Clara

When Cruise said he wanted to make love to me, he didn’t lie. I’ve never felt so loved and cherished than when I’m with him. Standing in his closet, physically my body misses his. Emotionally, I couldn’t ask for more. My heart is full.

I choose a crisp white shirt, and pull it from the hanger. By looking at the suits and shoes, the ties, and shirts in his walk-in closet, I can tell he spends a lot more on his wardrobe than I’d ever be able to afford.

Sliding the fine cotton over my skin, the fabric is cool to the touch and smooth. The label reads Prada. I’m no aficionado, but I know that brand is expensive.

Tiptoeing down the hall, I cross the room in bare feet and sneak outside on the balcony. It’s quieter at this hour and easier to convince myself that I’m at the top of the world, living the high life up here as I look down and around the usually bustling metropolis.

I lean against the railing, lifting up on my toes for a better look.

This penthouse alone shouts wealth, but then to find out his last name . . . Cristley.

I was familiar with the name long before I met his mother during a fundraising committee meeting. It’s her husband, Cruise’s father, which I’d heard about growing up. He was a senator known for re-election scandals and dirty dealings. That’s what my father used to gripe about over dinner—how unfair the world was that scum like John Cristley could get elected and then waste taxpayers money on potholes and mass transit. He claimed the elected officials never solved their constituent’s real problems, like lowering taxes and putting food on the table.

My father never appreciated a hard day’s work and thought the whole world owed him just for being born.

Wealth of the Cristley’s magnitude is intimidating, to say the least, but the power of his family name scares me more. That’s not a world I can slip into unnoticed. No, my past will come back to haunt me. Sure, my family put on a good show living in the suburbs among well-maintained lawns and a good school district. But he was evil to his core. Sometimes I overheard conversations I was never meant to hear.

“I don’t give a fuck about her. I only care about him, the fucking little bastard that he is. If we have to send a message to make him see things our way, we will.”

. . . The sins of my father have been left for us to atone for.

The Cristleys are political royalty in this state. I probably saw Cruise on TV when I was younger, not able to dream, much less fathom, that I would one day be dating him, or falling in love with him.

Love.

The word itself was twisted before I met Cruise, wicked even. I was never taught to love, but to obey. With Cruise, love comes easily and is all encompassing in ways I welcome. It feels good to feel good. He makes me feel beautiful, happy, and worthy.

But will his family?

The door opens and Cruise leans against the metal frame. “What are you doing out here?”

“Thinking.”

Coming out, he leans his arms on the railing next to me and looks down the long avenue. When he turns back his eyes stay steady on mine. “It’s a great place to think, or not, maybe to avoid if that’s what you’re wanting.”

“I have a feeling you like to avoid thinking about a lot of things. What you said to me, about being here for me and listening. I want you to know that I’m here for you and I’m also a great listener.” Watching lights flicker on around the tall buildings as people start to arrive for work is a nice distraction, but it never really pulls me away from the bad of my life. “I was taught to remain silent at all times unless spoken to directly by my father.”

“I don’t want you to be quiet. I want you to be loud. I want to hear your voice, and your thoughts, your opinions, and for you to always speak your mind. Don’t hold back with me, or anyone. You don’t owe an exchange of your silence for someone else’s.” Running his hands into my hair, I lean against his palm. He whispers, “Be brave, my little dove.”

Kissing my lips, I get lost in his words and kindness, his encouragement and desire for me. I feel whole. He’s done that for me. I don’t know how he’s done that in such a short time, but he’s changed me for the better.

“Promise me. Promise me that you’ll always speak your truth and you won’t ever let anyone shut you down.” Gently clasping my face between his hands, he says, “Promise me.”

“I promise. I promise you, but why do I get the feeling you’re making me promise because you won’t be here?”

When his hands fall to his sides, he walks to the other side of the balcony. I don’t like the distance anymore than I like the dread filling my stomach. “I have to go out of town.”

Feeling ill, I stare at the back of his head hoping I misheard him. “A trip?” I try my best to sound positive, not like I have anything to worry about, but I fail. My shoulders slump as if my body already knows the outcome of Cruise and Clara—a fated love story.

Maybe he picks up on the desperation in my voice, or he’s in tune with my body, because he turns and looks at me. He may not have hearts in his eyes, but he doesn’t have hate.

“Not long. A day or so.” Cruise reaches for me, looking at me like I can do no wrong. So different than what I’m used to seeing from men. I take his hand and am pulled in with a whoosh, his body catching mine. “We’ve talked about a lot of things, but not so much about us in the sense of what this is. What we are.”

“What are we?” I ask, not whispering like the wind that blows.

I love that he can’t seem to keep his hands off me. From big sweeping kisses to gentle gestures and soft strokes, he’s almost always touching me. With his fingers tapping against the tips of mine, he asks, “What do you want us to be? What do you want with me?”

It’s not that I hesitate. I just want so much with him and don’t want to scare him by overstepping an imaginary line he might have in his mind. The debate is roaring inside my head when I’m pulled even closer and his warm hand touches my neck as heated kisses cover my cheek. He whispers, “I’ll be anything you need me to be. Just please be with me. Please be mine, Dove.”

As the city sleeps around us, I’m held in knightly arms by a man so brave to take me on. My gratitude overflows and I realize that the innocent are given second chances. And this is mine. Heaven doesn’t only exist in the skies above or in distant thoughts when escaping hell, but right here on Earth, in Cruise’s arms. Still too hard to believe, taught that I was never enough for anyone to truly want or love, I ask, “You want me?”

“So much,” he says as if it’s too painful to bear if he doesn’t. “God, so much.”

The shadow from the beard that’s grown overnight scrapes across my skin, marking me. I never wanted to be owned. I never wanted to be loved because the love I knew was perverse. I had it all wrong. So wrong.

I think Cruise loves me. He shows me in ways I’ll feel long after I’m gone from his arms. He owns me.

My heart.

My soul.

All my yeses.

And maybe some of my noes.

But he’ll respect them like he respects me.

Knowing that I can truly be me and he still cares, possibly even loves me, is intoxicating.

“We don’t need words, Cruise. I was yours the minute your lips kissed mine.”

“To further seal this deal . . .” Our lips meet and our tongues touch. Under an overcast sky, we don’t need stars to find our way to each other. Our hearts are already leading the charge.

* * *

“Do all couples have this much sex?”

He chuckles lying in bed next to me. “Is it too much?”

I hate bringing him into our little piece of paradise, even in indirect references, but I need to know what I feel isn’t bad, isn’t sinful, and doesn’t make me just as twisted as my father. “Is it wrong to like it like I do? Does that make me demented or sick?”

Rolling to face me, his face contorts. “God, no.” His hand finds the inside of my wrist and he traces figure eights lightly across my skin. I’m not even sure he realizes what he’s drawing, but I do. “Forget that sick fuck. What we have, what we feel is right. It’s pure. It’s good. Like you. You’re good. Don’t ever believe the lies he told you. He tried to take your good and turn it bad. But look at you. Goddamn it, look at you. You’re an angel—wholesome with the purest of hearts. So pure that sometimes I worry I’ll be the one who destroys you.”

“No, that could never happen. I’d go down in flames before I’d condemn your kind heart.”

“When I’m with you, I don’t feel so fucked up.”

“Cruise?” I keep my voice low, measured to fit the quiet and dark room.

There’s barely enough light to make out his features, but I do. “Yeah?”

“You don’t have to, but I’d like you to talk to me.”

When he looks away from me, his chest rises and then sinks slowly back down with the weight of the conversation. I lay still and don’t make a peep. I’m really good at it and the atmosphere in the room seems to demand it. He asks, “Are you okay, Clara?”

Surprised by the question, I lift up on my elbow, and look at him. “Me? Why are you asking about me?”

“Because you’re trembling.”

“I was?”

“Yes. Are you okay?”

Stumbling over my words, I can’t seem to wrap my head around the fact that my body betrayed me. “I’m okay. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

“It’s okay. Just checking to make sure.”

I exhale a deep breath I’d just taken and lie down, cuddling into the nook of his arm while trying to calm my racing heart.

“Last year, I was kidnapped. King . . . I mean, Alex, had been taken. Sara Jane and I were putting a plan in place when I was hijacked and thrown into a room with a small window in it, with him. It’s funny because I don’t remember being scared at that point. I was just relieved to see him alive. That relief didn’t last long.”

His body has tensed, his arm around me tightened. The air around us thickened with dread. I’m not sure I’m ready to hear his story, but he heard mine, so I’ll do my damnedest to be what he needs. I whisper, “You don’t have to relive anything for me, but maybe it will help to relieve some of the pain you hold inside.”

Removing his arm, he pushes himself up until his back hits the headboard. When I sit up, he pushes a button that turns on a lamp across the room. The room is still dim, but inviting in the golden glow. Comforting in an unexpected way for the early morning hour.

He says, “Every night I was taken out of that room and down a corridor to what I discovered later was an emptied broom closet. At first I walked, indignant and full of fucking pride. They weren’t going to get the best of me. I had to hold my own . . . every night I was beaten and kicked. I was struck with a metal rod some nights and other nights, my captor would punch the living shit out of me until I was lying on my back, drowning in my own blood.” He coughs and his hand covers his throat as if the mention of it makes it real again.

Maybe it does. How? How did he survive that? Maybe we shouldn’t visit the ghosts of our haunted pasts. Maybe that’s been the mistake I’ve been making all along. We should hide our secrets, bury them deep inside a locked chest nowhere near our hearts. Maybe that’s the only way to truly survive.

I wish it were dark again. I’m not strong enough to hide my horror. My tears won’t be kept at bay. I break down in the soft glow of his bedroom, dropping my head into my hands and cry.

When he pulls me against him, I feel his strength. “Shhhh,” he murmurs. “It’s okay. I’m okay.” Moving his hand around my back, he strokes my arm, as he continues, “I’m here. See? We’re two survivors of horrific acts that were meant to kill us, but we’re here together. And I think that’s why I was spared in the end, why I was saved when I should have died.” I can’t stop from shaking, my body wracked with sorrow for him. I hate whoever did that to him, hate—

“Hey, look at me.” Cruise’s voice snaps me from my anger toward someone I don’t know. I now understand the anger he felt toward my father, why he took on my pain to help me heal. Looking into his soulful eyes while wiping away my tears, I don’t want to be weak when he’s so strong. “No one should ever be hurt like you were.”

His finger covers my lips. “Your heart is so big, but it doesn’t need to bleed for me. I was going to say, I think I was saved because I was meant to meet you.”

Through watery eyes I see the beauty of this man is deeper than his handsome face. I burst into tears. His words are just as perfect as he is. His soul is so good. I hope that one day, I can be the woman he deserves.