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Can I really do this?
She peers at me. “What’s going on in that head of yours? I can see the gears in your head spinning a mile a minute.”
For her.
Inhaling, I sit on my bed and tug her in between my legs.
I’d do anything.
“I want you to tie me up,” I rush out.
Ariah’s eyes widen, her gray irises triple in size as my heart slams violently in my ears. “Are you sure?”
She’s every reason to see past what haunts me. The push I need to heal. Not just for me—for the little boy gearing up to be a dad. He and I are owed peace in spades.
“Y-yes,” my chest rattles as I choke out my words. “I’ve thought about this and am ready to try.”
Worry creases her beautiful face as tears glisten before falling down her cheeks. I quickly move to swipe them away. I don’t want her to be sad.
“No, Ry, please don’t—don’t cry.”
A small smile peeks through. “I don’t know why I’m crying.” She wipes away a budding tear. “Stupid hormones.”
That makes me laugh. “Would you like me to tell you what the research says about hormones during pregnancy?”
“Don’t you dare,” she mock scolds before freeing my hair from its bun. “I. . . I didn’t expect this. It’s. . . it’s just so—I’m sorry I’m fucking this up.”
I shake my head. “Never. I can’t promise I’ll make it through, but I need to do this.” I hand her the rope, then yank my shirt over my head.
My throat constricts, and my palms grow balmy. “We’ll go at your pace. Whatever you need, Lev,” she states, and I want to ask her if I can get that in writing because I’d need a video to believe she’s following anyone’s lead.
“Wrap the rope around my—” I close my eyes, trying to free the words stuck in my throat.
“Breathe,” Ariah whispers. “Whether you do this or not tonight, be proud of yourself for reaching this point.”
The heat of her skin encourages me to open my eyes, and when I do, Ariah’s compassionate gaze is trained on me.
I nod, and she unravels the rope. “Just a simple one to start,” I rasp. The jute fibers brush lightly over the flesh on my wrist, and I freeze—memories of the past assault me. Beads of sweat dot my forehead, and my skin feels like a million fire ants are crawling all over me.
“Stop,” I bark. Ariah immediately lifts the rope, and I feel a sliver of ease. “I. . . I don’t think I can do this—I want to, but?—”
“You don’t have to explain, Lev.”
Clenching my fists, I angle my head to look at her. “But,” I heave. “It’s been far too long. I need to?—”
“The only thing you need to do is take your time and go at the pace your body permits.”
I turn away, wiping my sweaty hands on my pants. “This shouldn’t be so damn hard. It was over ten years ago. I should be better,” I hiss, whipping to face her. I’m angry at myself—the disappointment is like a thick, suffocating film against my skin. I’m desperate for an outlet to regain some semblance of control.
“How can I?—”
“Go to the wall where the hooks are and spread your arms,” I growl, gritting my teeth.
Rein it in, asshole.
Standing, I grab the rope and wait a few minutes to compose myself, burying my nightmares safely back in their ‘don’t fucking open’ box in the deepest depths of my mind.
It was stupid of me to try this. I thought I was ready.
