Chapter 16 #4
“Ok—okay…” I slip off his lap and sit back down in front of him, watching as he rises and then lowers himself in front of me, one knee on the ground. My heart stutters, and I lick my lips at the sight of him kneeling before me, this beautiful, strong man who’s choosing tenderness.
“Just say no, and I’ll stop immediately,” he assures me. He gently lifts the hem of my dress, inch by inch. My breath hitches.
Higher.
Then higher.
He stops at the middle of my thighs. I hear the soft, shaky exhale he lets out, and I feel the same anticipation swelling in my own chest. With both hands, he settles on the outside of my thighs, pressing his fingertips into my skin, just enough to ground me.
His touch is warm, slightly rough, and it lights a slow fire in places I thought would never feel again.
He shifts closer, and then his lips brush just above my left knee.
The kiss is soft, feather-like, but it lands like a spark.
My breath catches. Goosebumps rush across my skin.
He lifts his face slightly. “Do you like when I do that?” I nod three times, heat spreading in my body like a wildfire.
“Good,” he mutters, before lowering his head again.
He kisses the same spot, then moves a little higher, trailing a series of soft, lingering kisses along my skin.
My head tips back, and I clamp my mouth shut, swallowing the sound that wants to escape.
A minute passes. Then he stops, smooths my dress back down until it pools around my ankles, and stands slowly.
He leans forward, his body close enough to steal my breath, his face hovering inches from mine.
“Still scared?” he murmurs.
I swallow hard. “No…not anymore.”
“Trust yourself, Lana. You’re stronger than you think.
” He kisses me again, his mouth firmer now, his hands gripping the chair like they’re the only thing keeping him anchored.
His lips are hungry, but he never loses control.
I match him, my fingers fisting his shirt, letting the fire inside me speak for once.
When he pulls back, I shake my head, not ready to part from him.
Carter stares at me, chest heaving, his eyes burning with something wild and restrained.
Then he takes my hand, presses a kiss into my palm, and shuts his eyes.
“We gotta learn to walk before we start to run,” he murmurs. And I understand. He’s not stepping away. He’s protecting me. Giving me space, not because I need it right now, but because I might later. Because he cares.
Where was this man when I said I do?
It should have been him.
Sitting back in his chair, he takes back his fork and knife and digs into the food.
“When do you want to yell? Before or after dessert?” Carter’s delivery never misses a chance to startle me.
I burst into laughter instantly. His bluntness will always be my Achilles’ heel, I just know it.
How can he ask this so casually? My palms get sweaty at the thought of screaming in front of him, not that I have to, but I actually really want to do this.
But thinking about it and actually doing it are two very different things.
And I guess I’m chickening out a bit now.
“What is it?” he asks, tilting his head, a small crease forming near his eye. Does he even realize how unintentionally funny he is?
“I was kind of hoping you forgot about that…”
“About the yelling?”
“Yeah.” I laugh. “Yelling’s not exactly a date-night activity. Not very, uh…ladylike.” He frowns, and my eyes flick to the golden stubble on his jaw.
“But I thought you wanted to do it,” he says softly.
“I do,” I reply quickly, shaking my head. “I really do. But…I’m getting cold feet.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, it’s intimidating to do that in front of you…”
“More than me kissing your knee?”
“That’s different,” catching my lips between my teeth at the memory.
“I won’t judge you. I never judge anyone, actually.” He says, like me, yelling at our date is exceptionally normal.
“Really? I try to do that, but I can’t help myself sometimes. I feel like the only people never judging others are monks.”
“I’m no monk.”
“I know,” I blush.
“How ‘bout we finish this, you go out, let it all out, and then come back for dessert?” he states casually. He really doesn’t seem to see any issue with it. To hell with it, I’ll do it.
“Okay, yes, that’d be great.” We keep on eating while the wax on the candles melts on the tablecloth, the little heater in the corner of the room making it warm and cozy. Carter takes my hand from time to time and strokes it with his thumb. After a while, we’re both done and I fidget in my chair.
“Done?” he asks.
“Yep.”
“Do you wanna go now?” I nod, my heart pounding faster under my rib cage.
It’s stupid, but my fingers start to tingle and my voice shuts down, like each time before a panic attack.
The signs are there. Only this time I’m not here to absorb quietly.
This time, I’m here to let my anger be loud.
I step out of the cabin, leaving my cardigan inside.
The cold evening air slaps my face, and the heels of my boots are digging holes into the leaves.
The cabin stands proudly above a sort of cliff with a view over the city.
Carter was right about choosing this place tonight; it is far enough from the city but close enough for me not to freak out about being too far from Noah.
I glance at the cabin window and notice Carter’s shape behind it, standing tall, watching me, arms crossed loosely, giving me the space I need.
He’s not out there with me, holding my hand or talking me through it.
This moment is mine.
And I guess he measured how monumental it was for me to do it on my own.
The cold air bites at my arms, the kind that wakes up every nerve in your body.
My hands curl into fists, my fingers digging into my palms. I’m shivering, but I don’t care; maybe I need to feel everything right now.
Maybe it’s time to finally let the unpleasant feelings sink in. To welcome them.
Anger is okay.
Shame is okay.
Regrets are too.
I was just a girl when I married him. Now I’m a woman.
I didn’t know I could say no. I didn’t know I could stand up for myself.
I didn’t know I had a voice. Taking a deep breath, I open my mouth, fists clenched by my sides and ready to do what’s been petrifying me for years.
I need to scream for every “I’m fine” I’ve muttered when I wasn’t, for every bruise I covered, for every time I stayed silent when I wanted to fight back.
The first sound comes out in a broken, jagged gasp, a crack in the wall I’ve built for so long.
I never liked being loud; I’m not sure I even know how to.
My throat tightens, and my lungs feel like they’re caving in, but I keep going.
I open my mouth, and it pours out of me, not just a yell, but a raw, primal scream that seems to rip apart the night.
How have I not heard myself pounding at the doors of my heart?
How come this stayed stuck in there all this time?
I fall on my knees, crying and laughing and smiling and sobbing, all at once.
Emotions take over me. My hand covers my mouth while my shoulders bounce between each sob.
I must seem delirious right now. But I don’t care.
Hundreds of people could be staring at me right now, but I wouldn’t care.
My dress is covered with leaves and dirt now.
I spread my arms wide and shout one more time.
This time, I don’t let the embarrassment stop me from unfolding my anger.
I shout, loud, so loud I didn’t know that I could make that sound.
I’m shaking, but I don’t feel weak. I feel…
lighter. After a few seconds, I breathe loudly, laughing while tears fall on my cheeks.
My body slumps, like I’ve wrung myself out.
This feels so good. I stay there, sat on the leaves, my knees under me, while I look at the city lights, exhausted after finally having said my piece to this world.
“I forgive you,” I whisper. But it’s not for him.
It’s for me. I forgive myself for staying when I didn’t know that I could leave.
I forgive myself for being weak because I couldn’t find enough strength in myself to stand up.
I forgive myself because there’s no point not doing so.
I did the best that I could, and whatever happens next, I need to find love in my heart for the Lana that I used to be.
I need to love her too. Because she couldn’t know the things I do now.
“You did the best you could,” I say, talking to myself and putting my palms on my heart.
“Look how far you’ve come, you’re okay now, everything is going to be okay,” I whisper to myself, then wipe my tears away and smile at the stars.
Footsteps echo behind me, and then I feel a weight settling in my back, both of his legs surrounding me as I lean back into his chest, his arms hugging me tight, a soft kiss dropping on my hair.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
“For what?” he asks gently, holding me.
“For everything.” For being here. For being my safe space. For seeing me. For being the man that I needed to find to learn to trust again.
“Can we get dessert now?” I ask, my belly roaring a bit.
“You’re crying.” His rough thumb wipes away a tear that had settled on my jaw.
“Happy tears.”
“There’s happy tears?”
“Yes.” I smile, my head angled to look at him. He kisses my forehead, my temple, and then the tip of my nose.
“Okay, but I’d rather see your gorgeous smile,” he says, then I feel his hand drifting to my belly, and the most unexpected thing happened. He starts tickling me. Or at least that’s what I think he’s doing.