Chapter 10 Gracen
GRACEN
There’s been an abrupt shift in our relationship since the day we kissed. I can feel it as if the Earth is no longer steady beneath me.
There hasn’t been any kind of straightforward conversation to speak of. I can’t even say Malin smiles at me in a specific way. He doesn’t smile. Not any more than usual, which is rarely. I do catch little hints of smiles.
One day, I hope to make him smile, but for right now, I’ll take these moments of peace that I can offer him. I’m not sure what they mean. It often feels like Malin talks in riddles. As if I’m not privy to the entire conversation in his head, though he doesn’t realize that.
He spends the night most nights. Unlike the time he showed up at midnight, he’s here before bed now. It’s intentional.
Malin enjoys making out. It’s almost comical because he’s absolutely shocked that he likes it each and every time.
While I’m angry at all the ways he’d been abused in his childhood, I’m touched that he trusts me to be the one he experiences those same things with, but that they can be welcome now.
They can feel good. There’s no coercing or threats of burning in hell.
This happens because he wants it to, and for no other reason.
As soon as we walk into my house, Malin pulls my shirt off me. He strips his off himself and replaces it with the one I was wearing. I watch, both amused and with my stomach fluttering, as he buries his face in it.
This has been the very first thing that we do the moment we step inside for days now. He says it brings him peace.
Today, as I watch him close his eyes and inhale the scent of me from my shirt, I wonder exactly what those words mean. I’m sure I’m missing something.
This is something that I’ve taken at face value, as in the way everyone says someone brings them peace. It’s a way of saying that a specific person is home. I can’t imagine it being interpreted any other way.
But the more he says it, the more I watch his behavior, the more I’m convinced that there’s more to his words than what I think they mean.
When Malin finally lets my shirt hang on him and meets my eyes, I reach for his wrist and pull him to my chest. He comes willingly, his mouth immediately on mine. I smile against his lips and allow him to control our kiss.
As a person who hasn’t been under the control of another person for fourteen years, I always try to let Malin take the lead.
Or I ask him outright if something is okay.
I try very fucking hard to read everything his face and body tell me so I can ask when his words may say one thing, but something about him contradicts what he says.
It doesn’t happen often, and usually, I receive an answer like, “Ryan hates when someone else touches me.”
While I’ve never needed him to tell me what his life had been like as Ryan Johnston’s victim, these periodic assertions paint a very clear picture of what he’s been through and why he still struggles.
He rests his head against my chin and sighs.
“Malin?”
“Mhm?”
“When you tell me I bring you peace, what does that mean?” I ask.
“You drown out his voice.”
I don’t know what to do with that information. I want to ask more questions, but I don’t know how to follow that up. So I don’t.
“What do you want to do tonight?” I ask instead.
“Can we go to bed?”
“Do you want to eat first?”
“No.” He looks up, meeting my eyes. “I want… Kissing is different with you. I, uh… want to know if something else is too.”
A trickle of arousal skates down my spine. “O-okay?”
“If you want to.”
“Yes. I want to.”
He stares into my eyes for a minute before nodding. Malin turns and leads the way toward my bedroom. As he always does when our physical contact falls away, he brings the collar of my shirt he’s wearing up to cover his nose.
At first, I was flattered, thinking he just loves the way I smell. Then I thought, maybe the rest of my house smells bad. Now, I’m not so sure what to think. Like his words, I feel like some of his actions mean something different from what one would expect them to mean.
In the bedroom, I’m almost startled when Malin begins stripping out of his clothes except for my shirt. He watches me expectantly, but I note one very clear observation: he’s not hard. Not even a little.
I don’t undress. Instead, I take his hands and bring him to the bed. We sit on the edge. “I don’t need to do anything physical with you. You understand that, right?”
“Yes. I know it’s not actually cleansing me of sin.”
I wince at his words. “That’s not what I meant.” Gently, I tug my shirt down so I can see his face. “Tell me what you want to do.”
“I want you to touch me.” His eyes flicker away from me, and I see his jaw tick. He swallows. “I…” His mouth closes abruptly, and his cheeks turn pink. His shoulders stiffen a little, and I swear to fuck, I see him flinch.
“Malin.”
He comes toward me, taking his hands from mine, and pushes me backward. I’m surprised when he climbs on top of me, putting his face in mine. All those strange ticks fade away now that he’s close.
“I’ve learned that people don’t actually want to know the details about my relationship with Ryan, despite them asking.
Or not asking. Or wanting to know why I want to know something,” he says.
“So I don’t know if you want an actual explanation or if telling you that I want to see if it’s different, like kissing you is different, will suffice. ”
My stomach churns. I don’t actually want to know the details of what that sick man did to Malin. A damn child in his care! But maybe Malin needs to tell me for himself.
“Do you want me to know?” I ask.
Malin doesn’t answer right away. He glances away, and his gaze stays locked somewhere for a minute before he looks at me again.
“Everyone tells me that what I felt wasn’t real,” he says.
“I was a kid. I didn’t know any better. How Ryan felt about me wasn’t real because I was a child he was abusing, taking advantage of…
etc. I’m so tired of hearing that, so maybe I want to say some things and to have that not be the response. ”
“Okay.”
“I didn’t like it when he touched me. Almost never.
I mean… not under my clothes. I hated that touch.
I loved it when he hugged me, though. When he held me.
I felt wanted. I don’t care what anyone says, I was wanted.
I’m not saying that’s an excuse for the other things he did to me, but I don’t actually think that he didn’t love me. ”
His words are breathless. There’s moisture glistening in his eyes. I’m not sure if he wants a response at all, so I don’t offer one. I’m not even sure what to say.
“What everyone fails to comprehend is that for me, it was real. Regardless of how wrong and disgusting and sick it all was—it was still real.”
“It was,” I agree.
“I’m so tired of people telling me it wasn’t.”
“That sounds frustrating.”
“As if children don’t have feelings. I was fourteen when he was killed. Fourteen. Were my feelings any less real just because I was a victim of something sick?”
“No.”
“Then why does everyone insist that they are? He didn’t hit me.
He didn’t break my arm or leave bruises on me.
I never bled. I wasn’t malnourished, and I had more toys and shit than anyone else on that island.
Yet adult abuse victims are sympathized with because they’re old enough to have valid feelings, and their staying in those situations is excusable because they love that person, and it’s hard.
But me? It wasn’t real. Simply because I was young. ”
A tear trickles down his cheek. I watch it until he sniffles, and then I meet his eyes.
“I’m not making excuses for him. I’m not saying that…
” Malin sighs. “I just… I thought kissing was gross. I hated his tongue in my mouth. It made my stomach churn. I hated his hands under my clothes and in other places. I hated all that stuff. It hurt.” He gives me a demure look.
“Which I understand is the sexual assault of a child. I don’t disagree.
I even agree that if I had wanted it, it would still be very wrong because I was a kid and our bodies aren’t mature enough to even want that stuff. ”
“You’re talking about two different things. The emotional stuff is what you take issue with people contradicting,” I note.
“Yes. I agree with the physical stuff. To some extent, I even agree with the emotional stuff. Yes, when I was six and eight and ten, I wasn’t old enough to understand what an adult kind of love felt like.
But does that mean my little nieces and nephews don’t know what it means to be loved?
To feel loved by someone and love them in return?
Do you know, when I look at the way they’re treated by their parents, I see how I was treated by Ryan?
So many of those interactions—I’ve had them myself, Gracen.
But it’s not real for me because he also abused me.
But it’s real for them because they’re not abused. ”
“I’m sorry.” I cup the side of his face. “You’re right.”
His shoulders sag a little. “I hated kissing him. It was gross. That’s something I hated right up until he died.
I didn’t think kissing you would be different, but it’s so different.
” He offers me a little smile. “I hated everything he did to me under my clothes, but… my body is being weird now, and I… kind of want to know if you touching me under my clothes will feel different too.”
Chills race down my spine. “I—okay.”
“You don’t want to.”
“No, no. I do. I just… This is kind of heavy right now.”
“Oh.” He adjusts and half slides off me. I laugh and pull him back. “I don’t mean you. You’re not heavy, Malin. I just mean this talk is kind of heavy, and I’m not sure it’s the right time to… touch you.”
His look of disappointment nearly has me changing my mind. I bring his eyes back to mine. “I want to. Malin, I’ve been absolutely mesmerized by you from the moment I first saw you. But you’ve been through some shit, and I don’t at all want what we do tied to anything from your past.”
He sighs, his frown deepening. “Everything will be tied to my past. It won’t ever go away. Therapy doesn’t make him go away. Killing his cultists doesn’t make him go away. Nothing does. That’s like asking me to stop being the height I am, Gracen. It’s not a fair request.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” I grip his hips and then roll us so he’s under me.
His breath catches, eyes widening. I kiss him softly.
“I’m sorry. I swear to you, I’m trying very hard to understand what you need, and I think you’re telling me what you need, but I’m really nervous about it being too closely linked to what you’ve been through. How about we compromise?”
Malin adjusts himself under me, bending his knees and pressing his thighs to either side of my hips. I can feel that he’s naked. My body isn’t immune to that, so I’m sure he feels that I’m interested.
“What compromise?” he asks.
“We can see how you feel about the things you hated, but slowly. One thing at a time.”
“Is this going to count as one thing?” he asks. I don’t miss the way his eyes flicker away.
“Yes and no. I’m going to lie on you while you’re mostly naked, and we’re going to make out.
You can touch me.” His breath hitches, so I pause.
“Also, I need to know what you’re thinking.
I’m not going to tell you that what you felt isn’t real.
I completely understand your frustration, and having not been in your position, I don’t feel I have the authority to have an actual opinion on the matter.
I will say that even children’s emotions are valid, so even if adults don’t understand what their six-year-old feels, that doesn’t mean that the child isn’t feeling that.
But your experience means you’re hanging onto some trauma, especially around physical contact. Correct?”
“I’m not sure if ‘especially’ is necessary, but yes.”
“Then I need to know what you’re feeling. What you’re thinking. I don’t ever want what we do to have any kind of negative connotations connected to it.”
“Okay. Then I was thinking Ryan didn’t like it when I touched him.
He wanted to touch me. I think for him, it was self-consciousness about his body.
I’m not even sure why I think that, but it feels like a memory.
So… I guess maybe I’m a little nervous about touching you since I’ve never touched anyone. Not even Ryan.”
“Ah. Then take your fill. I’m glad I can be this first for you.”
The smile he gives me is perhaps the biggest one I’ve ever seen, which is impressive and sad because it’s still very, very small.
“Do you accept this compromise?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I’m looking forward to making out like teenagers.”
His little huff of laughter makes me grin, and I press my mouth to his.