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“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Manon.”
“You can’t even look at me naked? You hate me that much?”
“I don’t hate you. It’s just that those images were pretty extreme. Anyone would have reacted as I did.”
“So, you’re only here because you think I’m going to cut myself again?”
“Maybe.” I rubbed my neck.
She stared at me with wild eyes, like I’d told her something disgusting, then she started to hit me. “I hate you. I hate you.”
I held up my hands to defend myself. “Hey. Chill. What the fuck?”
She kept hitting me like I was a punching bag.
“If I hadn’t fallen for you, my life would be different. Better!” she screamed.
“Well, I’m sorry for being here.” I tried to hold back on sarcasm, but the situation was becoming intense. “Do you want me to go?”
“No!” she yelled. “I want you to fuck me. To love me. To forgive me. To forget how fucked up my life was before you came along.” She fell on the bed, buried her head in a pillow, and sobbed.
My jaw dropped. I was speechless.
I sat next to her on the bed and placed my arms around her, then rocked her in my arms. Her body was soft and pliant as she sobbed uncontrollably.
I allowed her to let it all out because that was what a breakdown looked like I imagined.
After her sobs stopped, I said, “What happened to you?” I asked that under my breath, given that I already knew her history.
She sniffled. “My mother happened to me.”
That was the quietest she’d been and probably the most honest. At that moment, I saw her for the first time. Away from all that astonishing beauty, Manon reminded me of a young, helpless girl.
I rocked her in my arms, trying to absorb her pain. I got it. For a twenty-one-year-old, she’d been through more shit than most. I’d met Bethany, and she had rotten sewn into her soul.
It was some time before she unwound from my arms. Her smile was slight and uncertain. “Sorry if I said awful things to you.”
“You didn’t. This has been a traumatic experience.” I sighed. “For me too. And seeing you cutting yourself, Manon, I want to help.”
“Do you?” She gazed at me with eyes full of hope and longing, as if she had never felt love before.
I could see she needed someone she could depend on, hold on to.
We stopped talking at that point, and I made love to her like I was fucking for the first time. Exploring all of her. Taking care of her, while too aware of the wounds on her legs.
Raw and real, it was one of those moments I would never forget. Manon wasn’t trying to play a game with me. She gave me all of herself, and it became more than just fucking.
She fell asleep in my arms, and her soft breath on my neck sent me off into a deep, restful sleep.
The following morning, I found her up and about, and by the bed, a trolley with a big breakfast stared at me.
I combed back my mess of hair in desperate need of a cut. “Hey, you’ve been busy, I see.”
Her giggle was as good as the morning sunshine. I almost forgot about us having to get back to Merivale and all the drama.
Then anxiety kicked in again, and it had nothing to do with Manon going all temperamental on me.
I walked to the balcony and spotted Jim Reilly, the chubby detective connected to Salon Soir.
