Darker Water
Page 20
When he told me to take off my clothes, it would have been really, really smart to walk away, but I didn’t. Or couldn’t, whichever it was. Because I knew I wasn’t going to get many more chances to be with him before he figured it out, if he hadn’t already. Seriously, it takes a special kind of stupid to be that blind to yourself.
It had taken me this long to figure out something so incredibly obvious, I should have it tattooed on my ass as a warning to all: If you’re close enough to read this, you should run away as fast as you can.
I couldn’t separate sex from love. The emotions showed up whether I wanted them to or not. It was embarrassing that I hadn’t noticed until now, because my feelings for Carson were way stronger than they’d been for any of the frogs, and this wasn’t even love. So if this was just the beginning and there was more to come, I was in deep shit. Because I was just stupid enough to want them. To want more of them. Right now they felt unfinished—the emotional equivalent to what I always felt after having sex with the frogs and never felt after being with Carson.
It wasn’t fair to him to pretend things weren’t what they were. I should get out before everything got any worse.
And, of course, I was standing in front of my building, waiting for the last person on earth I should be waiting for. Maybe if he hadn’t sounded so upset I could’ve said no. Maybe. Probably. Maybe.
Shit.
He pulled up and opened my door from the inside. I tossed my bag in the back, slid in, and focused on my seatbelt, keeping my mouth shut. The car didn’t move. When I looked up, he was staring at me. What had happened to him in the last hour? He was just as gorgeous, but he was paler. There was an innocence to his expression, a pained innocence. However confused I was suddenly seemed trivial. All I wanted to do was throttle whatever had put that look on his face.
I touched his cheek. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
He took my hand and used it to pull me forward, leaning closer at the same time, until we met. A gentle brush of lips, then he was kissing me. Not the usual, hot, pre-ripping our clothes off kissing—this was careful, gentle, asking not demanding. Because I didn’t understand what was going on, I stayed where he needed me, was gentle in return, and waited until he trusted me with more.
His hand became a more insistent pull at the back of my neck, his mouth opening mine wider, his tongue delving deeper. I’m pretty sure I moaned before I could stop myself.
He pulled away but kept his hand on me. “I wanna take you home. Can you stay over?”
I just nodded.
“You don’t have to, Lane. If you don’t want to, I’ll—”
“I want to.” Too much and maybe for some of the wrong reasons, I wanted to.
He looked down, maybe in embarrassment, maybe something else. I didn’t know. All of this was new to me—I never worried about Carson. Carson didn’t need or want anyone’s concern and things didn’t bother him the way they bothered everyone else.
But right now he seemed to be struggling for the right words. “Thanks.” He let me go and straightened so he could drive.
“No problem.” Another lie.
We didn’t get halfway up the first flight of stairs in his building before he pushed me against the wall, kissed me, and grinded his hips against mine. A breath later, he stepped back, took my hand again and started walking. It happened two more times before we got to his door. His hands had been everywhere on me, always releasing me a minute after he started, as if he couldn’t decide what to do. As if he wanted to use my body to stop thinking about whatever the hell was going on.
That was the way Carson communicated. His emotions were encapsulated in his touch, the way he moved his body, the intensity of his kiss. I knew him well enough to understand he needed me, but I didn’t know him well enough to know why.
Inside his apartment, he started taking off my clothes, more methodically than he ever had before. Shirt and bra were easy. He slid to his knees to unzip my boots and take them off, followed by my pants, his lips slowly trailing over my naked skin. His thumbs hooked through each side of my panties and pulled them down slowly, his mouth just behind the cotton. Soft kisses and caresses on my belly, my hips, his eyes staying closed.
His touch was as amazing as it always was, but this wasn’t sexual. This was a need beyond the physical, for companionship, or...
Love. As much as he didn’t want it, he needed it more. But it wasn’t the same thing as what I was feeling, and this wasn’t the time to deal with my shit. It was the time to give him whatever he needed from me. Not to bring more drama in.
I ran my hands through his hair as he pressed his cheek to my belly and wrapped his arms around my legs.
“Stand up for me,” I whispered, afraid of speaking louder. He did what I asked and stood still while I undressed him, kissing his chest, rising onto my toes to kiss his lips. Holding his hands, I walked backwards into the bedroom, never breaking eye contact, stopping when I bumped into the bed.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he said with the same calm and quiet I had, lowering his chin and looking at our feet. “I’ve never lied to you. I wouldn’t do that. But I haven’t told you about all the bad shit in me.”
“There’s nothing bad in you.” I brushed his hair back.
“Yeah, there is. And I should’ve told you about it.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters.” He shook his head but didn’t lift it to look at me. “I shouldn’t have brought you here and I shouldn’t have taken your clothes off.” He spoke faster, his shoulders shrugging the tiniest bit, his hands fidgety and unsure until I stilled them with my own. “Because I think… I think I should let you go. I think I should’ve done that a long time ago, but I didn’t. So I think I should probably do that now because if you’re here then you’re not where someone good can find you. Where someone good can love you.” He swallowed. “That’s what you should have—someone good who can love you.” Then he looked into my eyes. “I want you to have that.”
“Well...” I sighed, fighting back tears that he would probably misunderstand. That might make him feel worse, as if he’d done something to me. He needed me to be strong. “You might be right. But I’m naked now, and it’s cold, so I was hoping I could borrow some of your covers for a little while.”
As small as his grin was, it was beautiful. I sat down on the bed and scooted higher, motioning for him to join me. He crawled up to me. “I know you probably want to jump on top of me like you always do, but I was thinking we could wait a little while.” Just that would’ve been a big indicator. We were in bed and naked, and he wanted to wait.
He laid down on his side and pulled me into him, my back to his chest, kissing my neck lightly. We were both quiet for a long time, and then he squeezed me just a little tighter.
“If it could be anyone,” he whispered, “it would be you.”
I wasn’t fast enough to hold in the whimper, stop the motion of my stomach as it clenched. At least he couldn’t see my tears. I forced my breath to be steady, my body to stay relaxed even though all I wanted to do was curl up and sob.
“I shouldn’t have said that.” Whispering the words didn’t make them sting any less.
“S’okay,” was all I could manage.
Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. I hadn’t known. Not really, not for sure. I hadn’t known until that moment. I’d thought I knew what it felt like, because I’d been through it before. A few times. But it turned out I hadn’t, not even close, never like this. Everything before now hadn’t been real. It had felt real at the time, and I’d spent the last six months convincing myself it didn’t exist. That it was all fake, something people talked themselves into believing.
But I wouldn’t have talked myself into this because I didn’t want it. Because it was going to ruin everything. How fucking ironic—I’d been looking for love for the last eight years. And when I finally stopped wanting and believing in it, it found me.
I didn’t ha
ve feelings for Carson—I was in love with him.
And what’s worse than falling in love when you don’t want to? Falling in love with someone who can’t love you back.
Chapter 29 – Carson
I held her, knowing how wrong it was, how fucking selfish I was being, but I couldn’t let go. It would be too cold if she weren’t pressed against me, too empty if she was somewhere I couldn’t reach her. So I kept my arms around her all night long, running my lips across her shoulder, harder each time I felt her body jerk as she pretended she wasn’t crying. Pretended I hadn’t made her cry.
When her breathing slowed and evened out, I knew she’d fallen asleep. I focused on her skin and her heat so I wouldn’t think about how wrong everything had gone and how fast it had happened and how many lives besides my own I was fucking up.
“I’m sorry.” I don’t know if I’d whispered it or just moved my lips. It didn’t matter—either way I’d made sure she couldn’t hear it. Coward.
When I woke up, she was using my chest as a pillow and my arm was around her, holding her like I was afraid she’d slip away while I was sleeping. Her eyes were open, and I knew she’d been up a while, just like I knew I’d fucked everything up for both of us.
Her eyes were wide and sad and ashamed. She didn’t cry but her voice cracked when she spoke. “I don’t think I can make it stop.”
I looked away, knowing and fearing what she meant. I didn’t want to let go of her when she sat up. I wanted to pull her down and tuck her back into my arm, so I wouldn’t have to see her expression. As if that could make things like they’d been before…before she became the only thing that made me happy and feel whole. Before I brought her into my fucked-up life.
“Carson, I’m—”
“Don’t say it.” I shook my head, avoiding her eyes. “Don’t think it. Don’t feel it. It’s not real, right? It’s just your mind playing with you.”
“I know you didn’t sign up for this, and I’m really sorry I couldn’t do it. I wanted to, and for a while I thought I was, but I was wrong.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll go if you want me to.”
Did I? No. Should I? Yes. If I let this go on any longer, I’d end up hurting her just like every other asshole had. I’d already let it go on too long, taken too much from her. But I owed her some kind of explanation, to let her know how incredible she was and that if there was any chance for us, I would take it. I just didn’t know how to tell her.
I started with a deep breath. Right. I needed to do this because it wasn’t fair for her not to know. “I like you a lot. A lot. More than—” Chicken-shit—I was just as afraid of telling her as I was of her not knowing. “A lot. But I can’t be with you that way. You can’t feel anything for me.” Because I couldn’t let myself feel anything for her.
“I didn’t want this,” she said. “I was afraid of it happening. I warned you it might but you said...” She ran her lip through her teeth, looking so miserable and confused. “Why were you so sure it wouldn’t? Why are you so sure it won’t work now?”
I wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Except that I didn’t want this to end. To not see her anymore, not be with her? No, that couldn’t happen. Maybe we could figure out a way to make her feelings stop. Maybe if she understood what I might do to her…
“Okay.” I got out of bed, needing the distance before I told her. “It won’t work because if we were together, I would be the worst parts of every guy you’ve ever dated. I would cheat and lie and make you think it was your fault. I would want all your attention and give you none of mine.”
My eyes were stuck on the wall behind her because I was too weak to tell her and look at her at the same time. “And I wouldn’t hide it, which would mean that everybody would see what I was doing to you, and they’d feel sorry for you. They’d talk about you as much, probably more, than they’d talk about me. Because it’s easy to figure out someone is an asshole. There’s not a lot to it. It would take a lot more words and wondering to understand why you let me treat you like that, why you didn’t leave me, why you thought so little of yourself that you kept pretending everything was okay.”
I had to tell her all of it because there’s no coming back from the truth. She’d know, and it would make her stop caring about me. Maybe we could go back to the way we were and maybe we couldn’t, but anything was better than this, than being this afraid of myself and what I might do to her. At least she’d be safe.
“When I was little, I was more terrified of growing up than I was of my father. I prayed I’d be like Peter Pan—never grow up and become a man, because of what they had to do. Men had to teach the people they loved how to behave. They had to. It was extra confusing because one day something would be forgiven with a smack to the back of the head and another day I’d be punished for it. You know, punished with…um…” I swallowed. “With whatever he could find that wouldn’t break when he…um…”
My throat felt constricted, like my body knew I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about this and was trying to stop me. I had to finish it, though. “I never understood when or why. My father always knew, though, and so did the men that followed after he died.”
“And one day I would know. When I became a man, I would understand the requirements, and I would have to make sure the people I loved followed the rules and were good people. Or I would have to punish them. I would have to hurt them because I loved them.”
I glanced at her quickly and saw pity on her face. That’s not what I wanted. I wanted her to understand why I could never be with someone. Why I couldn’t trust myself to love her.
“You’re not getting it,” I said, running a hand through my hair and starting to move. “Shit, Lane, I want to think that I wouldn’t. That I couldn’t, but who knows what the fuck they’ll do in a situation they’ve never been in before?”
“What are you talking about?”
“What if I hit you?” I knew what would happen because I’d lived it so many times. “You’d forgive me and take me back because I’d convince you it was your fault.” I slumped down on the edge of the bed and let shit come out of my mouth that I’d never told anyone. Because I’d never trusted anyone before. And all of it was going to kill that trust, smash it into little pieces like it should be. “You’d hide the bruises and try to do better, but it wouldn’t work. Because it would have nothing to do with you or what you did. It would have to do with me and how fucked up I am. And no matter what you did or how hard you tried or who you were, I would keep doing it. Because I hate myself. Because picking on someone who loves me makes me feel better. Makes me feel like I’m not weak or stupid or powerless.”
I took a breath, not knowing when I’d last taken one. “I would fuck it up because I don’t know how not to.”
“That’s what your dad did?”
I nodded, not looking at her, not really seeing anything. But I was feeling it—everything I’d felt back then: angry, afraid, worthless. “Did you know I look just like him? And people have told me I think like him.”
“You’re not him.”
“When someone tells you they love you so much, they have to hurt you, everything gets mixed up in your head and you don’t know what’s right and what’s not. And when the person who’s supposed to protect you tells you it wasn’t that bad and sends you back in for more… That shit doesn’t go away. It’s part of you, changes the way you react, the way you are.”
“It doesn’t mean you’ll do what he did.”
“How do you know? I don’t even know. But I know it’s not worth the risk. I’m not worth the risk.” I’d gone through hours and hours of therapy, but nothing stuck. Nothing could convince me it wouldn’t happen. I got angry at people. I felt that pressure build up inside me. The bar fight was the worst, but it wasn’t my first. I didn’t even care about those people, and I couldn’t walk away. If I could hurt someone I didn’t care about, what would I do to someone I loved?
“What if I told you I think you are worth it?” she asked.
“What if I told you I know you care about me?”
I paused, not moving. Unable to move. “I’d tell you that you’re right.” It wasn’t love, but it was so much more than I should have ever let it be. “I don’t want to hurt you, Lane. But, if we don’t stop now, I will. I know I will. And you’ve already been hurt too much. I can’t do that to you.”
Fuck. I pulled out of her grasp, wiping my hands over my face and through my hair. “You need to leave now.”
“No.” There was no real expression on her face—no anger, disappointment, or fear. All the things that I was feeling.
“Go away, Lane,” I said tightly.
“No.”
I couldn’t touch her, couldn’t force her out because touching her was the risk. “Please.”
She shook her head and scooted back to lean against the headboard.
“Fuck, Lane. Go away. I’m trying to warn you what might happen.”
“It’s not going to.”
“Do you actually think you know me better than I know myself? Get out. Of my bed and my life.”
“No.” Her body seemed unaffected but a tear gave her away. Then another that she wiped away roughly.
Proof positive. I’d hurt her. And that was just the beginning. “What do you want? To fuck with me? To make me—” Then I realized it. Recognized it. “It’s deliberate. You do it on purpose.”
“Do what?”
“This.” I motioned back and forth from her to myself. “You’re so self-destructive you put yourself into situations where you know you’re gonna get hurt. Just like Renee did. Even after my dad died, she couldn’t help herself. Guy after guy, all of them beat the shit out of her. I used to think my friends who didn’t get beaten were the weird ones because every man I’d ever known hit my mom. And most of them hit me. But then I realized that she went into the relationships knowing what was going to happen. She chose to be with men who treated her like shit because that’s all she thought she was.”