The next morning Beth heads out to run, and I’m alone with Cassie. I spent the night on the couch, screwing around on Reddit. I started out laughing at posts about crazy horse girls, then moved to something that hits a little closer to home—dating someone who has been sexually abused. From what I read, it sounds like I’m handling things right. It also sounds like I’m fighting for something that might not be possible. At some point, people become too wounded. They wither and die. What’s left is a shell of the person who used to be there going through the motions of life. They slip into a place where no one can hurt them again, but that place prevents them from feeling anything at all. Numbness swallows them whole, and it sounds like a lonely life.

The guys who love women like that sound like martyrs. They give up all physical contact, sleeping in different beds, even different rooms. They live next to her never touching her. Some of their stories get better. Over time, some couples build healthy physical relationships. I find comfort in those endings. But there’s something worse. Depression can take over and walk her off a bridge.

It kills me, but I keep reading. It's the same story over and over again. An asshole mistreats a woman for so long she stops fighting. Even if she wants to break free of him, he won't let her go. She accepts her fate. His abuse never ends, until one day she has an opportunity to leave. She takes it, manages to find real love, but she can't forget the abuse, can't believe she didn't deserve it. Suicide pops up over and over again. In the end, the good guy, the guy fighting daily to prove his love earns nothing but gut-wrenching loss.

All his sacrifice is pointless.

Nothing can heal her.

I don’t know how far gone Cassie is. I don’t know what he did to her, if every aspect of physical contact is ruined, or if it’s only sex. I think I could live without it, pretend it isn't important. Dozens of other men said the same thing online. They gave up everything, and a lucky few got the girl back. There are always demons in tow, but everyone has baggage.

My past also lingers in the shadows, tainting my present.

I glance at the picture on the wall. If she bought that, there’s got to be some hope floating around inside of her. That picture is Cassie’s glitter tape, her milk. She pads out every morning and sits on the couch, staring at it while she drinks her coffee. It’s a small thing, but I’ll take any flicker of hope that I can get.

I’m not the knight in shining armor. I’m not the hero who saves the girl. I’m the asshole who rips bodices and ravages wanton women. Sometimes I think fate played a cruel trick on me, putting us together. We don’t fit and never have. I thrive on sex, and she doesn’t want anything to do with it.

Cassie yawns and walks out of the bedroom behind me. She wakes at the same time every day, no matter what. She clings to that schedule of hers like a life raft. In many ways, I guess it is. I feel like a dick for not seeing it sooner, how hard she clings to her life, trying to pull herself back up over the cliff. When you're hanging on by your fingernails, it’s not easy.

She’s wearing a pajama set I gave her. I was going nuts sleeping near her in those threadbare shirts with nothing between me and her panties. This set is pink stripes with a pink patch on the boob. Her hair is tied into a ponytail on top of her head. She looks perfectly sleepy, still peaceful. Nightmares didn’t wake her today.

Previously, she tried to hide them—and I let her. Then Mark stopped by the club and provided a face to the monsters again. It's easier to imagine what she sees while she's dreaming. I finally admitted I have dreams, too. I wasn’t lying. I don’t have to make shit up around her. I've kept that part of my life hidden from her, and mine was a different experience, but years later the ripples look the same. Nightmares, sweats, aversions to certain things…

I hold a mug of black coffee up over my head so she can take it as she passes. She removes it from my hand, and I drop my arm as she sits next to me on the couch. Her bare knee is close enough to touch, but I don’t. She has to come to me—and it can’t be with a can-I-give-you-head request. It’s like starting over with a twitchy virgin, which is pretty much how she was when I met her. If we start over, it’ll be at the beginning.

“Thank you.” Her voice is smooth, thick from slumber. She has a serene look on her face as she stares at the picture. It’s too small, too far away, but that doesn’t seem to bother her. As she sips her coffee, her eyes cut to the side, and she blinks at me. Sheepishly, she lowers the cup and points at the picture. “TV is pretty good this morning.”

“Yes, it is. I love this show.”

“You would.” She giggles. The sound fills me, and I’m greedy for more.

“Why is that?”

She gestures toward the picture. “It’s The Sweater Slut in Paris—sexy news at sexy times.” She says the last part in a deep, manly voice.

“I didn’t realize the sweater slut was a hermaphrodite.”

She laughs and nearly spews her drink. She slaps my arm with the back of her hand. “You know you like her.”

I’m quiet for a moment, watching the smile fade from her face. I want to ask her, but I can't hear the answer be no. I have no idea what she thinks of me, even after offering me a blowjob. How fucked up is that?

I decide against it. I don’t want to know.

“Hey, Cass, come out with me today. Skip work.”

“I can’t. I need to pay rent.”

“You already cleared it. Come on. You haven’t had a day off in forever, besides, being your boss has got to have some perks.”

She smiles suspiciously. “You don’t have to hang out with me, Jon. I know you have other things to do.”

“Nope. I really don’t. You’re the only thing I want to do today.” I grin brightly at her and stand, offering her my hand.

“I’m a thing?” She sounds offended.

“The prettiest thing in pink pajamas.” She swats at me again. I take her hand, intertwine our fingers and hold her for a second. “Come on. Say yes.”

No stripping. No strutting. No naked Cassie with plastic smiles and dead eyes. I want to make her laugh. I want to see the girl I once knew come to the surface again. I’m not an idiot, I know I can’t hold her there, but I have to try.

She looks at my hand holding hers and flexes her fingers, tapping the back of my hand one finger at a time. I wish I knew what she was thinking about. Cassie glances up at me with those dark eyes and nods. “I’d like that. Are you sure someone can cover for me?”

“It’s already done. There’s a line of girls waiting to take your spot.” Over the past few weeks, I’ve turned away more strippers than I could shake a really big stick at—my reputation is spreading. Club Ferro is a safe place to work with no bullshit and good pay. It made me wonder what else I could manage.

She frowns lightly. “Are you going to give my job away?”

I kiss the top of her knuckles. She doesn’t flinch, but she doesn’t act like she felt it either. “No. I promised it’s yours as long as you want it.” I watch her, wishing to God she’d say she doesn't want to do it anymore. For no reason I can fathom, she stays. She keeps working, and won’t leave. Beth doesn’t know why either.

Cassie bobs her head up and down. “You think I’m weird, right? Not wanting sex, but working a job like mine?”

She asked me this once before, then changed the topic, killing the conversation before it started. “Yeah, I think you’re weird. I’ve always thought that. You were the proudest virgin I’d ever met. Life got in the way, but you kicked ass. Now you do what you want.”

She watches me from beneath those dark lashes, perched on the couch next to me, clasping the coffee between her hands. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you know what you want?” her eyes drop to her coffee. “I know you, Jon. You weren’t meant to be alone so often. You weren’t meant to be the kind of guy who sleeps on the floor. I feel really bad about it, but you won’t leave, and I can’t throw you out.”

“Why not?”

“Beth would kill me. Glitter tape and milk? She’d marry you today if you asked her.”

I laugh lightly, smiling. “I’ve got my eye on someone else.”

“Who?” She watches me too long, too intensely. Her lashes flutter, and I think she’s watching my mouth between glances at her cup.

Every fucking thing I read said not to tell her. It’ll add pressure and that’s bad. Be her friend, no strings. No sex. Nothing. She has to come to me.

So I lie. “You don’t know her.”

“Jon, you’re sleeping here. She’s going to flip out. I would. Maybe you should spend the day with her instead.”

“Cassie.”

“I mean it. You’re too nice to me. I don’t want to screw things up for you. Go on. Go home.” She leans closer to push me, but our fingers are tangled.

Her eyes look glassy, and when she gets this close to me, I can’t help it. My head sways toward her, inching closer to her mouth. The pull to her is stronger than it ever was before. My gaze remains locked on her lips, wishing I could taste her, to slowly suck on that bottom lip, pulling it into my mouth and nipping it with my teeth.

It turns out I can protect Cassie from everything except me. I exhale loudly and laugh. It’s completely inappropriate, and makes her frown. When I start to pull away, she tugs me back, pulling my hand.

Nose to nose, she says, “I shouldn’t want you sleeping so close to me, but I do. I shouldn’t want to touch you, but I do. You shouldn’t be here with me. I don’t want to make you lose a girl you obviously care about very much.” Her eyes are full of tears. A big one rolls down her cheek, and she smiles, looking away from me.

Fuck it. I can’t do this to her either. Navigating all this shit is a nightmare. I’m tired of lingering and waiting. I want to help her, and this feels passive, like it’s not doing anything.

I touch the side of her face lightly, turning her back to me. “I do care about her. I love her. I told her, and she said she loved me too, but nothing ever came of it.”

Her bottom lip juts out and quivers. “Oh?” Her nose scrunches and her face wrinkles like she’s going to start crying.

“Cass, it’s you. I love you.” I rub my thumbs over her cheeks, pushing the tears away.

“I thought you wanted Gretchen?”

“What? Why would you think that?”

“She said you'd been together, that she did things to you—things that sound like you—so I thought…” She shrugs and watches me carefully with tears building up to replace the old ones.

“I wasn’t with her. In any sense. Ever. She tried to get into my pants, but I said no.”

She recoils. “You said no?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes. What happened to the more sex, the merrier? Where’d that guy go?”

“He grew up, Cass. He regrets not keeping the virgin by his side. He regrets everything.”

“So do I.”

I lean in closer to wrap my arms around her, and hug her, but Cassie lifts her chin and presses her mouth to mine. The kiss feels so heated, so charged that it’s hard to keep calm. I have no clue what just happened, but Cassie is kissing me, and that’s all that matters.

She starts laughing and buries her face in my shoulder. “I thought you guys were together.”

“Why would I be sleeping here, then?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. Because you’re Jon Ferro? No one knows what you’re doing.”

“I only want you, Cass. I’ve wanted you from the moment we met and never stopped.” She smiles at me so brightly it's contagious. She throws her arms around me and presses her body against mine, hugging me hard. Nothing ever felt so fucking good.

Cassie’s my glitter tape, the thing that makes me happy, the thing so far out of reach I thought I’d never have her.