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35
Pen
Flicking on the massive TV screen, I scroll through the channels to find something to watch whilst I wait for my Breakers to arrive. Choosing a music channel that’s playingIf You Want Loveby NF, I step into the open space between the cuddle chair and the TV screen and pull my bandana over my eyes, needing to dance with my heart and my memories, needing to center myself. Letting the music wash over me, I let my mind go back to the first night I came here. I was so young, so fucking scared. When I really allow myself to think about that night, about what I went through, it makes me feel sick. I pity the kid I was. I feel so fucking bad for her. All she ever wanted was to be loved and instead she got a mother who resented her, and a brother who had an unhealthy obsession for her, still does.
Curling my fingers into fists and lifting my arms up as though I’m about to start running, I step into the movement, my feet stomping to the beat of the song. My heart squeezes at the memory of that night. How he’d hurt me. All the fear and the fucking loneliness I’d felt. Back then I’d wanted to be free from him just for a little while. I needed to escape. I ran to find peace. I didn’t want to feel afraid anymore.
Stamping my feet, I raise a fist, punching the air with every step as I work through the memory. Exaggerating the movements, I try to shake the stress free. I dance wildly, twisting my torso, kicking out my legs, sweeping low, then jumping high. I’m jerky in my movements, angry with my steps. So fucking angry. This is me working through that night, trying to make sense of it. With a heaving chest I let the music wash over me. Then as the verse hits, I perform a series of isolated arm movements. Folding them over my head, locking and popping, I imitate that cage I’d felt trapped in. The cage that was built on fear and violence, caused by my brother’s hand. I recall the pain I’d felt, not the physical kind, because that’s faded with time. I’m talking about the long-lasting pain that sits deep inside. The kind of pain that can only be healed by the men I love. My Breakers will be here soon and despite everything that’s happened between us, despite what I’ve witnessed, I know that they’re my safe place.
My solace.
My hope.
My future.
That night when I ran away from the abuse, I’d acted purely on instinct. Fuck, so many things could’ve gone wrong. I was fourteen, scared, alone, beaten and fucking bruised. I’d ended up at Jackson Street, a tiny part of me hoping that Zayn would be there. I’d stood under the oak tree in the freezing rain feeling so fucking desolate, soalone.
Remembering that moment with such clarity, I stop moving, my arms rising up as I hug myself. The words wash over me as I think back, as I remember wanting so desperately to be loved. Then out of the shadows he’d appeared....
York.
He’d offered me the hand of friendship. He saw that I was in trouble and he’d acted on it. The second my hand slid into his, I knew. IknewI’d found someone special, just like I’d known it when Zayn had stepped into the playground and danced with me a few weeks before. Both times my shattered heart had sensed the good in them, the kindness, a kindred spirit. My heart had understood what I didn’t at the time, that they were meant for me, that we were always supposed tobe. That knowledge, that reminder, makes my heart lift, my spirit soar.
Lifting my right leg, extending it out to the side, I lean over in the opposite direction, I reach for that boy, that lifeline, but it’s just a memory and it dissolves between my fingers. Drawing my leg and arms back in, I balance on one leg, my toes curling into the plush carpet as I hunch over myself. With the next beat, I feel the music rise up my chest and I absorb strength from it, from the words and the way they make me want to move.
Lowering my leg, and straightening up, I lift onto my tiptoes and dance through a series of ballet steps, moving from one foot to the other as I performadagio. I dance a succession of slow, soft, lyrical movements, moving around the open space between the cuddle chair and the television, trusting my instincts and following my heart with every step.
For a few blissful moments I let everything go.
“Titch?”
York’s voice reaches me over the music, but I don’t stop moving or remove my blindfold, instead I spin around to face my Breakers. I don’t need to see them to know they’re all here in the basement with me. My heart, my fuckingsoulfeels their presence. Without saying a word, I hold my hand out to York. I offer him friendship and hope, just like he’d offered it to me all those years ago. Beneath my bandana, tears spring to my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall.
Instead, I wait.
Just like I knew he would, York moves towards me and takes my hand, his warm fingers sliding over my palm as he steps close and pulls me against his chest.
“Don’t be scared. I swear, no one here will hurt you,” he says softly, drawing my hand up to his lips, and pressing a kiss against my palm. My throat closes over recognising the same words he said to me that first night we met. Pressing my cheek against his chest, I grip hold of him tightly as we sway from side to side and just like the song suggests, if I want trust, I need to give some away. So, that’s what I do. I’m trusting my heart. I’m trusting him,allof them. For the next few beats, we just dance like two teenagers at a school dance, holding onto one another, our hearts racing and the attraction building until York’s hands reach for my face and he kisses me, his tongue searching, the pads of his thumbs stroking my cheekbones. My fingers curl into his top and a sob rises up my throat at the emotion coming from him.
This kiss is a gift. It’s love wrapped up in a heartfelt apology. It’s hope. It’s friendship. It’severything. With one last kiss to my forehead, York releases me, and I know he hasn’t gone far. He’s simply stepped back for one of the others to step forward. Zayn approaches next. He smells familiar, like home. His scent conjures up a more innocent time in our relationship, when dance, laughter and friendship was what mattered the most.
Dropping his head onto my shoulder, Zayn wraps his arms around my waist, and upper chest. He starts moving behind me, swaying his hips. Instinctively, I step to the beat with him. We move together as he holds me against his chest, as he peppers kisses against my neck.
“Zayn…” My voice cracks and I swallow back the agony in it. Fuck, I’ve missed him.
“Someone did a number on you, didn’t they?” he whispers, and just like York, he repeats what he’d said that night. I can’t help but give a sad smile at that, because he’s right. Back then my brother had been responsible for my bruises. Now, some of the internal ones have been inflicted by the men I love, even if it has been unintentionally.
We sway to the music, Zayn’s hips pressed against my lower back, his body curving over mine in a protective,lovingembrace. Then his hands slide down my arms and wrap around my wrists before lifting my arms up horizontally to the floor, leaving me wide open, vulnerable, as he steps back. I know what he’s doing, he’s asking me to trust him. I did back then, and I do now. I trust him,allof them. Pressing a kiss against the curve of my neck, Zayn ducks under my arm and stands in front of me.
“I’ve missed you, Pen. So fucking much.”
My chest rises and falls to the pounding of my heart at his heartfelt words. Still blindfolded, my senses are heightened as his fingers run along my arms and across my shoulders, finally meeting at the back of my head and curling into my hair. Tugging gently, he tips my head back, steps closer, then kisses me. My arms drop as his tongue parts my lips and we kiss. We kiss knowing that we can’t change what’s happened between us, but that we can move forward, we can forge our own path. Eventually, when I’m high on his love, Zayn steps away, leaving me open once more. With the butterflies in my stomach soaring, I wait.
“Hey, Kid.”
“Hey,” I whisper, cocking my head to the side as Dax steps closer, the heat of his body and sheer size making me feel small, yetsafe. Placing his hands on my hips, Dax lifts me off the floor, and I automatically reach for his shoulders, wrapping my legs around his waist as he holds me against him, one hand cupping my arse, the other gripping the back of my neck.
“See a penny, pick it up, all day long you’ll have good luck,” he says against my lips, a smile in his voice, before he slides his tongue into my mouth and kisses me like a man who’s done waiting. That brings laughter from both York and Zayn, but tellingly Xeno remains quiet. I try not to think about that too much. Right now, Dax is my focus and boy does he distract me. His fingers squeeze my arse, his mouth claims mine in a beautiful, bruising kiss.
