her lips with mine, my hand moving to cradle the back of her neck, my fingers sliding through her hair, like it has in my dreams a thousand times. My tongue sweeps over her lips, and when they part in surprise, I slip inside, tasting her, coaxing her to open up to me. Her hand tightens on my shoulder, her nails digging slightly into my flesh. Taking that as a sign of passion, I roll my body closer to hers, half covering her, and grip the back of her neck, kissing her deeper.

I’m lost in our kiss, the delicious taste of her lips, her soft curves fitting perfectly against my body, shaking…

Shaking.

My eyes snap open to find hers staring back at me, wide with shock and panic, which only makes my cock throb harder in tune to my pounding heart. My fingers tighten in her hair, the locks laced through my fingers like silk ribbons. I can’t let go. I lean down, craving more of her, needing her lips on mine again, wanting to feel her racing heartbeat against my chest ’til it nearly explodes and then calms to a soft, lulling beat. I want to feel it all.

Her hand releases its grip on my arm and falls to the ground beside her with a faint thud, and her head turns to the side again, but not before I see the emotionless, disconnected canvas of her stare.

Reality shatters the moment, which wasn’t the moment I thought it was at all, and I slowly pull away from her. My ring catches on her hair, and I quickly untangle it while she lies there, completely detached.

“Sorry…” My voice growls with repressed desire. “I thought…” What did I think?