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She’s crying. Her sobs are quiet, barely shaking her, and the tears slip down her face and drip on her coat, leaving shiny trails.
Fuck me. “Hey, now.” I want to put my arms around her, but she just said...she said she doesn’t touch men, or sit close to them, so what the fuck do I do? Where do I find the rules for this sort of situation? “It’s all right.”
Whatever. I mean if she’s telling the truth, it can’t be fucking all right, can it? But without knowing why she’s in this state, not much I can do.
At least she’s not screaming for me to leave this time.
“Listen,” I try again, feeling like shit that I can’t think of a better way to comfort her. “Can I hold your hand?”
She lifts her tear-streaked face and stares at me.
Yeah. Not a question I thought I’d ever have to ask in this job. Can I touch your tits, sure. Want me to fuck your ass, oh yeah. Wanna try the flogger, absolutely.
Can I hold your hand? Jesus. First time ever.
“You want,” her voice hitches, “to hold my hand?”
Yeah, like I said. Crazy.
“Yeah. I like your hand.” I really do. It’s small and fine and her nails are a pale pink. “Can I?”
She hesitates.
“I won’t bite it, or crush it, or hurt it in any way.” I don’t know why I think she needs to hear this, but she seems to relax a little, which is fucked up, I swear. “I just wanna hold it.”
When I reach for it, she lets me. I lift it in my bigger hand like a prize. I smooth my thumb over the slender bones, and she shivers.
“What now?” she whispers.
Yeah, Riot, what’s your fucking brilliant plan now?
“Will you tell me why you’re so scared of men?”
She shakes her head, dark hair dancing over her face, hiding her expression.
Big surprise.
“A man hurt you,” I say. Not hard to guess. “Sexually. Did he rape you, Pax?”
She jerks, tries to pull her hand free. I tighten my hold just a little. She can still break the hold if she wants.
She doesn’t. “No.” Her voice is small, so small I barely hear it.
But I hear it. And I can breathe again.
Whatever happened to her, it wasn’t that, and although obviously something bad did happen, I have a feeling I could help her get over it.
Slowly.
If she lets me.
“Did he beat you?” I recall what she asked of me in the hotel. “Did he put those small scars on your hips? Did he slap you and touch your breast?”
She nods. A tiny nod, but I see it.
I hear and see everything when it comes to this girl. Can’t help myself from paying attention. She’s my focus more than any other woman I’ve ever been with.
“He tied you up.”
