Page 173 of Breathe Like Hell

Again.

Again.

I wanted to know more about him. He hurt me like he understood how purifying pain could be.

Maybe it wasn’t something I’d suspect of him at first, but it made sense to me now. All these fragmented parts of him fit together, constructing a maze as intricate as it was beautiful.

Pain, to escape vulnerability. Control, to escape exposure.

Don’t touch me.

I know more than you think I do.

His pale blue eyes, hiding so many secrets, holding so many shadows, seeing me more than anyone else.

I gritted my teeth, my eyes burning around the edges, the rope pulling tight around my wrists. It was overwhelming and terrible and perfect and everything I’d ever wanted. I was trying to be brave, to take all the pain and hold it tight inside of me, but it wasn’t easy.

Micah gave me a minute of reprieve.

“You’re allowed to cry, you know,” he murmured, brushing my hair off my flushed cheek. There was so much emotion in his gaze. “You’re doing so well.”

The force of his gentle words was enough to push me over the edge, tears instantly streaming down my hot cheeks, sobs choking up in my throat. I gasped my inhales, trying to keep breathing through the sharpness of leather. My ribs expanded against the wood, broken cries escaping my lips in a steady stream.

“Are you okay?” Micah questioned, his voice low and steady.

I sucked my lower lip into my mouth and nodded, tasting my tears.

I was still throbbing between my legs, but it was different now. Despite me being naked and bent over his desk, this wasn’t sexual anymore. It was more than that.

It was honest in a way nothing else could be.

Vulnerable.

Micah was breathing heavily, sweat glistening on the strong column of his throat.

He raised the belt again, then brought it down, hard. So hard I saw stars bursting behind my eyelids.

Something prickly I’d been holding in my chest released with that hit.

The tug behind my ribs finally loosened.

My tears came faster. I didn’t try to stop them. There were no real adjectives to describe the way I felt now, as if I’d pushed past pain to a sensation much deeper.

My body stopped bracing for each hit.

The physical pain was insignificant.

My skin stung and ached, bruised and striped with marks, but I didn’t bleed there. Not in any way that mattered. I bled from my soul.

I sobbed against Micah’s desk, messy and honest. The hits kept coming, and I had no way of knowing what number we were at now, or how much time he was giving me between each one. My brain had stopped functioning; my heart was the only thing still working.

I love you so much.

It was in every drop of blood, every bruise he marked me with, every tear sliding off my cheek onto the shiny wood. But I was still paralyzed, terrified to say it, so worried that he’d shut down and I’d lose all the ground I’d gained since I knelt for him on the cliff. Saying it out loud felt like handing him something he could break.

Every time my lips parted to say the words, I remembered his previous reactions to my care, and shut my mouth again, chest aching.

I was always one sentence away from losing him.