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“Let go, baby,” he murmurs against me.
“Josh,” I whisper, my eyes filling with tears. I want to tell him to stop, that he doesn’t want this. But I know what it’s like to want to feel something, anything, but pain. And I know that’s what he’s doing.
He doubles his efforts and within seconds I’m panting his name over and over. He pushes me over the edge as tears mixed with sweat trickle down my hairline. He waits until I’m settled before running his tongue up my stomach, between my breast, and up to my ear. “Flip over,” he says, but his hand’s already on my waist, guiding me to where he wants me. I wait on all fours while he opens the drawer of his nightstand and rips open the condom packet. I feel one of his hands on my butt, the other on my back as he pushes me down and then pushes inside me. His thrusts are fast, hard and painful. And I can no longer tell if he’s using me, or if I’m using him, but either way we want the physical pleasure to help us forget the pain. So I let him take me, however he wants me. He leans down, his chest pressed against my back and his mouth on my ear. “I’m so sorry,” he says, and I have no idea which part he’s apologizing for. He slows his thrusts, his mouth moving from my ear to my neck, kissing me slow and soft.
And I remember why I love this, why I crave this… his touch, his kiss…
His hand’s in my hair now, pulling tight and I grunt in response—pushing back memories of the last time my hair was pulled…
Then he kisses my shoulder, his fingers brushing the hair away from my eyes so he can look at me—at the eyes he loves so much. “I love you,” he whispers, and I forget the pain… the pain of his hands in my hair, the pain of how he spoke to me earlier, and I let the pleasure of his touch balance out the torture and the fear of my life.
21
-Becca-
sink
sɪÅ?k/
verb
descend from a higher to a lower position; drop downwards.
Days pass and his mood doesn’t change. He’s distant and withdrawn and he does what I normally do—he uses Tommy as a distraction to not pay attention to me. Honestly, I doubt I’d even see Josh if knocking on my door and asking me to play wasn’t the first thing Tommy does as soon as they get home. I don’t spend nights. Josh doesn’t ask me to. As soon as Tommy’s in bed, I leave. He doesn’t call. Doesn’t text. We don’t talk about what went on with his mom and we sure as hell don’t talk about what happened with us that night. In fact, we don’t really talk at all. Which is quite easy considering I’ve reverted back to the girl I was when I moved here; lying awake in bed every night with voices in my head pulling me further and further back into the darkness.
Then one night, right after Tommy goes down, he asks me to stay—not with him—but to watch Tommy. I agree, of course, and watch from his window as he grabs his skateboard from his truck and rolls out the driveway. I wait for him to return and when two a.m. hits, I send him a text asking when he’ll be home. After a half hour of no reply, I finally give in and fall asleep on his couch.
I startle awake when I hear the key turn in his door and he steps inside. He eyes me curiously as I sit up and wipe the sleep from my eyes. “Why aren’t you in bed?” he asks, sitting down next to me.
I shrug.
Then he does something I’ve wanted him to do, something I’ve craved since that night. He touches me. He holds my hand, his eyes fixed on the connection. “Is it because of what happened in there?”
I shrug again, though he can’t see me. So he faces me, his eyes right on mine. “Did I hurt you?” he asks.
I nod.
“Physically?”
I shake my head and point to my heart.
He releases a breath and my hand at the same time, but he doesn’t pull away, he grabs my legs and puts them over his, turning my entire body to face him. His hand’s on my neck now, gently stroking my cheek. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” he whispers. “And I’m sorry I’ve been pushing you away, Becca. I just don’t know how else to handle this. I know it’s hard for you—the fact that I’m not willing to talk about it yet—and I’m sorry for that, too. But I needed time, I needed to skate and to clear my head. I thought about a lot of things tonight.” His dark eyes glaze with tears and he swallows loudly, his head tilting forward and his voice softening. “Mainly about you and the fact that you’re the only constant in my life right now. I was a dick to you and I know I’ve been treating you horribly the last week but I just… I need you to be patient with me. I’m going to make mistakes—a lot of them—and I’m going to fuck up, especially when it comes to you and me because I’m not used to thinking about anyone or anything but myself and Tommy.” He sniffs once and looks back up at me. “I don’t want to lose you, Becca. I can’t lose you. So if I hurt you, I need you tell me. If I fuck up, call me out on it. The last thing I want is for you to walk away without me knowing why. If one day you realize you’re only here for Tommy and not for me and you want to walk away, then I have to let you, but I at least want to know that I did everything I could to make it right before letting you go. But please don’t do that, Becca. Please don’t leave me.” His voice breaks with the desperation in his words. He holds my face in his hands, his gaze searching mine. “Please,” he begs.
I kiss him once, twice, and by the third time, he starts to kiss me back. He kisses away the pain and the hurt. Not with his touch this time, but with his words, his despair and his declaration.
