Broken Girl

by Gretchen de La O

  Rose.

  Every nerve in my body is firing off, jolting waves of excitement in every atom of my being. Rose got my letter, she’s found me, and came here to be with me. Every day lost to thinking about her, every moment I ached to be with her, now playing out exactly where I’ve dreamed that it would be. She pauses at the edge of the porch, her skin perfect, her eyes, emerald, dark, narrow and damp. I want to open the door, cling to her, hold her, heal her. I want to carry her to my bed so I can just feel her warmth against me. Feel her break for me, break for what I am willing to try and heal. But I can’t come at her so strong. She doesn’t work that way, she needs me to move slow, deliberate, and without any expectations.

  Suddenly, my skin doesn’t exist and every nerve that covers every muscle in my body is exposed. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. More beautiful than the first day I saw her and the day she left, a glow is permeating her skin. A glow I want to taste, protect and be affected by for the rest of my life.

  She knocks on my door. A gentle crack against the wood, a delicate knock.

  I pull open the door, a slight chill swirls around my soul, tethered under my skin. Our eyes meet, she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. Perfection. I notice her pulse thundering across her neck and all I want to do is bury myself in her, tangle my fingers in her thick black hair, and kiss her delicate mouth. She reaches into her back pocket and pulls out the envelope I gave to Briggs.

  “I got your letter,” she whispers holding it up between us.

  Her eyes well with so much hope. She silently cries. I don’t want her to know I’m scared. So fucking scared. Wordlessly I reach across and clear her hair from her bare shoulder. I’m dying to brush my fingertips over her exposed skin, but I don’t. I know it might be too much for her right now. We are weaved into the minds of each other, words are unnecessary, yet she clears her throat and begins to explain what she’s doing at my door.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t call before I came,” she chokes.

  I’m frozen, tangled with her soul, I don’t say anything, it’s as if all the words I’ve been practicing for the last seven months have vanished, leaving me speechless.

  “It’s just, ummm, when I got your letter.” She fills the awkward vacancy with words. “I didn’t know if—” she continues, hoping I’d stop her from talking. “I shouldn’t have come,” she blurts before she turns to leave.

  I wasn’t born yesterday, and I’m sure as hell not losing her again. I reach for her as she turns away, catching her arm I pull her back to me.

  “No! I mean, yes. Yes . . . You should have come here,” I shuffle through my words.

  We cling to the moment our eyes meet. Neither one willing to break the silence, a dance of wills, I choose to lose. I will lose for her. Every day, every hour, every second of the day, I will let her win.

  “Please, come in. I’m happy you came. I’m glad you read the letter.”

  She steps in, I can feel her pain oozing from her soul, dangerously tainted with such vulnerability, I want to purge every memory from her mind, methodically replacing them with me. Maybe I’m self-indulgent, but could she have come here needing something from me? Just me.

  Shane

  I TRACE MY eyes over her body. The places I want to reside with her. I hunger for her touch, feel the heat of her fingertips as they traipse over my skin. I want to learn every curve, every bend every sway of her body. I want to memorize the smallest scars and deepest wounds. I want to fill them with my words, my love, my urge to hear how deeply and madly in love she is with me. God, I’ve missed her. I just want to forget what we were yesterday. Forget what people think, what the world will make of it. I just want to dissolve in this moment.

  She clears her throat, the beautiful sound of her vulnerability is twisting me in knots.

  “My whole life has been a huge fucking mess and I couldn’t ask you to clean it up. I thought if I left where I was just existing I could find myself and in some ways I did. God, my throat is so dry,” she says, her hands shaking uncontrollably, she doesn’t even realize how intrinsic she is when she admits her weaknesses. You don’t have to be strong all the time . . .

  Let me take care of you. “Would you like something to drink, tea, soda, water?” I ask foolishly. She shakes her head.

  She didn’t come here to drink tea, could she have come here to find what she lost? Could she be looking for what will make her life less complicated, and keep her safe?

  “Sit?” I ask as she comes in and heads to my sofa. She takes my hands, hers are so soft, so delicate, yet filled with stories of a life lived in pain. Are they willing to explore what she fears? Is she willing to take a chance on discovering I might be the one to calm her raging sea? A million scenarios skip through my mind. Has she done this before? Maybe, but not like this.

  She sits on the sofa, pulling me down next to her she twists, makes her knee a barrier between us. A stance of distance, a fear she doesn’t want to face.

  “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “I needed to see you. I need to know if you still feel the same way as you did when you wrote the letter to me. I need you to . . . I guess what I’m trying to say, is that I’m scared that I’m . . . that I’m too late.”

  She seems like she’s not ready for me to comfort her, not completely. I slip my arm around behind her, making sure to rest on the top of the cushion of the sofa.

  “No, God, no, you’re not too late. I’m here, I meant every word and I’m listening,” I answer trying to harness the electricity surging through every cell of my body.

  Her expression is filled with desolation. A tear breaks free and rolls down her delicate cheek. I want to touch her, brush my thumb across the side of her face and let her tear soak into my skin, but I don’t. I see she’s trying to find the strength to give me an explanation of how tightly wrapped she is.

  “You’re so beautiful, Rose,” I whisper.

  God, give me the strength . . .

  “I worked through a lot of things, Shane. A lot of things while I was up in Portland.”

  “Portland?” I ask. “That’s a lot farther than I thought.”

  “Yeah, well, I just hopped in my car and drove until I was far enough away to stop. My whole life I was never anyone’s number one. I know now that I deserve to be someone’s number one.”

  She’s so small, delicate even.

  “You’re my number one, Rose. You’re my number one, my number two, every number that exists in my number line.”

  We’re both raw, scared, needy.

  My body’s vibrating, and my heart is thundering so loud in my ears I can’t hear myself think. I take a chance. I caress my fingers against her delicate skin, dampened by her tears that are speeding down her cheeks. I feel electricity as my skin meets hers. I’m meant to do this, I’m meant to be right here, with this delicate, beautiful creature.

  “You really believe that?” she asks.

  “Yes. You’re my everything, I’m here and will always be as long as you’ll have me.”

  She leans into my touch before she drops her head to my shoulder, and as if I’m an old friend, a comfortable blanket, she pushes into me. Her knee, an afterthought is pinned under us. We begin to sway back and forth, soothing motion, trying to find the actions to mirror the fireworks taking off in my body.

  I ache to heal her, help her curb the anger that thunders through her body when she’s cornered like a vicious dog, a rattler, a lion. She opens just enough to let me in.

  I feel it when her body language tilts, she lets go and rests her weight across my shoulder. She’s opening to me, her breathing is deliberate. Burying her face against my neck, she starts kneading her lips against my flesh.

  Her words are muffled against my neck, it doesn’t matter, I hear them loud and clear. “You’re so warm. Smell so good. I’ve missed you so much. Would it be wrong if I wanted you to kiss me?”

  Tempted by her request, I want to be her first, I want to be the on
e that fills every missing brick in her foundation.

  “No, I think it depends on what you want. I know what I want,” I whisper.

  She pulls back and drops her mouth down next to my ear, a chill surges through my body.

  “This is what I want,” she whispers before she pulls back from me. Her eyes, dark as the vast ocean on a moonless night as they pin me helpless.

  I brush my lips lightly against the corner of her mouth. I sigh, a soft, desperate breath catches in my throat. She stops and pulls back just far enough to tickle the edge of my lips. The same lips that ache to discover every space on her body.

  “Are you as nervous as I am?” she asks.

  I shake my head without saying a word and I will myself to be brave, be strong.

  She takes my hand, presses it against her chest, I feel her heart thundering. “I’m so fucking nervous,” she quips.

  “I’m making you nervous, why?”

  “I’m still terrified there’s a part of you that will turn me down. I’ve been gone for so long, I’m afraid I messed up so much with you.” Her lips quiver, her eyes carrying the weight of her fear. I need her to know I’m already hers.

  “You’re afraid I’m not going to want you? Rose, this is all for you.” I’m breaking at her words.

  “I’m scared you don’t want to share yourself with someone who messed up so bad and left you so she could find herself,” she chokes, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  I take her hand and press it to my chest. “You’re right here, a big part of you, sits right here.” She feels my heart crashing against her hand too. Tears fill my eyes, I can’t help it, I’m watching my life, the woman I want to spend all my moments with, crumble in front of me.

  “I don’t think you really understand, Shane . . . in my entire life, you’ve been the only one to calm the raging sea in my mind.”

  My heart twists as every instinct I have, every urge to keep her and scoop her up consuming every ounce of her fear, her pain. My nose nudges her cheek, her soft, delicate lips open just enough to let my tongue trace the seam of her mouth. I close my eyes, let the moment devour me. This was happening. I’m finally tasting the pain and pleasure of who she is.

  Her energy thunders through every cell of my body as who I am and what we are dissolves in our kiss. She tastes so sweet, with a hint of bitter. I can feel that she’s just as afraid as I am.

  Words have created our emotions, the act of us being together is something so much deeper. I drag my hands up over her shoulders, I feel her shiver as my touch paints her skin with love. Her lips dampening by our tongues mingling, consuming the fear and passion we’ve let collect in our conversations. My hands tangle in her hair, as we taste each other’s desires. She anchors her hands against my chest, her warmth penetrates through to my heart.

  Suddenly, nothing else exists outside of the moment we are sharing. I feel her begin to heal.

  I don’t push, I don’t press, I don’t take what I want, I hold back, and I let her decide how far she wants to take this delicate and treacherous journey of discovery. I know she needs to be in control. Her intentions are clear, she needs to make the next move, even if it kills me. I push away the urge to have more.

  God, I want more.

  I move slowly, keeping my fingers tangled in her hair, my lips glued to hers. I long to drag my tongue down across her jaw line. I want to taste every inch of her skin, pralines and cream. I will myself not to move too fast. I focus on the fact that she’s new at this, sharing herself with me. If only a kiss . . . I will take it.

  My world found its home, my lips found its mate, my life, its purpose. I’m filled with the moment, captured by her magic, even while knowing at any second she owns the ability to leave me torn, twisted, alone.

  She urges me back on the sofa her body light against mine, I feel her breasts press against me just enough to prick my body into overdrive. The heat surging below the buttons of my pants intensifies as she draws her knee up between my legs. Her lips creating the perfect place to get lost, she tastes so irresistibly good, so raw, unprotected.

  It’s her decision if our damp clothes become the only protection between us. She withdraws from our kiss, instantly I’m lost without her taste. I want to breathe with her until every feeling of panic filling every atom of my body disappears. I need her warm skin against mine.

  She looks at me and I see the fire raging behind her pupils. I see the inferno of confusion, defeat, fear, need, want, and love. Yes, I see that she wants to love me. God, tell her to keep holding on to that desire to let me in, let me love her.

  “Are you okay with this?” I ask breathlessly.

  I panic because she doesn’t move. Her emerald eyes are pinned to mine, her expression inquisitive enough to make me second guess opening my fucking mouth. I just gave her an out . . . I’ve given her a free pass to choose between what she wants and what she believes she needs.

  “I don’t know,” she says before her eyes trail down to my lips, as her body is hovering over mine. “I’ve never kissed like that before.”

  Her words paralyze me.

  “You’ve never kissed like that before?” My heart falls into my gut. I know she’s kissed people before, what does she mean?

  “No, it was so intimate. I’ve never kissed someone like that, not until now.”

  Her eyes catching mine, I see the truth boiling behind her words. Suddenly I’m acutely aware of her firm nipples teasing my chest, her hair tickling my cheeks, and her breath mingling with mine. I’m pinned, trapped, taken by her answer, her body, her pulse thundering through the artery down the side of her neck. I need to press my lips there, feel the pace of her excitement, her desire that boils through her veins as she gives herself to me entirely.

  She lowers her hips against mine and finds home.

  Pressure, just enough pressure to drive me fucking crazy.

  A smile crests her beautifully lonely lips. “Is this okay for you?” she asks in a delicate tone.

  “It’s perfect,” I answer.

  I rest my hands on the curves of her lower back. My fingers meeting the natural curve of her ass I feel her desire to push down against me.

  Instinctively I roll my hips and push myself up against her. Partly afraid she’ll decide this might be too much, I watch her reaction. Her eyes go wide, she presses back and I know she likes what I have to offer. Her lips crash against mine as I push up to meet hers. My hands desperate to find some of her exposed flesh, as bad as I want her under me, as much as I want to bury myself deep in her soul, I don’t. Not yet. We are on fire, burning together, igniting something so fucking intense, something I never felt with anyone else ever before. Wordlessly, we were speaking volumes with our bodies. She loves me and I love her.

  She wiggles, adjusting herself . . . her hips . . . her legs finally straddling mine. I pull my hands from her lower back and push her hair away from her face. Both of us still diving deep into kissing each other. She backs far enough away I can see her eyes are damp with an insatiable need. I silently ask to feel her flesh as I catch her shirt between my fingers. Six buttons, that’s how many I counted when I watched her walk in, six small delicate buttons separate me from finally touching paradise, dragging my mouth over her swelling breasts, tasting her milky soft skin.

  She flashes a timid smile and her hands replace mine. She teases me with her eyes as she slowly unfastens each button. She’s torturing me. Her shirt is stretching open, and I do the right thing, the tough answer to her call, I wait for her to tell me it’s okay to touch her beautiful body. It’s taking everything I am to wait.

  I reach across and take over unbuttoning the last two. I pull up off the couch a little and remove my shirt. My chest bare, my muscles tight, my heart crashing against my bones. She’s not wearing a bra.

  She sits straight up, all her weight bearing down on me, perfectly warm, consuming, I buck my hips and I watch her gorgeous body react. I reach up, slip my fingers behind the edge of her shirt across her
shoulders. Our eyes magically tethered to each other, as her shirt slides off her shoulders. My mouth goes dry.

  “Mmmmm,” she moans as she grinds against me. I’m straining against my pants, I want to be inside her, feel her tighten around every inch I have to give.

  “Let me in,” I whisper.

  “I have,” she breathes.

  “I want all of you, every part of who you are, all of it.”

  “I’ll give you everything.” Her words crack against my ears.

  “I’m here, for you. Let go and let me in Rose.”

  Suddenly, as if she’s been waiting for someone to ask for every part of who she is, as if the one stone blocking the rush of a river becomes dislodged . . . she breaks down against me.

  “I never asked for this life. I just want to be free, I want to give you everything I am,” she answers, her body contradicting her words. “I don’t want to fear losing you to my past. I want to believe I deserve you. I want to trust your words, I want to make love to you, but I’m so fucking scared you’ll never forgive me for who I was.”

  Her words slice deep across my heart. This woman, someone who cuts me down to the core of who I am, is still worried, after seven months of being away from each other, being separated by fear and through all that, never sharing herself with me entirely is frightened of me leaving her. Fuck that. Enough is enough. Maybe I can’t tell her how much I love her, maybe the words just aren’t getting through. Maybe it just needs to be done without words, without fears dressing up like something that can save us, I can’t take it anymore. I need to show her how much I love her.

  I slip out from under her. Never looking away I pull her into my chest. She doesn’t fight me, instead I feel her melt against me. I hold her for what feels like an eternity before I speak.