Page 25 of Redemption Island

“I was there,” I bit, reminding him that I was in the room, and his recall was coming at my expense.

“Something happened to me. I couldn’t do it, but I didn’t know how to back out. The look in your eyes.” He paused. “I thought if I could just get through it, get it over with…” His voice faltered, and he combed through his hair, sitting upright.

“It was wrong. On so many levels it was wrong. It had nothing to do with you directly, and everything to do with Rick.”

“It was all me,” I choked. “Why me? Why any woman?” The sickness in me grew, and nausea crept up my throat.

“It had to be you, according to Rick, but I don’t know why.”

“I wouldn’t have him. He made advances and crude suggestions, but I refused him. I’d had years of practice avoiding my uncle, so Rick was easy to push away.”

Tack shook his head. “But you can’t push a guy like Rick, so ready to prove himself, prove he has control of a situation.”

“Isn’t that what you want? Control? Domination? Tear down, rip apart.” My hands twisted and turned for emphasis, shaking with the need to punch something, and my intention focused on him. I wanted to slap him. I wanted to hate him. I wanted to take back what he took from me.

“I thought I did, I just…” He stared off toward the tree trunk centering the room. “There was this moment when I looked at you under me, and I just…I wanted you to give yourself instead of me taking.”

If he had cut himself and spilled blood on my floor, I don’t think he could have looked anymore raw and vulnerable than he did in that moment. But I had no sympathy for him.

“I have nightmares. I couldn’t sleep for weeks. When I went to get my final paycheck, Brandon assured me Rick wasn’t present. I should have had it mailed to me, but I didn’t have an address to send it to. I’d left Chellie’s apartment. I slept at the university a few nights in an empty dorm. Killing Rick brought me no satisfaction. It only started a new set of nightmares. I’ll never forgive myself, and I might never forgive you.” The words were venom spewing from my mouth, but they were things I’d longed to say. He had to know my feelings were strong. I hated myself, but I hated him as well.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, lowering his head.

“Weak,” I whispered. His head shot up again. “You think I’m weak, that’s why you wanted to take me. It had nothing to do with me, but more about you and your weakness. You need control to make you feel important. To make you feel worthy. You take because you have no understanding of giving. Asking would be a weakness.” My chest rose and fell with each statement, the adrenaline coursing through my body in such a surge I nearly choked on it.

His shoulders slumped forward, and he rested his elbows on his thighs again. His hands clasped together, the knuckles whitening with the pressure. I don’t know if the words struck a chord, or if he wanted to act on his anger.

“I might never be able to love a man because of you,” I snapped. “I might never trust one again. I want things.” I beat on my chest with my fist as I stood. “And you’ve taken them from me with your little game. I want to believe it can be more than it was with Rick and you. I think it can, but I can’t get past the pain in here.” I poked at my own chest, signaling my heart. “Even when I ache here.” I slid my finger between my breasts down to the edge of my zipper.

His eyes opened wide and he stood as well. With two large steps, he crossed the room, his green eyes bright as he focused on my finger. Standing before me, he shocked me further by folding to his knees. His fingers came to my hips.

“Tell me how to make it better for you, and I will.”

I didn’t answer him. My hand slipped away from the front of my shorts. My fingers twitched to run through his hair as they had after the cut a week ago, but my heart raced and my thoughts conflicted. His hands released my hips, and he sat back on his ankles. His palms came to rest on his knees, his eyes lowering to them.

“I’ll be your submissive. Control me. Tell me what you need physically, emotionally, and I’ll give you anything.” He peeked up at me. “Anything.”

My hands could no longer hold back, and I reached for his hair. Combing through the soft locks, my brows pinched. I didn’t understand. I didn’t know what he was offering, or how I was to respond. His forehead came forward to rest on my lower belly. Two thick hands gripped my hips, and he tugged gently at the pockets of my shorts.

“Anything you ask,” he offered on his knees. “Just don’t leave me again.”

23

Days 41 – 44 - Tack

For four days, we learned about one another. We didn’t see each other naked. We didn’t touch. I marveled at how we seemed to have worked in reverse. We fucked, we foreplayed, we kissed, we snuggled…and now, we nothing-ed. But we were learning about one another, and some of the conversations were difficult. She told me about her uncle and some of his intentions toward her. I told her about my mother and her pills. She told me about the accident during a storm that killed her parents. I told her more about my father’s manipulation. We did not speak of Rick again, nor of that night. We focused on one another’s history instead.

Most of our conversations took place as we walked. We traveled the island, seeking places we hadn’t seen, and trying to memorize the land. It was a beautiful, tropical haven if only each moment didn’t still feel like a punishment.

“Garvey is coming tomorrow. I don’t have a set time for his arrival. They just arrive when they want, but I want to see you afterward,” I said.

“Lillian will be coming as well. Maybe it’s best to take a day off,” she suggested. I reached for her hand and tugged her to stop. She spun as she was walking before me.

“I don’t want a day off. Each day, I feel as if I’m in a dream, and when night falls, I’m afraid to sleep and end the dream.” The words were raw, the emotion behind them displaying my vulnerability. I didn’t want her to disappear again. A man on the verge of insanity was the only way to explain those days she’d been missing. I hadn’t found her in her tree house, or if she was present, she ignored me. I never stumbled upon her in the pond or even walking through the trees. It had been lonely without her.

On this island, I’d discovered what was truly my greatest fear—I didn’t like to be alone. While I thought the banishment would be an excellent respite from the pressure of my father and the weight of my past, being alone was a trigger for me. I couldn’t handle myself. Guilt haunted me when I thought of what we’d done to this beautiful girl sharing herself with me in solidarity of our circumstances. But it was deeper than that. Being alone made me face the fact I was alone. My father wanted what he wanted of me. My friends were the same. It was a game to conform to others’ wishes, and I was losing when I had to face myself. I did the things I did so as not to be lonely. I wanted the attention—negative and wrong—so I didn’t have to face my greatest fear—being alone because someone wouldn’t want me for me.

She smiled slowly, though the light didn’t reach her eyes. The smile she was growing confident to give me had been diminished with my late-night sleep-rutting. It was trying my patience to win it back, but my patience had surprisingly grown. If we spent enough time together, I felt confident I would see it again. Some day. Hopefully soon.