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Years ago, when I was still in school, I remember the teacher gathering us all around and showing us videos of animals in the wild. There was a tiger that had been tamed and domesticated. When the tiger played with little tiger cubs, its claws were sheathed, but you could still see the inherent strength it held back, evident in vibrating connections of muscle and sinew, and laser sharp teeth. But those cubs felt safe.
I feel that way with Sergio. I know he could hurt me… and because I've become vulnerable with him, he could hurt me worse than anybody ever has… but he sheaths his claws and gentles himself with me.
It doesn’t mean he isn’t really a tiger, though.
I’m just not his prey.
When we get ready to go, I feel like a girl out on her first date. My heart beats quicker, and there's a lightness in my step as we walk through the club hand in hand. People stop him as we go, but he gives curt, one-word answers. A man on a mission.
We make it to the parking lot, and he pulls out his keys. He pushes a button and there's a beep. Lights flash from a shiny car in front of us.
I wonder if he's scared to drive because of what happened with Mario. I wonder if he has any flashbacks, or if he's afraid he'll get into another car accident. But he doesn't say anything, so I don't either.
Wordlessly, he opens the passenger door and gestures for me to get in. The car is impeccably clean, the seats wrapped in luxury leather. I do as he requests and sit down. He reaches for my seat belt, leaning his entire body against mine as he buckles me in. When I'm with him like this, when we touch and I hear the rumble of his voice, feel the roughness of his hands, smell his pine-laced scent, a part of me comes alive again. A part I didn't know still lived. It's undeniably sensual, even sexual, and I have to work hard to fight against everything that tells me this is wrong.
I was created to live. I was created to love. I was created to feel.
Sergio walks to his side of the car, slides in and buckles up. The engine purrs when he starts the car.
"Are you afraid because of the car accident?"
He gives me a surprised look. Thinks. Sighs. “Yes."
He doesn't say anything else. I fold my hands in my lap.
"I don't know how to drive, but if I did, I would offer."
The corners of his lips quirk up. "I'll teach you how to drive."
"Okay, then. I'll teach you how to make bread."
He chuckles. "Thanks for the offer, but I have no interest in learning how to bake bread."
“Hmm. Crochet booties?" I say with a smile. "Perhaps you'd like to know how to can fruit. I can show you how to make pesto with all that basil you have growing…"
I’m only teasing him, but he gets a pensive look. "You teach me a lot more than you know you do." He doesn't elaborate, and I sit with that for a moment.
“I’m proud of you,” I tell him, words I always craved and never heard. I can’t change the way I was treated, but I can change the way I treat the peopleIcare about. "You have all those people that could drive for you. And even though you’re afraid, you’re still doing it.”
When he doesn’t respond at first, I wonder if I spoke out of turn. Wordlessly, he reaches for my knee and gives me a little squeeze. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now, show me what this baby’s got.”
He nods, grinning, drumming his fingers on the wheel. He touches a button, and music plays in the background. It's music I've never heard before, fast-paced like rock music. But it's too soft for me to listen to the words.
When he speaks, I can tell he’s still thinking about what I said. “I like to face things I'm afraid of. That's how you grow. That's how you get stronger. "
I think about that. He's right. If I were to turn away every time I was afraid, I wouldn't be here right now.
"My father terrified me when I was a kid. He was heavy-handed and critical. My mother was no better. By the time I was thirteen years old I was taller and bigger than my father. Ricco, my older brother, showed me how to work out. I got strong, on purpose. And my oldest brother…" His voice trails off. He has another brother? I know Ricco and Timeo, but I didn't know he had another brother. “My oldest brother Niccolo was the one who taught me how to lift."
Huh.
"Why haven't I met Niccolo?"
"Niccolo was killed a few years back."
My heart squeezes. I think of Starla, and what it would be like to lose her. I feel that if she were gone, a very part of my soul would be gone with her.
