Tied

And let’s not forget how I used to fuck the crazy fans in the alley after the fights, with my rubber horror mask on, blood from my battered face leaking out from beneath it and running down my neck and chest. And how the fear in their eyes and my blood smeared on their ripped clothes fueled all the fires of hate and dysfunction in my drugged-out mind as a nameless and faceless fetish fuck.

Her body trembles as she listens to my tirade. “You saved my life. You make beautiful jewelry. You help save lost animals. You decorate Christmas trees and created a myth for little kids to love…”

All of that should make me feel better, but it doesn’t. Not when the reflection of my father chasing me in the mirror of my bike is branded into my brain along with hazy memories of being a deviant pig.

“So the fuck what?” My self-hatred has joined our little get-together on the blanket and has no problem rearing its ugly head.

“Maybe you did some bad things, but you’ve done a lot of good things, too.”

So many bad and ugly things. Things that would make her never want to look at me again.

“That doesn’t change the shit I did. Nothing can change that. Ever. Good doesn’t erase bad.”

“No, but you don’t have to punish yourself. You’re a good person. You saved and kept Poppy. You took care of Boomer and kept him. You taught me to drive. You gave me a cell phone and soft blankets. You’re my best friend. Every day you take care of me, you let me see Poppy, you make sure I’m safe, you make me feel special.”

“Maybe that doesn’t make me a good person, Holly. Maybe that makes me a person who’s just obsessed with the first person to give me any fucking amount of attention. Or maybe I just like to collect things as messed up as I am.”

Her face falls, and I immediately want to eat my obnoxious words, which couldn’t be more untrue. Hurting her, this one little gem in my life, is unacceptable. I refuse to be that person anymore.

My psychiatrist’s words echo through my mind. Fear of trust. Fear of intimacy. Fear of giving and accepting love. Social and familial avoidance. Extreme self-loathing. Low self-worth. Unnatural focus on physical appearance. Drug addict. Severely depressed. Repressed memories. Deviant sexual behavior. Self-harm risk. Possible danger to others.

She tries to sit up, and I put my arm around her waist and hold her down, ignoring the terrified stare she pins on me.

“No. I’m not letting you run off.” I lower my voice and loosen my grip on her waist. “I didn’t mean what I said.” She turns her head away from me, a tear sliding down her cheek, and she stares blankly off into the distance. I can see her shutting down, running to the safe space in her head where she can slam everything out. Including me.

Fuck.

“Holly…I’m sorry. It’s hard for me to talk about my father and my past. It makes me want to just hurt myself and anyone around me. It fucks my head up, but I’m trying to be better.”

Silence.

“I care about you. And not for any other reason than you’re beautiful and sweet and every day is better with you in it.” I touch the side of her head and gently turn her to face me. “You make me feel a little bit less messed up, and you make me want to be less messed up.”

“Really?” she squeaks.

“Really. You make me smile every day. Even when you’re not here.”

If I wasn’t lying so close to her, I never would have heard her next words. “You make me feel that way, too.”

She sniffles, her eyes showing a glimmer of a sparkle, and all I want is to see her smile at me again. I brush my thumb across her cheek to wipe her tear away. The intimate touch causes a tiny gasp to escape her, my barriers snap, and I lean down and cover her lips with mine, my hand moving to cradle the back of her neck, my fingers sliding through her hair, like it has in my dreams a thousand times. My tongue sweeps over her lips, and when they part in surprise, I slip inside, tasting her, coaxing her to open up to me. Her hand tightens on my shoulder, her nails digging slightly into my flesh. Taking that as a sign of passion, I roll my body closer to hers, half covering her, and grip the back of her neck, kissing her deeper.

I’m lost in our kiss, the delicious taste of her lips, her soft curves fitting perfectly against my body, shaking…

Shaking.

My eyes snap open to find hers staring back at me, wide with shock and panic, which only makes my cock throb harder in tune to my pounding heart. My fingers tighten in her hair, the locks laced through my fingers like silk ribbons. I can’t let go. I lean down, craving more of her, needing her lips on mine again, wanting to feel her racing heartbeat against my chest ’til it nearly explodes and then calms to a soft, lulling beat. I want to feel it all.

Her hand releases its grip on my arm and falls to the ground beside her with a faint thud, and her head turns to the side again, but not before I see the emotionless, disconnected canvas of her stare.

Reality shatters the moment, which wasn’t the moment I thought it was at all, and I slowly pull away from her. My ring catches on her hair, and I quickly untangle it while she lies there, completely detached.

“Sorry…” My voice growls with repressed desire. “I thought…” What did I think?

She rises slowly, pulling her knees up against her chest, and pulls the blanket up over her. Sensing her mood, Poppy crawls to her side and nudges his head under her hand.

In a matter of seconds, I fucked everything all up. I scared her. Tore her safety net from beneath her. Repulsed her.

I’m not equipped to be what she needs, because my own needs are too much, too fast, too soon, too hard, too raw. The thirst to taste fear, lust, love, trust, and ecstasy is a beautifully mixed cocktail for me and sure poison for her.

I stand and offer my hand to help her up. “I’ll take you home.”

What could have been a perfect day took a u-turn into a day ending with an absolutely dead-silent drive back to her apartment. Sweet smiles and handholding have gone out the window. When I pull my truck in front of her building, she stares down at the blanket in her lap, fingering the soft fabric.

“Thank you for the blanket,” she murmurs softly. “I love it.”

I try to speak, but all that comes out is a faint choking sound. Frustrated, I wave my hand at her, and she opens the door, now a master of its handle, and slams it behind her—probably not on purpose, but because it’s the only way it’ll close.

The slam still fits the moment, though.

Rejection and disappointment has caused my voice to retreat back to its cave, which is fine because I think the only person I ever want to talk to is walking out of my life right now, as I sit in my truck and watch her unlock her door. I should go after her and fix this, but I don’t know what I can say or do. Instead, I suck smoke out of a cigarette while I wait for her to turn and wave to me as she always does, but that doesn’t happen. She just disappears behind the door.

19

Holly

I turn into a crying mess the minute I close the door behind me and lean back against it, fearful my knees are going to buckle beneath me. Feather jumps up off the couch and runs over to me. “What happened? Are you okay?” She puts her hands on my shoulders and forces me to look at her. “Did someone hurt you?”

“He k-kissed me,” I sputter.

“What? Who?”

“Ty.”

She takes a deep breath and smooths my hair back away from my face. “Did that nutjob force himself on you? I’ll bash the other side of his fucking face in with a bat if he hurt you.”

“No…” I gulp back tears and start to count in my head. One, two, three, four…

Feather pulls me up to my feet and over to our faded couch, where she thrusts a box of tissues into my lap and sits sideways facing me.

“Now,” she says. “Let’s calm down and find our Zen.” I stare at her and wipe my eyes. “Like we learned in therapy,” she continues. “Take a deep breath and count.”

“I am counting.”

“Good. Now tell me what happened.” She grabs the blanket I’m still holding. “Where did you get this? Is this rabbit fur?”

I tug it out of her hand. “No, it’s not rabbit. He gave it to me.”

Her brow furrows with confusion. “The dude gave you a blanket?”

“Yes… It’s a magic blanket.”

Her shoulders fall, and her head tilts at me. “Holly, please. No more Santa stories or Christmas trees or princes and magic blankets. You have to let go of this fairy-tale stuff. It doesn’t exist.”

“It does, Feather,” I insist between sobs. “It really does. You just don’t believe in it.”

“I don’t because I live in this cool place called reality.”

Anger eases into my tears. “If you’re going to be mean, I’m not going to talk to you.”

“All right, all right. We’ll let that go for now. Just tell me what happened and why you’re so upset.”

Taking a deep, shaky breath, I try to put my scrambled thoughts in order. Everything feels like an overamplified jumble in my head. What did happen? I look out the window, hoping to see Ty’s truck still in the parking lot, waiting for me. “I’m so confused. I’m not even sure why I’m upset or what happened. I just don’t know how to be with people at all.”