TOMMY

It took an unnatural amount of effort to let her run away. It's still taking it now as I pace my apartment, trying not to go up to her room and…and what…rape her? I've done a lot of bad things in my life, but I've never raped a woman. And I never will. She's driving me insane.

I risked my life beating up Slim today. Him coming on to her had nothing to do with Tara, and everything to do with Shade's sick plan to get rid of me the same way he got rid of Blade. And Sara had no business bringing my mom into whatever twisted game she's playing with Ian by keeping her pregnancy a secret from him.

But all those are just empty rationalizations.

I'd have hit Slim for bothering Tara a thousand times over. I'd have killed him if he had put up a fight. Just seeing how scared of him she was woke this fierce protectiveness in me that nothing but blood could resolve. I never felt that for any woman. It wasn't even so much about possessing her. I just needed to protect her. I'd have died for her tonight. Or any night.

Her rejection now, after all that, hurts so deep, and on such a different level, I might never get over it. Hell, I might never sleep again unless she takes it back, recants, lets me kiss her, fuck her, show her just how much I'll never, ever let anyone harm her. Because she's mine.

There's a soft knock on the door and then she's standing in front of me. But she shouldn't be. I haven't felt this out of control in years, not since high school when I started fights like the one tonight daily, just for the hell of it. I can't be trusted right now. Not if she won't give me what I want freely.

* * *

TARA

This conversation would go OK, I told myself before I came down here. It wouldn't be easy, but it would be OK. He deserves to know why I can't be more than friends. He told me one of his secrets, and mine's bigger, but still.

Only now he's just standing there, holding the door open and glaring at me, and I no longer think I made the right choice coming down here. His eyes are so angry, but so sad too and it's a dizzying combination, one I can't look away from. Just like I can never look away from my own pain.

"What is it, Tara?" he asks. "Come to mess with my head some more?"

He means it. It's not just a throwaway line meant to mock me.

"I came to explain," I say in a barely audible voice. "And then I'll go."

"Alright, let's hear it," he says and finally lets go of the door handle.

I close the door behind me, turn to find him sitting on the sofa. In the dead center of the sofa, so there's no room for me. Which is fine. I'll just say this and go. I practiced some of it in my head already, but didn't get very far. It just needs a few sentences. No more. Just the basics, so he'll understand. Years of therapy have prepared me for this moment. I can talk about it. I just can't crawl from underneath it.

"I'm waiting," he says, but not as harshly as before. His eyes aren't so angry anymore either.

I walk over to the bed, sit on the edge of it and face him. I'd meant to stand for this, but my legs are suddenly very weak and might not support my weight for much longer.

"I'm sorry," I say, because that's the most important thing I want to convey in this conversation. "I like you a lot." On second thought, that might actually be the most important thing. "But I was sexually abused by my father and his friends for years, and now even the idea of intimacy with a man makes me physically sick, makes me feel like I'm dying, and I know it's just in my mind, but I can't escape it. And I have tried. With you, I thought I could get past it, and that's why I kissed you before. The way you make me feel, made me think I could finally go past it, but I can't because that part of me is broken and nothing can fix it. I'm sorry I led you on."

Some other Tara delivered that speech, the strong one, the one that can take any blow. But she's not here anymore now that there's only silence. I don't know if he's even looking at me, because I'm afraid to look. Afraid to see the disgust in his eyes. That's what most people feel when I tell them. Disgust. Because I am broken. I'm not normal. I'm someone that shouldn't be. What happened to me was unnatural. It's not my fault, I know that, but I am what I am regardless.

I get up, not sure if my legs will even take my weight, but they do. I'm still afraid to look at him. Though his absolute silence really says it all. I don't want to hear that either.

"Where are you going?" he asks hoarsely.

I'm halfway to the door, where does he think I'm going? Of all the dumb responses to all I just told him, he found the winner. It's not fair of me to be this harsh. What did I expect anyway? But it is what it is.

Yet my anger vanishes as I turn to look at him, so I can deliver my answer, and sadness is all that’s left.

"I'm going now," I say and my voice actually cracks like I'm about to start crying.

"Why?"

He's gonna make me say it? Again?

"Because you're not saying anything." Because you're not asking me to stay.

He comes up to me, but doesn't touch me, though I can sense he wants to. Or maybe I just want him to touch me.

"What I want to say is that I'll make you feel so good you'll forget all those horrible things other men did to you, if you'll give me a chance," he says, his words firm, certain, not a trace of doubt in his tone. "But I don't think you'll believe me."

He sounds so sure of himself. Like what he’s saying is possible. His eyes are swallowing me up, all of me, not a trace of disgust anywhere in them. In this moment, there's just us in the whole wide world. Only us. And he's here to protect me. I know he is. He's the one I prayed for. It makes no sense to think that, it sounds insane even in my brain. But I know.

"I would believe you if you said that."

He takes my hand, a caring gesture that makes me feel lighter than air. So I just float after him to the sofa. We're sitting very close, facing each other, almost touching.

He runs his hand down my cheek and I lean into his hand.

"Tell me to stop and I will," he says, then leans down to kiss me.

The darkness at the edges of my mind flutters to life, begins seething, as I kiss him back and feelings of warmth, of desire, of pleasure course through me. But I ignore it, just let it rage and roil on the edges. Because he promised he can make it better, and I want to believe him. I should take this leap past my fears.

But the dark fears consume my whole mind without warning, as his kiss gets fiercer, more demanding, hungrier. He leans against me, his weight pressing me into the soft cushions.

I don't push him away, or ask him to stop. Because there's peace in the kiss too, a serenity, a rightness I've never felt before. It's just a flicker amid all the darkness, yet it keeps it at bay, keeps it from swallowing up my mind. He leans back, releasing me, pulls me down on top of him like he heard my silent cry to be unrestrained, like he understands me without speaking. The elation that realization brings turns the flicker into a flame that can cut through the darkness, can make it recede. Slowly, inch by labored inch, but it's working.

He stops kissing me, looks deep into my eyes, so deep I know he sees all. His eyes are the color of a moonlit ocean, promising peace, safe passage to worlds I've only dreamt of until now, worlds where everything is as it should be, no one forces me to do what I don't want to do, and no one hurts me. I stopped believing those worlds existed, but they're waiting for me just beyond the horizon, not far at all.

"We should stop before this gets out of hand," he says, grinning at me.

I know what he means, his desire for me passes like a spear through my pussy, the pain shooting up into my belly. But it's not all bad. It doesn't hurt like it used to, and it doesn't seem impossible anymore. All I've forgotten I wanted is possible again with him.

"OK," I say and he kisses me again, softer this time, with less urgency.

Then I follow him to bed. We're both still fully clothed, still have our shoes on, but he's not suggesting I undress, and he's not doing it either. And it's perfect, exactly how I need it. I think he knows that. He wraps his arm around me and I lay my head against his chest. I used to picture falling asleep with someone like this, long ago. So long ago the memory is faded and fuzzy like an old photograph, but it's growing clearer now even as I drift off to sleep.