Make Me Believe

by Karen Ferry

  I don’t have a retort for that one last statement, and she knows it, too. Deflating, I lean back in my seat, head in hands, and try to calm my nerves.

  “Emma,” Katherine calls me, and I take a peek through my fingers and watch her lean closer in her seat towards me.

  “Besides your concerns about confiding in Daniel, what stops you from telling him the truth about the true nature of your feelings towards him?”

  Blowing a loose strand of hair from my face, I let my arms fall to my lap.

  “What if I’m a terrible kisser? Or a terrible girlfriend?!” I wail at her, and Katherine erupts with laughter and throws her head back. I’m about to blow up with panic and abruptly leave my seat to pace back and forth in front of her. I know that the order of my world is crashing down around me at this very moment, leaving a clear path for me to take a step towards a much different future than the one I had originally planned.

  “Gosh, Emma, slow down, will you?” Katherine says, and I really do try to do as she asks me to, albeit it is near impossible for me.

  “Emma, trust me on this: you won’t be a terrible kisser or girlfriend,” Katherine tells me, remaining in her seat. I glance at her and almost want to poke out my tongue at her, just to be hard-headed like usual.

  Almost . . . but I obviously can’t do that.

  “Your first kiss will probably be one of two things: it could be absolutely wonderful, OR...” she pauses, and I hold my breath until she goes on, “ . . . it could be a disappointment.”

  Blast!

  “But only if you think too hard about it, my dear; you’ll just have to trust your instincts on this one.”

  Rubbing my forehead, I think about her words, and slowly walk back to my chair.

  “But what if . . . what if I’ll run the moment his lips touch mine?” I ask her, close to tears again, and she looks warmly at me.

  “If that happens -- and I very much doubt that it will, given the nature of your . . . err . . . chemistry, shall we say?” She looks cheekily at me, and I can’t hide the blush that sets my cheeks on fire from her words. “Like I said, should you feel uncomfortable at any moment, try not to panic. Just end the kiss, and do your best to not hurt his feelings too much, okay?”

  I nod, absentmindedly looking out of the window to my left. The leaves on the trees are such a bright green, and they remind me of the colour of Daniel’s eyes. Just thinking about him makes my heart pick up speed.

  “I don’t believe I’ll panic, not really.” I turn back to Katherine, and she smiles at me. “I truly so want to kiss him, it’s just that . . . “ My voice trails off as uncertainty about the unknown grips me again: the strength of its leash is not as pronounced as it usually is, and the knowledge furthers my resolve.

  “You’re scared, which is perfectly understandable,” Katherine finishes the sentence for me, and I shrug, conceding with her words.

  “I’d be mortified . . . sad . . . and probably also angry for hurting him,” I murmur and look down at my hands.

  “Try not to over think things,” Katherine warms me, and I meet her gaze again. “Just allow yourself to truly feel for once . . . and listen to what your heart tells you,” she continues.

  “That doesn’t sound like something a psychologist would say,” I accuse mildly, and now it’s her turn to blush.

  “Well . . . maybe not. What can I say? I’m also an incorrigible romantic,” she answers and takes a sip of water.

  We sit in comfortable silence once more, and it suddenly occurs to me that I like it. The fact that there’s no noise to distract me at all, apart from the vague ones of cars passing by outside, soothes me instead of making my head spin.

  “Do you think you’re ready to move on?” Katherine asks me, pulling me out of my stupor.

  “Of course. What do you want to talk about?” I reach for my own glass.

  “About Tom.”

  I close my eyes when I hear his name once more and wait for the familiar fear and anger to return to my heart and soul. Strangely, though, they don’t arrive, and a whoosh of air leaves my lungs when I realise that I only feel resentment and sorrow: resentment for what he put me through, and sorrow for the little girl -- me -- and the loss of her childhood.

  Sitting back slowly, I look questioningly at Katherine. “Okay. I can do that.”

  She beams at me, clearly very pleased to hear that kind of response before looking down at her notebook.

  “Have you forgiven him for what he did to you?” she asks me, returning her eyes to mine. Her question surprises me, and I concentrate on her words for a few moments as my eyes take in the pattern of the rug underneath my feet.

  Have I forgiven him?

  “No,” I answer her slowly and realise the tight grip of my clasped hands for the first time; my fingers are beginning to become numb and, one by one, I force them to relax.

  Squaring my shoulders, I meet Katherine’s kind eyes with a hard stare of my own. “No, I haven’t. I don’t think I ever will. But . . . “ Pausing, I search for the right words to describe the unknown emotions coursing through me at this very moment.

  Suddenly, they are clear before me, falling from my lips so easily, “But I have accepted it. And that’s a step in the right direction, isn’t it?” I can’t keep the hope from my voice. I yearn to finally move on so very badly.

  Katherine smiles at little, eyes remaining calm and understanding, and nods satisfied at me.

  “Very much so.”

  “I still feel weak, though . . . “

  She frowns at me. “How so?”

  “Because . . . because what happened to me is far less serious from what other girls -- and boys -- have gone through. I guess I don’t feel . . . right about having so many issues when I compare them to others. Or what I can imagine other people to suffer through.”

  Katherine lifts her hand, and I stop blathering.

  “Now, Emma, you are not weak. Every person is different, and how they react to actions befallen on them through no fault of theirs is subjective. You understand? How and why your issues have had an effect on your adult life is just as valid and important as the next person sitting in that chair. Those thoughts about your situation being less horrible from other survivors of abuse? You have to try to let them go.”

  Not bloody likely.

  Yet out loud, my answer is completely different. “I will.”

  Katherine doesn’t seem to believe me if the scepticism in her eyes is anything to go by, but she doesn’t have to agree with me on this. She only has to accept it and help me move on in other areas of my life. She definitely already has.

  Have my fears suddenly been vanquished, vaporised into the thin air?

  Of course not.

  However, I’m no longer as terrified of them as I was before I started coming here.

  I can’t wait to get home and see Daniel.

  I’m ready for that kiss . . . to let him in.

  Chapter 33

  On my way home, butterflies flutter madly in my stomach and excitement fills me. I’m in equal parts nervous and anxious, but the one emotion overriding them is anticipation. I take out my phone to text Suzy; I should let her know what’s about to happen because I promised her that. With a ridiculous smile on my lips, I text:

  Me: I think it’s time to kiss Daniel . . . ;-)

  I hit send, and, just like I thought, my phone rings shortly after.

  “Hello?” I answer and quickly remove the phone from my ear when a shrill shriek bursts from the other end.

  “Oh my god! Oh my god!” Suzy yells, and I laugh loudly when I feel it’s safe to put the phone back so that I can hear her properly without having my ears begin to bleed. “This is huge, sweetie, so stop laughing at me!” she scolds me, laughing excitedly.

  “I’m so nervous,” I confess.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Wow, wow, wow,” she chants incessantly, and it causes me to giggle again.

  “I’ll text you later or tomorrow, honey,” I
reassure her.

  “Oh dear, to be a fly on the wall,” she mutters. “Listen, Em, just take a few deep breaths and then go enjoy yourself.”

  “Oh, I intend to,” I tease her.

  “Damn, this has got me all hot and bothered,” she laughs.

  “Suzy!” I snap affectionately.

  “What?! I haven’t indulged in any hanky panky for weeks now! I’m getting horny here!” She laughs, and I shake my head at her candidness.

  “Well, then go out tonight, find a man -- or woman -- that’ll help you with your urges.”

  “Oh, I will, you can count on it. But don’t forget to text me! I want details!”

  “I will. Any tips for me?” I ask her.

  Surely, they can’t hurt.

  “Wet your lips, remember to swallow your spit, and, above all, don’t stick your tongue down his throat: you’ll make the poor guy gag,” she advises me.

  Great. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked her.

  “Got it,” I reply, blowing out a long breath. “I’m almost home, so we’ll talk later, darling.”

  “I’m so excited! Yay! Love you, bye!”

  I press the red button to end our call and remain rooted to the spot outside the duplex where we live. I still feel nervous, but now that I’ve made up my mind and am less scared of the unknown than I was a mere month ago, I can’t wait. I just hope that I won’t panic or freak out when I kiss Daniel . . .

  “No time like the present,” I mutter to myself and finally open the front door and walk upstairs. I know that Daniel wanted me to text him when I was on my way, but a part of me wants to surprise him. I’m not going to throw myself at him the minute he opens the door, though; besides, something tells me that he’ll want us to talk first.

  Knocking on his door, I listen to the soft tunes of some sort of piano music sounding from behind it, and then wipe my sweaty palms on my skirt. My whole body is now tingling with anticipation, and I wait, impatiently, for him to let me in.

  I don’t have to wait for long.

  The minute he stands before me, a strange calm settles over me, and I ask quietly, “May I come in?”

  He nods once and takes a step back, his face unreadable for once. There’s a strong set to his jaw, though, but his eyes remain blank, guarded even.

  I hate that I hurt him.

  I hate that I’m the cause of that.

  I walk slowly past him and into his living room. It has become so much more habitable the last month; it feels like a home now instead of merely a place to crash at night. One whole wall is covered with black bookshelves, but one of them serves more as a place for his flat screen TV and DVD player; he doesn’t have a dining room table, but the corner farthest to the left holds a few bar stools and a high table in the middle where he’s able to sit and take in the view over the park below us. The walls are painted a warm brown colour, and a few watercolours hang in frames here and there; they aren’t arranged as such, but I like that.

  Turning around to face him, I find him remaining in the doorway to the hallway, keeping his distance, and I’m saddened by it. Usually, he’s never far away from me, and suddenly I realise how much I’ve come to depend on his small acts of affection. The way he’ll kiss my cheek or nose when he tells me goodbye in the morning . . . how his hand will brush my arm lightly when we watch a movie . . . and how his arms and legs surround me at night, holding me close to his body . . . as if he never wants to be away from me.

  “Why are you standing so far from me?” I ask him, clasping my hands behind my back.

  He remains quiet for the longest time, perusing my face, and I wonder if he’ll ever give me an answer. For once, I can’t read him at all, and it only makes me more scared.

  “Because if I come closer, I won’t be able to keep my hands to myself,” he finally mutters.

  “Is that such a bad thing?”

  “If you’re about to break my heart into a million pieces, then yes; I have to keep my distance from you, Emma, or you’ll completely wreck me once you tell me that we’re . . . over.” His voice breaks on the last word, and I flinch. It physically pains me to hear it.

  “That’s not why I’m here, honey,” I retort and walk slowly closer to him, killing the distance one step at a time.

  “No?” he asks me, and the hope and yearning in that one tiny word pierces through my heart.

  I shake my head vehemently. “Absolutely not.”

  He swallows loudly, emotion clear for me to read. He doesn’t believe me, and it kills me.

  Have I lost him before I’ve even truly had him?

  The thought is unbearable.

  When I stand before him, as close to him as I can get without touching him, I try to tell him with my eyes how much he means to me. His intense gaze doesn’t waver for a moment, and it gives me the courage to open myself up to him.

  “I’m seeing a psychologist every Thursday.” I place my hand above his heart, holding my breath, afraid of what he’ll say to that admission.

  He blinks, surprised, and I hurry to go on whilst I still can. “I don’t think I’m ready to tell you exactly why yet, Daniel, but . . . please know that I’m alright. I’m . . . better, more whole than when you met me a month ago.”

  I pause and wrap my arms around his waist, tucking my head under his chin and take a fortifying breath.

  “Please be patient with me, Daniel,” I whisper, my lips quivering with suppressed emotions. “Maybe I’m asking too much of you, but I’m begging you . . . don’t leave me.”

  Swiftly, his arms are around my shoulders, and he’s holding on tightly. I don’t care that I’m hardly able to breathe: having his touch on my skin once more is heaven.

  I’m safe. Home. And I don’t ever want to leave.

  “God, Emma, I could never let you go,” he whispers fiercely, releasing a long exhale. “I’ll wait until you’re ready. I promise you this: nothing you say could ever make me love you less.”

  A sob escapes me and Daniel begins to rock me gently in his arms. The music is still playing softly in the background, and I move slowly back from him, smiling wobbly.

  “Please dance with me,” I urge him and pull on his hand.

  He laughs once, clearly confused. “What, now?”

  I nod. “Yes. Now.”

  Tongue in cheek, he follows me further into the room, and once I have him right where I want him -- next to the window to his balcony -- I put my arms around his neck and move into his welcoming body. I love the way his hands immediately grip my hips. It seems . . . possessive somehow . . . As if he’s claiming me, even.

  “Now,” I whisper and move up on my toes to be closer to his lips. “Once this tune is over, I think I’m in need of some TLC from my man.”

  He grins and nods. “That I can do.”

  “Good,” I murmur, and begin to move to the music in earnest. I can feel the way his heart beats madly in his chest as we sway to it, and now that the crisis of sorts is over, I feel nervous once more. I’m still dying for that kiss, but the question is if he wants it now, too?

  Does he think I feel more time should pass?

  Shite, I hope not!

  I’ll lose my mind if that’s the case!

  No longer feeling so relaxed as I did when we first started dancing, I stop abruptly, causing Daniel to stumble. The pain from his feet doesn’t bother me, though.

  I can handle physical pain.

  I’m not so sure about the emotional one, though.

  What should be my next move?

  In the far recesses of my mind, I notice that the music has stopped playing, but I can’t find the strength to unwrap my arms from around Daniel’s neck. Being so close to him, looking into his beautiful eyes hiding behind his glasses just feels so . . . right. I can’t explain it properly. My senses are not dulled by alcohol for once. My sight is not blurred . . . my nose is not tingling . . . my lips are not numb. This is the first time in a really long while that I have been completely sober when in the arms of a man, and I f
ind that I don’t mind it at all. But that’s only because Daniel’s the one holding me wrapped up tight in his arms.

  He leans closer and, for a split second, I panic, because this is usually where I pull away; but at the very last moment, he moves so his cheek is resting against mine. The stubble on his chin is familiar . . . safe . . . and highly intoxicating.

  “What are you doing to me, Em?” Daniel whispers in my ear, his voice . . . sad?

  “I . . . I don’t know what you mean . . . ,” I breathe out, my entire body pressed into his. Feeling his desire for me against my stomach causes a flutter in my belly.

  “You know the power you have over me, sweetheart,” he whispers, and hearing his endearment causes havoc in my entire being.

  “Why can’t you trust me with your secrets? I’ve touched and tasted almost every single inch of your body, and yet you still deny me your lips? ” The frustration in his voice is palpable and it causes me to press my face into his neck, inhaling his scent deeply. He smells so good.

  “I’m scared,” I admit on a broken whisper, and it’s true; I am. As much as I crave him with every fiber of my being, and as much as I want to kiss him right now, I’m petrified of how I’ll react.

  I don’t wish to hurt him ever again.

  His hands roam my back, trailing a whisper-soft touch down my back until they land on my butt. When he squeezes the cheeks tightly, I can’t hold back the low moan that breaks free from my mouth, but I don’t even want to. For once, I want to be free of everything . . . my past . . . my future . . . but definitely not my present.

  “What are you so frightened of?” he asks me and buries his head in my hair. Hearing him inhale deeply makes my skin break out in goose bumps.

  “That you’ll push me before I’m ready and I’ll end up spilling all my sordid secrets to you . . . ,” I confess on a tremor that I have no doubt he can feel. My palms sweat. My core clenches. My heartbeat quickens. Everything inside me feels as if it is being awakened from a deep sleep, allowing me to truly feel everything for the first time.