“About a week ago,” she murmurs.
“And did you figure out what triggered it?” I probe, my voice as gentle as I can make it considering how deep it naturally is.
“Yeah, I was hanging up clothes from one of the last boxes that I had and came across a dress that was similar to what I wore that night, just a different color,” she replies.
“What happened?”
“You know what happened,” she sasses, “because you found me sitting on the floor, rocking back and forth as I cried while holding the dress.”
“All true, but what did you do when I came into the room?” I push.
“I started breathing along with you, which pulled me out of the attack, then I put the dress in the donate pile I started,” she says.
“Do you know what you would’ve done a few months ago?” I ask.
“Probably shoved it back into the box, then put the box in the back of the closet, never to be opened again.”
“Instead, you faced that demon head on, kitten. If that’s not healing, I don’t know what else to call it.”
She takes a shuddering breath before she sips on her water, then she nods at me. “You’re right. I’m sure if I read through my journal, I’d see even more progress. I still have my moments where I feel dirty and disgusting, but then I remember how you showed me I never was when you helped make sure the wounds I created were cared for and didn’t get infected.”
Before I can respond, our meals arrive and we start eating. I know the topic is hard to discuss, but being in a relatively neutral space has helped her open up even more and I’m so proud of her right now, I could burst.
“Good idea to bring the dessert home,” she says as we drive away from the restaurant.
“Kitten, I want us to enjoy this in the comfort of our own space,” I reply. “I may or may not have plans for the sauce.Laterof course.”
The giggle that reverberates through the cab of the truck has me grinning in return. “You’d really be willing to do laundry later?” she finally asks.
“Every day and twice on Sunday,” I quip, reaching for her hand so I can hold it in mine.
“An anomaly,” she whispers. Out loud, she says, “You sure you’re going to be okay if we have to stop?”
“A boy might have an issue stopping, but any male who calls himself amanshouldn’t, even if he’s in the middle of the act, plain and simple. While I may not be able to control the physiological aspect of things, as far as my dick getting hard, Iamin control of what I do with it and even if we’ve made it to that point, if you start freaking out, I will stop. That’s a promise that will never be broken by me. No matter the circumstances, you say stop, and everything halts without question. And no, I won’t get pissed off or upset, so I don’t want you to think that’ll happen, okay? We’re gonna take things slow and easy and atyourpace, Mindy.” I hear a hiccuping sob and glance at her to see tears are slowly trickling down her face. “Kitten? What’s the matter?”
“We haven’t even done anything yet and already I feel like I’ve regained some of me back, Cruz,” she says through her sobs. “Again, I’ve gotta be the luckiest person alive.”
“Blessed, Mindy,” I add. “We’rebothblessed.”
“Yes, yes we are,” she whispers, squeezing my hand.
