Chapter 21 #3
She giggles, hiding her face again. I want to pull her hands away so I can see it, because in all my time on earth, nothing has felt quite so triumphant as being the reason for her laughter.
“I think that’s hot,” she murmurs.
“You do?” I ask, just as another rumble of thunder rocks the roof, startling me.
Willow remains calm, head tilted as she studies my reaction. “You really do hate storms.”
“It’s the noise, mostly. I don’t like abrupt, menacing sounds. The lack of control and feeling of chaos, I think.” I close my eyes, breathing deep. “You’ve been a phenomenal distraction. Thank you.”
“Happy to be of service.” She turns on her side, nuzzling her face into her palm against my pillow. “Why don’t you change and then come lie down beside me?”
I nod, darting into the closet and throwing on a fresh pair of underwear before crawling into bed next to her. She lifts up, and I assume it’s a cue for me to extend my arm over her pillow. Sure enough, she curls into me, placing her head against my chest.
Willow’s body fits into mine perfectly, like it was made to be right here. I don’t question myself as I run my fingers through her hair, or circle my thumb over the soft skin of the thigh she has slung over my hips. Nothing about it feels forced. Only warm—safe.
“I like holding you,” I whisper. “It’s easy.”
“I know you struggle with touch,” she whispers back. “How does touching me right now feel?”
I sigh, staring at the ceiling. “Touch often feels like a manipulation tactic to me. I spent so much of my childhood studying my father’s body language, trying to gauge when he was going to scream or leave or throw a punch.
No touch of his was ever soft or tender.
There was no care or warmth or compassion.
It was always a threat, a force. A way to ensure we conformed to his demands.
” Memories flood my mind, racking me to my core.
I swallow, pushing them down, and continue, “My mother’s touch was supposed to be soothing.
I know she intended to hold me with love, but every hug she gave me felt like an apology.
A futile attempt to shield me from the pain she knew he was causing and could never quite save us from.
When she slept beside me at night, it wasn’t for my comfort, but for hers.
It was an excuse to stay away from him. But when he came hunting for her, I got caught in the crossfire.
” Emotion pricks at my eyes, and my throat grows heavy.
“She’d scream, ‘Not in front of him! Don’t let Weston see this!
’ knowing he didn’t care what I witnessed.
So . . . when my mother held me at night, even though I know she loved me, that was manipulation too. ”
Willow doesn’t respond immediately, and apprehension swirls in my bones that I’ve gone too far.
Shared too much. Shown her my ugliest of truths, unaware that it would be farther than she was willing to walk with me.
A rattled breath echoes over my bare chest, and I peer down at her, gripping her chin and tilting it in my direction.
Tears shimmer in her eyes, one spilling over her cheek and cascading down her beautiful face.
“I’m sorry,” she says, lip trembling. “I don’t want to invalidate your experience by reacting this way. I know I have no reason to cry. I know I can’t even begin to understand—”
“It’s okay, Willow.” I smile, wiping her tears. “Not many people make me feel safe enough to share like that—let alone care enough to cry for me. No one has ever made me feel like you do.”
“How do I make you feel?” she asks.
“Like the word manipulation ceases to exist.” I cup her face, dragging my thumb over her bottom lip to quell its shaking.
“You’re so pure. The kindest person I’ve ever met.
When you touch me, I don’t feel like I owe you something in return or need to be anticipating your intentions.
I only feel your empathy. Your warmth. Like all I have to do is simply be beside you, and I’ll be providing you everything you give to me.
” I bring her to me, kissing away the tears that dot her cheeks.
“I think I’m explaining myself poorly, but my point is that you make it feel effortless.
You make me understand why human beings are better in pairs than they are alone. ”
She brackets my jaw with her hand, brushing her lips over mine. “You make me feel that way too.”
Willow kisses me, and it’s different from earlier. Unhurried and tender. A soft exploration of one another. I could drown in it—this sensation. Willow’s eyes and sounds and presence.
She pulls away slightly, but her mouth remains on mine as she asks, “Can I ask you something?”
“Always.”
She plants her lips on my nose before settling back down against my chest. “Is your past the reason you’ve had such a hard time experiencing desire?”
I kiss the top of her head, running my fingers through her hair again.
As if now that I’ve begun touching her, that I’ve given myself the permission, I’ll never be able to stop.
“I don’t think so. I think my past is the reason I have trouble trusting people.
I think it’s why even casual embraces can be distressing, but I don’t think it has as much to do with the connection I make between emotion and intimacy.
At least, not according to one of my therapists.
” I laugh. “I became quite hyperfixated on it during my time in county. I’d always assumed the reason I never crushed on girls at school, never had an urge to watch porn, and felt absolutely nothing after my first kiss was because of what I went through as a kid, but when I was locked up, I met other inmates who’d gone through far more horrific things than I had, and they didn’t feel the way I did.
In fact, it seemed that a lot of people from abusive backgrounds lean toward casual intimacy, not away from it.
“I asked my counselor at the time about my feelings, and she said it was probably just who I am. Something written in my DNA. That sexuality is a wide spectrum, and some people can’t experience physical desire without an emotional connection first. If I’d never known anyone well enough to nurture an emotional relationship, I couldn’t desire them physically, either.
” I shrug, glancing down at her. “Does that make sense?”
“Absolutely.” She nods, smiling. “Like you said, sexuality is a spectrum. I’ve grown up around lesbian cousins and bisexual uncles and Zander, who prefers not to use labels but would most align with pansexuality.
I come from a . . . ‘Whatever Fits Your Fancy’ kind of family?
” Willow laughs. “I guess I just want to understand where it started for you . . . with me.”
“It’s like . . .” I sigh, twirling her silky hair between my fingers.
“I know how beautiful you are, Willow. You’re striking, honestly, but beauty doesn’t make me feel anything.
Knowing you . . . that made me feel everything.
” I drop my chin as she lifts her head. Our gazes clash, her eyes boring through me with relentless anticipation, as if my words could make or break her soul.
“It’s like looking into a shadowed piece of stained glass.
I know what I’m seeing is art. I know what I’m looking at is beautiful, but it’s not until it’s held up to the sun that the true colors become visible.
Your kindness—compassion and intelligence and wild spirit—that is the sunlight. ”
All the kaleidoscope shades of blue in her ocean eyes burst, flaring as her puffy lips part in astonishment. “Weston . . .”
“Shh.” I hush her, covering her mouth with mine, swallowing the soft gasp that leaves it.
Her palm lands on my neck, holding my body as she stakes claim to my soul. I’m entirely breathless as she pulls away, emotion shimmering in her eyes, like she’s ravished and sated and contented. She smiles at me, nuzzling against my chest.
I press my lips to the top of her head, clearing my throat. “Speaking of labels . . . I don’t like them either. I’ve been labeled enough, and now I just want to be me, and I want to be with you.”
“Okay,” she whispers, rolling onto her elbow and dipping her head to kiss me again. “You be you, and you be with me.”
I brush a fallen strand of hair from her face as she gazes down at me. “Will you sleep here tonight?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” She swats my chest playfully before settling back against my side.
We don’t fall asleep immediately. Instead, we talk late into the night about my childhood and hers.
My memories are shrouded in shades of gray, while hers burst with color.
She tells me about her favorite movies, and the places she’s traveled.
I share what it was like to enter the foster care system, and the way Carter and Penelope saved my life.
The storm rolls on beyond the walls, but I hardly hear it anymore.
It’s drowned out by her voice and her laugh, and when Willow becomes quiet, the rain outside is nothing more than a background to her breathing.
The night nothing more than a blank canvas for her light to shine upon.
Because when she falls asleep next to me, I have no fear of the darkness and no dread for the storm.
When Willow sleeps beside me, I know only peace.