It was supposed to be the happiest night of my life. The others left to give us space so I could propose, and now here we are. I’m dying.
I can feel it—too much blood loss.
Is that what she wants? Fucking anger stokes within me, one I feel during fights, the one that keeps me alive. It roars through my veins as I glare at her. I clamp my lips shut and refuse to let another noise escape, but she doesn’t like that. With a yell, she stabs and slashes. Pain like no other courses through my bound body…
I jolt awake with a start, something’s wrong. I feel it then, a chain on my arm. With a roar, I grab it and twist, throwing the person next to me before I pin them there. Fury and fear flow through me, blinding me. I wrap my hands blindly around their throat until a small voice reaches me in my haze.
“Garrett?”
Blinking, I stare down at Roxy. “Rox?” I murmur in confusion. I swallow and notice my hand on her throat and sit back, moving away from her quickly. The dream still lingers, making me feel raw and angry.
She sits up, seeming unafraid, even though I almost just killed her again. My body is heaving, my chest hurting from the dream. She can’t be here, not right now, but she doesn’t seem to fucking care, as usual. “Are you okay? I heard you yelling and came to check on you…”
“I’m fine, get out,” I snap, holding back the rage inside me that wants to break free and punish her, even though it’s not her fault.
She frowns. “Garrett, are you—”
“Get. Out,” I snarl.
She freezes, watching me. “Is this about why you hate women…the woman who did that to your chest?”
It’s my turn to freeze then. “How?”
“It’s not hard to figure out. I don’t know who she was or what happened, but I’m guessing it was a woman who did that to you.” She smiles sadly. “I’m sorry, Garrett, no wonder you hate women.”
“You know nothing, get out.” I look away in shame.
“Then tell me,” she pleads, reaching for me, but she stops short of touching me. “I’ll understand, I could help. What happened?” she implores. I grind my teeth, and she sighs, letting her hand drop to the bed between us. “I just want to help, Garrett, I swear I won’t hurt you. I just want…well, you. However I can get you, even as a friend.”
“Don’t you see I’m ruined?” I scream. I know the others heard me, but they don’t try to stop me or save her. Fools. She sighs, looking annoyed.
“Where? Where are you ruined?” she snaps, obviously sick of being kind. “Your chest? It’s hot, get the fuck over it, you have a few scars.” She snorts.
“A few?” I roar, and get into her face, pointing at the melted tissue across my torso. “It’s a fucking horrendous mess that makes me feel sick to even look at. How could you ever expect me to think you find this attractive?”
“You don’t get to tell me who I find attractive,” she counters with a growl, angry herself. “I love your scars the way I love my own. They actually made me feel close to you before anyone else. Someone with those scars knows pain, like me. So yes, I like them, yes, I want you so fucking badly it’s stupid, so badly I touch myself to the thought of you, even when you’re mean and hateful. You don’t get to tell me what I want because you’re fucking scared!” she yells, and then breathes heavily as we stare at each other.
“Of course I’m scared, I’m fucking terrified,” I shout, slamming my hand into my chest. “She ruined me, my body, my mind, and fuck, Rox, how can you want that? How could you want me to touch you when I’m such an asshole? When I might kill you?”
“What’s a little danger?” She grins. “I’ve been with Diesel, dude, you aren’t worse than him.”
I go quiet then, unsure what to say.
“They didn’t tell you what happened?” I ask lowly.
“No, it’s your story to tell,” she replies quietly, not angry anymore. Fuck, we’re messing this truce thing up. “Are you okay?”
Scrubbing my face, I sit, pressing my back to the wall, and she sits with me. “Yes, no,” I mutter, unable to look at her. “I’ve had nightmares ever since, but they’ve been worse recently.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, and I nod. We sit in silence and she sighs. “I’ll leave, I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t leave,” I snap straightaway, and I feel her whirling around to gape at me.
But I don’t know what to say or do. I’m so fucking rusty at this shit, and I don’t know what will trigger me. How can I reach for her when I know I might hurt her? Isn’t me wanting her selfish? But I do. I want her.
I’ve wanted to kiss the shit out of her every time we argue, wanted to throw her to the bed and fuck her. But I can’t.
She slides closer, but I still can’t bear to look at her. She laughs quietly, and then the next thing I know she throws her leg over my lap and she’s before me, hovering above my hips. “This okay?” she inquires.
All I can do is nod mutely, and she smiles down at me. “Garrett, you noticed before any of them that I flinch when someone moves too fast. You know why, right? I’m betting you have worked it out or they have told you.”
“Your dad.” I nod, wishing I killed the bastard when I had the chance.
“My dad.” She nods and smiles bitterly. “The first time I had sex after…” She swallows. “It was hard, it was my first time, it was supposed to be amazing, but we were drunk, and all I kept seeing every time he grabbed me was my dad. It was over quickly, and I cried and walked home. It got better, I learned to block it out. I got good at it, at handling my reactions. It took a lot of years, fuck, I still flinch now. I still have nightmares, it doesn’t just go away—trauma sticks with you every day of your life. But we have a choice whether to let it control or destroy us. I decided neither, because that way he wins. That sounds stupid and conceited, like I just simply decided one day, but I did. I was tired of being afraid, so even now when shit terrifies me, when I get flashbacks or nightmares or react wrongly…I choose how to deal with it. Me. No one else, because they can’t understand how I’m feeling in the moment. No one else can. Healing isn’t easy, sweetheart. In some ways, it’s worse than the actual…abuse, and you will have setbacks and get disheartened, but it’s worth the try. Otherwise, you’re still caught in those memories, still fighting for survival…”
“I’m tired of fighting,” I admit, and she grins.
“Me too. So if I do shit wrong, if I trigger you or anything, speak. Let me know. Let us know how we can help in any way, because they want to. Your brothers, they are reaching for you, trying to understand how they can protect you. Help you. As am I. You have to decide whether you can let us.”
“I need to do this alone,” I mutter.
“I know, but we’re here,” she whispers, “and sometimes that’s enough, or maybe I’m just half asleep and rambling.”
I chuckle, and she grins.
“Want to watch a movie or something?”