Chapter 58
The Softening
Jenna
The days blur together. Unbearably long stretches of nothingness, dazed jumps in time, and slow patches of painful awareness.
Ian slowly coaxes me back to life, making me hold his gaze, talk, and move.
It’s tempting to refuse, because each time he awakens a part of my body, the memories come rushing.
The nose hook, the pink tail, the sticky cum.
Killian’s cruel words. But as much as I don’t want to face them, I can’t resist Ian’s steady presence.
So I let him bring me back, and I succumb to the hurt that awaits me on the other side.
It rips through me in tides of tears and sobs that seem to have no end.
The godawful hate that comes with it feels like it’s about to tear me apart from the inside.
“I hate him,” I whisper the first time I let that agonizing emotion rise to the surface.
“You hate him,” Ian echoes. “I know. It’s okay.”
Hearing he doesn’t blame me spurs me on. “I hate him,” I repeat with more clarity. “I hate him. So damn much.” I keep repeating while Ian rocks me, telling me it’s okay, and with each time I do, the fury rises, wanting to burst free and tear everything apart—maybe even myself.
“Let it all out,” Ian urges, tightening his arms around me as if knowing just how dangerous all that hatred feels. “I’ll hold you together. I’ve got you.”
“I hate him!” I yell, bucking forward against his arm, writhing when it offers no give.
“You hate him,” he says in a firm voice that drives my anger.
“I hate him!” I scream with the full power of my lungs.
“That’s right. Scream,” he says, repositioning a hand to rest it on my stomach. “Scream from deep within your belly.”
Screaming and jerking, I let the storm rage, knowing that it won’t tear me or anything else apart as long as Ian has me.
He keeps an arm tightly banded around me, and I fight against him, needing to feel his unbreakable strength as I let the anger knock me off my feet and throw me into spinning chaos.
I claw at my skin, then at the pillow Ian hands me, and I keep screaming, my words morphing into nonsensical strings of pure, violent rage.
It keeps going and going, wearing me out until I collapse.
Then come the tears, and I scramble to turn in Ian’s arms and burrow into him.
He rocks me through the tearing grief, caressing me and whispering tender words of reassurance.
It keeps going like that for several days.
Numbness, anger, and tears. Sometimes, when I’m screaming my lungs raw, Killian will come and ask if there’s anything he can do, and I send him away with a demonic wail.
Hurt flashes across his features just before he leaves.
In the moment, it feels good to see him like that, but once the anger fades, it only hurts.
But even so, when I’m calm and he comes and asks if he can hold me, my answer is the same—not a scream, but a clear demand for him to go away.
I don’t want anything to do with him, yet my heart aches for him with a force stronger than ever before.
For several days, I don’t move beyond the bedroom and music room.
I can’t find it in me to play myself, so Ian plays for me.
The music seeps into me and unfreezes the numbness, little by little—just like his persistent comfort does.
When Ian has to leave my side, he brings Ginny to me.
She snuggles up at my side, and the feeling of her soft fur and gentle heat—the sound of her purring—awakens my senses, just the same as Ian’s music and comfort does.
Slowly, I wake up, the rage fades, and I return to myself.
But the hurt and the horrible memories linger, and I can’t bear to be around Killian.
Not just because of what he did, but also because seeing how much my rejection hurts him awakens something painful in me—a need to be close that I can’t give in to, because the anxiety is stronger.
“C-can I please hold you?” he’ll ask several times during the day, watching me with this forlorn look that breaks my heart.
I badly want to say yes. He doesn’t seem like the Killian who broke me—not two weeks or five years ago.
He seems lost. But even so, I can’t let him touch me.
Because I know what he did. I still feel the worthlessness and the emptiness deep in my soul.
A wound that won’t soon heal. So I shake my head and draw in on myself.
But the urge to feel him keeps lingering, as deep as the wounds he inflicted.
I often wake at night, feeling broken and hollow.
Sometimes, I’ll just lie there, staring into the darkness—into nothingness.
Other times, I’ll shake and shudder, feeling like the emotions are about to tear me apart from the inside.
Then Ian will wake and hold me close, rocking me and whispering soothing words until the early hours of the morning.
Ian often looks tired during the day. He tries to hide it, but I’ve gotten to know him well during the last six months, just like he has gotten to know me.
I can tell he’s worried about both Killian and me, and it’s eating away at him.
I wish there were something I could do about it.
I know letting Killian hold me would help, but I just can’t make myself go back to the man who broke me twice.
It would cut away that last piece of dignity I’m fighting tooth and nail to hold on to.
The more I reject Killian, the less I see him.
After two weeks, I realize that I haven’t even seen him for three whole days.
It worries me. It shouldn’t, but it does.
I just can’t help it. So when I lie awake and hear sounds coming from the entryway, I crawl out of bed and steal through the dark hall, toward the light in the living room. But no one’s there.
I stand there for a moment, just looking around and wondering.
That’s when I hear a slurping sound coming from the kitchen.
“Ginny,” I say, rounding the kitchen island. Suddenly, I badly need to hold her—feel her soft fur and beating heart.
But it’s not just Ginny I find there. Killian is sitting on the floor, Ginny on his lap, feeding her from the tube of creamy cat puree she loves.
“Get away from her,” I hiss, instinct taking over. I dart to him and snatch her from his hands. I’m not going to let him hurt her too.
“I’m so-so-s-sorry.” He drops the tube on the floor and hurries up.
I’m shocked when he hesitates, casting a look my way, on his way out.
Dark circles surround his eyes, his face looks thin, his skin pale.
He hurries off, like a scared mouse, and it’s only then that I notice he’s wearing a hoodie and jeans instead of his usual dress pants and button-up shirts.
I glance at the tube on the floor, then at Ginny. She’s purring.
My heart sinks, regret and guilt twisting like thorny branches in my gut.
I sink to the floor and pick up the tube. Ginny keeps purring while I feed her more of her favorite paste, her tail swaying in slow, happy little motions. She’s the only creature in this house that’s happy. I wish I could make everyone else here feel the same.
Finally, I put the lid on the tube and set Ginny on the floor. “I think you’ve had enough now,” I say when she keeps looking at me with expectant eyes.
Finally, she mewls and rushes off to play with her favorite squeaky toy.
“Good idea. Practice catching mice,” I say and give her a quick scratch before turning off the kitchen light and making my way back through the darkness.
In the entryway, I pause and look up the dark stairs.
Memories that have been dormant for a long time come rushing.
Running down those stairs with my dress hanging loosely around my body, the sticky cum making the fabric cling to my back, and the butt plug stirring in my ass with each movement. Ian watching me like I was vermin.
I still remember the feeling, but not the look.
What I see when I think of Ian is his soft expression just before he kisses me.
His stern gaze when he commands me to kneel at his feet.
The look of pride when I readily obey. My mind goes to Killian and his cold rejection that night.
But it’s the same. I can’t quite see it.
All I see is that forlorn expression on his face.
The sound of his stuttering that cuts deep into my heart.
I don’t know what makes me turn toward the stairs.
A reckless, stupid need to be close to him, or maybe a belief that people can actually change.
It doesn’t matter. The darkness blots out my rationality, and I ascend the stairs with determined steps.
Once I cross the landing and stop in front of Killian’s bedroom door, I pause, uncertainty welling.
What the hell am I doing? If he sends me away, there’ll be no way to recover. I’ll have to leave—Ian, Ginny, and everything I’ve come to love here. But if he doesn’t...
Hope grows inside me. No, not just hope. A need to mend. To be mended.
I carefully open the door. “Are you sleeping?” I whisper.
“N-no.” Killian immediately sits up. I see the shadow of his hand move through the darkness, toward the bedside lamp.
“No,” I urge, then calm my voice. “No light, please.”
He slowly withdraws his hand, and I can feel the uncertainty hanging thickly in the air.
“Can I please lie with you?”
“Of c-course.” He shifts on the bed, making room for me and lifting the comforter.
I cross the room, pause, draw a shuddery breath, then crawl in.
Killian keeps his distance at first, but as I scoot closer, he does the same until we’re touching.
My whole body reels at the feeling of him, and a well of emotion I didn’t even realize was there rises to the surface. “Will you please hold me?” I ask in a hoarse voice full of barely hidden grief.
Killian doesn’t hesitate. He wraps his arms around me and molds his body into mine.
His stammering is gone when he smooths his hand over my forehead and says with shocking sincerity, “I’ve got you, Jenna. I won’t ever hurt you again. You’re the only thing that matters anymore. Keeping you safe. If that means leaving you, I’ll do it. I’ll do anything to keep you safe.”
That touch—those words—break me. A sob wrenches from my chest, and then I’m shaking with the full force of grief ripping through my body.
Killian tightens his grip around me. “Sweet Jenna. I’m so sorry. For everything. But I’m here now. If you want me, I’m here. I’ve got you.”
“I hate you,” I seethe, anger rising. “So damn much.”
“It’s okay. I-I hate me too.”
“I fucking hate you. I wish I’d never met you.
I wish...” My voice trails off because I don’t mean it.
Despite everything, I can’t bear the idea of never knowing Killian.
And that thought only escalates my grief.
It racks through me with a force that shakes me to the core.
I turn around, clawing at Killian’s chest, seeking purchase through the storm.
He tightens his grip, holding me so tight I can barely breathe.
But it’s the only thing keeping me together, and I desperately hope he’ll never let me go as the emotions keep tearing.
I don’t know when or how I manage to calm down, but at some point, I realize the tears have stopped and I’m lying still in his arms—still clinging to him, but feeling somewhat calm, nonetheless.
“Where have you been?” I ask in a hoarse voice.
“A hotel.”
“Why?”
He draws a shuddery sigh. “Because I was doing more harm than good here.”
“Then why did you come back?”
He cradles the back of my head, the same way his father does, and it’s the same aching tenderness as he presses a kiss to my head.
“I couldn’t stand being away from you.” He pauses, and I sense a sort of vulnerability coming as his voice softens.
“B-but it hurts being around you, w-without being close to you.”
A latent sort of fear awakens inside me. I push up to watch him through the darkness. “Don’t leave again. Please, Killian. I need you here.” I’m not sure I even realized it before, but now, it’s crystal clear. Even though I’m not ready to forgive him, I need him.
“Okay,” he agrees, stroking the hair from my face. “I won’t leave again.”
“Do you promise?”
“I promise.”
I watch him through the darkness, the sharp lines of his face and the sincerity in his gaze.
He’s different. It’s like the Killian I first fell for is back.
Or maybe he was in there all along, just hidden behind layers and layers of hurt and insecurities.
In a moment of bold clarity, I lean down and press my lips to his.
I’m about to pull away and leave before I can find out whether he’ll reject or accept it, but Killian grabs the back of my head.
He presses our lips together in a long, firm kiss.
Then he starts moving, slowly caressing my lips with his.
“I’ve wanted to do this since I was six,” he murmurs against my lips, and I moan as he dips his tongue into my mouth. “Taste you, kiss you, feel you leaning into me.”
I do just that. I sink into him, melting in his firm grip as our tongues intermingle in what feels like our first true kiss.
It’s not just Killian taking; it’s us both connecting, sharing this sweet moment of tender affection.
It’s the best kiss I’ve ever had. Somehow even better than Ian’s.
It’s years and years of desire and longing coming together and finding release in the sweetest kiss I could ever imagine.
It’s tempting to fall under his spell and let it consume me. But I can’t take that risk. Not yet.
So I break the kiss and lean away. “I’m not ready to forgive you,” I whisper.
He strokes my cheek softly. “I know. It’s okay. I’ll wait. Days, weeks, years. However long it takes. I’m yours, Jenna. Always have been. I’m just sorry it took me so long to see it.”
I try to come up with a response, but all that needs to be said has been said. For now. So I place a final kiss on his lips, then rush off.
When I crawl into bed beside Ian a minute later, a new sort of hope I haven’t felt since I was eight is blooming in my chest.
“Are you okay?” Ian asks and pulls me close.
I turn around and curve my hand around his cheek.
“I will be,” I say, and at that moment, I truly believe it.
Because of this man, I’m healing. Slowly but surely.
What Killian did hasn’t broken all the good his father did.
Not irrevocably, at least. It has wounded me, and the healing will be long and hard, but I’m not broken.
“I’m yours,” I say, and those words hold a healing power all of their own.
“Always,” he says with fierce determination and pulls me close. “Always.”