18. Need You to Hold Me
18
Need You to Hold Me
Chelsea
Things are looking brighter.
If I have a one-word mantra for this year, it’s gratitude.
After everything that happened over winter break, it’s the key thing I want to focus on. Gratitude for where I am, how far I’ve come, for Trevor and my friends, that Hyla’s doing better. Thank God, she’s doing better and getting healthier by the day.
She’s living with Liz now and getting the help she needs. I swear, the other night on the phone, I heard her genuine laugh for the first time. I didn’t realize how good she was at putting on that happy mask until she finally stripped it off. For two people who aren’t biologically related, she and Trevor sure have a lot in common.
He’s also starting therapy this week, and I hope it’ll be good for him. I want him to be the best version of himself. He deserves that. And he deserves to let go of the weight of the world that he’s constantly trying to shoulder. He deserves peace.
Which I’ve been surprised to find has settled over me despite all the craziness over break.
Bridget and Lex haven’t reached out—not that I’m expecting them to—and I’m okay with that. Having the courage to finally speak my truth came with an overwhelming sense of freedom. I don’t have to cling to those relationships because of what we once had. I can still love my memories with them, while acknowledging they might not be an active part of my future. That’s okay. I’ll always care for them and silently cheer them on from a distance.
I glance across the room at Rae and make my way over to her. We’re hosting the Promise support group meeting on campus tonight.
“Good turnout,” she whispers.
“It is,” I agree. “I love it, and I hate it.”
“I know. I hate that so many women have endured anything like this, but I love that they feel safe enough to come here.”
“Agreed.”
It’s a complicated feeling, but one I embrace. It sucks that we’ve all been through it, but it’s what we do now that matters, and supporting each other as we heal is big.
Rae kicks off the meeting and we both introduce ourselves. As usual, we don’t force anyone to talk. We simply open the floor to anyone who wants to tell their story or discuss something.
A few people who are new give a little information about themselves, meanwhile I make it a point to look around the room at who isn’t talking. Who’s the most withdrawn or looks in need of the most help. Many of the women I recognize—it’s one of the things I love, the community of support we’re building— but a few I don’t. Then one girl catches my eye. She’s got her hood pulled up and isn’t making eye contact with anyone. I make a mental note to check in with her later.
One of the women who has been coming to the Promise support groups since at least the first one I attended back in September holds up her hand when there’s a lull. Rae nods to her to go ahead.
“I wanted to talk and maybe ask advice about… having sex again. I haven’t since… and I don’t know. I guess I’m wondering what anyone else’s experiences have been, if they’d be willing to share.”
The tiniest bit of pink splashes across my cheeks and I force a breath, trying to keep my breathing even. I don’t want it to be obvious how intently I’m listening. Hoping for an answer. Because it’s been on my mind too. I want to have sex with Trevor. I’ve known that for weeks now. But I chicken out every time I try to bring it up because thoughts of that night infiltrate my mind, and I don’t want any of that mixed in with Trevor.
Rae starts by sharing her story, how she took it in stages and it helped for her that it was someone she trusted, but she also acknowledged that she wasn’t raped, so it’s very different.
One girl speaks up saying she forced herself to have sex within a few weeks. She cried and even threw up after the first few times, but she did it because it was her way of taking control back.
Another says she still isn’t ready, but that’s partially because in healing, she learned a lot about herself and has discovered she’s demisexual—which in the loosest terms means she needs to establish a strong emotional connection before sexual attraction forms.
A third woman, who Rae says has been going to the support group at Promise for almost two years now and also volunteers as a peer counselor, talks next.
“I tried a lot of things. Meaningful sex. Meaningless sex. It wasn’t until I got together with my now-fiancé that I started enjoying sex again. He made it really safe for me. That’s going to be key with anyone. You have to feel completely safe. After that, it’ll really depend on you. Go slow. Try different things.” She huffs out a breath. “What I’m about to say won’t work for everyone, but it worked—still works—for me. My fiancé taking charge and being dominant helped me a lot. It took my mind off things. We don’t do the Dom/sub thing, but there can be kinks within the BDSM realm that may be healing for some. I’m actually doing my thesis on some of this stuff right now. Sex and sexuality are not one size fits all. The absolute best advice I can give is to focus on reconnecting with your body and figuring out your desires first, and then exploring them. You can do that through research, with a partner, reading romance books… however it feels right to you. The more you understand your own needs, the easier you can find what you enjoy.”
Wow. That was a lot. And also very useful.
Rae thanks her and someone else starts talking, but I’m replaying what she said. About her fiancé being dominant and it taking her mind off things. That might be exactly what I need. Trevor talking dirty to me always helps get me out of my head. Maybe the more immersive sex is, the easier it’ll be for me.
I need to talk to Trevor about it. My stomach both lightens and knots at the thought. At least I’ve already done some of the work of reconnecting with my body, and I know without a doubt I’m completely safe with Trevor and can explore this with him.
The topic of conversation shifts and we continue on until everyone who wants to talk has a chance, then we disband and people can grab refreshments—cookies and brownies that Rae and I had a blast making before this—talk amongst themselves, or head out.
As I’m walking toward the refreshments table, I spot the girl in the hoodie, and surprisingly, she makes eye contact with me and aims for me.
“Hi,” she says quickly. She doesn’t look as withdrawn as she did earlier, and her expression is calm.
“Hi, I’m Chelsea. Did you want to talk? Can I help you with something?”
“I’m Maura, and I hope so. I was nervous coming here tonight, but not for the reason you’re probably thinking. I haven’t been through anything like this. That’s why I probably looked uncomfortable earlier. I felt like a fraud. But I wanted to check this out because I think… I don’t know for sure, but I think one of my friends may have been sexually assaulted or raped. I don’t know the right words. I don’t even know for sure, but… I want to help her.”
Melt my freaking heart.
That is real friendship.
And it hits me so hard I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying.
“First, I just want to say your friend is really lucky to have you. I know because I would’ve killed to have a friend like that when I was struggling. Second, is there something specific that makes you concerned?”
“She went to a party with a few friends from one of her classes. I usually go with her even though parties aren’t really my scene, but I had a paper due the next day that I’d slacked on. When it hit midnight and I hadn’t heard from her or seen her, I started texting her, but she didn’t respond and I stupidly forgot to ask where the party was. She didn’t get home until almost five in the morning, and when she walked through the door, she looked broken. When I asked if she was okay, she laid down next to me and cried. Then she refused to say anything about it. She’s trying to pretend she’s okay, but I can tell she isn’t. Should I just ask her?”
“You might need to. But let me grab Rae. She kept it all to herself for much longer than I did, so it might be more helpful to get her thoughts.”
Maura nods.
I get Rae’s attention and after talking with Maura for a bit, we both agree she should create a safe space for her friend and gently ask her without being pushy. Maura leaves looking relieved and I let out a heavy breath.
“I wish I’d had a friend like that.”
Rae gives me a soft smile and squeezes my hand. “You do now. It’s not the same, but if you’re ever struggling with anything, all it’ll take is a text and we’ll all be there for you.”
I squeeze her hand back. “Back at you.”
My life hasn’t gone like I planned it would, but gratitude.
I’m unbelievably grateful for how far I’ve come and the direction my life is headed in now.
Trevor
Life never stops moving.
It feels both like mere days ago and another lifetime ago since Chelsea swayed into my life like a russet-haired goddess and stole my heart in one glance.
It feels like hours since I saw Hyla lying on that bathroom floor, but also like somehow months have passed. Especially when I talk to her. Her healing is evident in everything from her voice, to the weight she’s slowly gaining back, to the brightness that has returned to her eyes.
And now I’m on the track to healing more too.
I shouldn’t have let my mental health slip for so long. But the protective coping mechanisms I used started seeming too real, even to me.
My first meeting with my therapist earlier today proved that. Aaron recommended checking into the college counseling center as they usually have availability sooner than some private practices around here. There was a new therapist who just started this month. She’s around my mom’s age, and from her profile was neutral, kind, and not too pushy. At first I thought I’d want a male therapist, but the more I thought about it, the more I knew getting any kind of dad energy from one would mess with me more.
I made the right choice. My therapist—Colleen—was great at letting me talk but also helping to suss out my problem areas. In case it was unclear that I try to handle all my burdens alone and haven’t dealt with some of my past trauma. She also reframed my dad’s loss and pointed out that even though I went to therapy shortly after he died, that only helped me work through what losing my dad meant back then, not what losing him means to me now as a grown man. A mostly grown man. I still feel like a child some days, and I’m starting to think no one ever completely stops feeling that way. Which is why she encouraged me to tell my mom how I’ve held back, and make it a point to ask for her support. I’m still hesitant to do that—tell her how I’ve held back—because I don’t want her to think she did anything to cause that. But I will try harder to move past that protector mode and ask for more support from her.
I’m not expecting it to be easy, but I don’t think therapy is supposed to be easy or everyone would be doing it.
Although, a good chunk of my friends are doing it and I didn’t realize it. Apparently, therapy is good for you or something. Who knew?
It was a good session, and it left me feeling a little lighter, which I think means I’m heading in the right direction.
For the moment, I’m in the exact right place. The feeling of weight slipping away continues the second I set foot on the baseball field. The ground is frozen, and it’s cold as shit, but there’s no snow, so here we are, having our first practice outside. There’s nowhere I’d rather be.
A guy I don’t recognize but who also looks strangely familiar sets a few bags of gear near home plate as Aaron, Joel, Miles, and first baseman, Ricky, wander over.
“Who’s that?” I ask Aaron, but Ricky is the one who answers.
“He’s our ball bitch.”
I throw my hand out. “Ball bitch? Really? You’re going to use that term?”
“Don’t mind him. He considers it a fun little inside joke between us. Don’t you, Dick?”
Ricky rolls his eyes, but the guy ignores him and looks at me.
“You must be the new volunteer coach. I’m Kyle Mielewczyk.” He sticks out his hand.
I shake it as I say, “Ah, Coach M’s son.”
His brows pinch together. “My second favorite name after ‘ball bitch.’”
“Sorry. Trevor Matteny, but if you prefer to call me an asshole, that’s fine, too.”
He laughs and waves a hand. “You’re fine. Certainly nowhere near the biggest asshole on the team!” he calls over his shoulder at Ricky.
I walk with him toward the dugout as Ricky grumbles in the background.
“Things okay there? I can make him run extra laps for being a pain in the ass if you want—I’m sure your dad would too, but I wouldn’t make it look like favoritism. I learned from my high school coach that if you act like an asshole, you’ll pay for it.”
Kyle laughs but shakes his head. “No. It’s harmless. We have some classes together. He’s a pain in the ass but we’re friends ish.”
“Got it.”
We grab a couple of bags from the dugout.
“So, what’s your story? How’d you end up coaching?”
“Bounced my snowboard off a few trees and ended my chance at pro ball, but I’m becoming more okay with that. I’m remembering how much I love the sport even when I’m not playing. What about you?”
“I grew up loving the game without a shred of talent for it. I have horrible hand-eye coordination thanks to my mom, and by middle school I gave it up. But I like being a part of the game and spending time with my dad.”
“But you don’t help coach?”
He snorts. “I do a bit of everything. Whatever Dad wants me to help with. Since I understand the mechanics of the game, I’m good at sussing out problems, and Dad knows if I help out with that now, he’ll hear less of it from the booth during games.”
I perk up at that. “The booth?”
“Yeah. I’m the commentator for all home games.”
“That’s awesome. I had a chance to do a bit of that—”
“Ah at the game against the Metros.”
“You know about that?”
“I was invited, but I was doing a semester abroad. I’m jealous I missed that, though I saw plenty of videos.” He tilts his head and takes me in. “I’ve considered having a co-commentator before, but no one met my high standards of loving this game as much as I do. If you’re interested, we could try it out.”
“Fuck yeah, man. I’d love that.”
“Cool. I’ll grab your number from Dad and get you some details. Just so you know, one requirement is calling out dumb shit the players do, even our own team. You going to be okay with doing that to your friends?”
All I can do is laugh. “Trust me. I’ll be fine. Hey, by the way, don’t mention this to them. I’d rather let them be surprised.”
He nods in understanding. “You’re a shit-stirrer. Got it. We’re going to get along fine.”
He heads back toward the dugout as I aim for Coach M and Aaron, even more excited about the upcoming season than I was before.
I blow my whistle as the younger group of players fails yet again to nail a double play they had more than enough time to complete.
“Sanderson, Thorn, Sterling,” I call out the first, second, and third basemen.
They trot over.
“Sorry, Coach,” Thorn says immediately.
“I don’t want apologies. I don’t care about that. What I care about is fixing problems. You three need to spend extra time working on agility. You have the power in your throws and the chemistry as a unit, but your agility is holding you back. Sterling, you have to be faster getting the ball in your glove and then over to Thorn. Thorn, you need quicker turnaround time. Sanderson, you have to work on stretching and balance so you can extend farther off the base. Your throws have great precision, now you need to fine-tune the time it takes you to get through the play. Baseball games can be won and lost in nuance like that. I’m going to add on some agility work for you during practice, but I want you working on it outside of that too. If you work on it together, you’ll end up even more in sync.”
They look at each other and nod.
“Thanks, Coach,” Sterling says.
“I’ll send emails with ideas for drills to run. Now get back out there.”
They all run back to the field, and Aaron blows his whistle this time, setting them up to run another play.
Coach M comes to my side. “If I could afford to pay you, I would. That was a good call.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
He smacks my shoulder. “Don’t ever doubt that you have what it takes to be a part of this game in some way for however long you want. You have a good eye and an understanding of the game that a lot of people would kill for. Remember that.”
I give him a nod, but he doesn’t let me respond before he blows his whistle and yells for the team to bring it in.
I’m cold as fuck and I can’t feel my nose or my toes, but today has been even better than I was hoping it would be.
I’m still in a great mood when I get to Chelsea’s apartment and go inside. I have a key now, because my girl likes it when I’m here waiting for her after a long day.
I love it too.
“Hey, baby,” I call as I walk down the hall.
“How was your first day of practice?”
“It went great. I’m looking forward to the rest of the season. How are you?”
I smile as I walk into the bedroom and take her in. She’s in leggings and a baggy sweater, and just setting her book on the bedside table.
Her eyes lift to mine, a bit of trouble dancing in them.
“I want to have sex.”
My bag hits the floor with a thud, and I blink a few times.
“Right now?”
A slight laugh slips out. “Kind of?”
Walking over to the bed, I sit down next to her. “Talk to me.”
“Okay, so, first of all, you should know I’ve been thinking about this for weeks, but chickening out every time I was going to talk to you about it. But at the Promise meeting on Tuesday night, a girl asked about having sex again and one of the answers she got was really helpful.”
“What did she say?”
“Well, she mentioned making sure we’re safe, which… obviously. I’m always safe with you.”
My heart bursts at that, and I smile like an idiot. I love that it’s second nature to her now. No wondering if she’s safe with me.
“And I’ve been reconnecting with my body,” she continues. “I feel confident in that. Then she mentioned something that worked for her… her partner being dominant. Whenever we talk dirty, it always relaxes me and keeps me in the moment, and I’m thinking if you take full control, maybe I’ll be so focused on you that I won’t think about anything else. If you’re open to that.”
I rub my jaw. I’m not against it. Dominant is my natural predisposition when it comes to sex. “I’m open to it. But I haven’t been particularly dominant with you so far.”
“I know. But I guess I see it as different. Like those things were my first sexual experiences, so taking control of them helped. But this is the way I was violated, and I’m worried that if I have to think about being in control, I’ll get too lost in my own thoughts. I’d rather get lost in you.”
I lean in and kiss her neck. “Good answer. Like I said, I’m open to trying.”
She pulls back, dragging her teeth over her bottom lip. “Tonight? Wait.”
“If you’re changing your mind that quickly…”
She smacks my chest. “No. But there’s something else we haven’t talked about. Birth control.”
“Ah. Right.”
“So, I haven’t been on the pill or anything in years because unfortunately, I always had bad luck with them. They made me sick or messed with my moods. My doctor said some people don’t handle hormonal birth control well. I’m one of the unlucky ones. Which means we’ll need to rely on condoms. I mean, there’s like spermicidal lube and stuff like that—”
I cut her off with a kiss. “Condoms are fine. I can grab some—”
She throws open her bedside table drawer and pulls out a box. “I got some. They’re supposed to feel really… natural.”
Her cheeks tint pink in the most adorable way.
“You’re very prepared.”
She sighs. “I want to do this with you.”
“I want to do this with you too. But I don’t want it to feel forced or mechanical. That’ll have you in your head more.”
She tilts her head slightly, a wicked smile growing on those plush lips. “You better get me out of my head, then.”
There’s my girl. My wild, playful girl.
I stand up and hold out my hand. “Shower with me?”
“Yes, please.”
I lead her into the bathroom, pausing to kiss her just inside the door. Then we take turns removing our clothes, watching each other. My fingers skim up her arms and she drags a finger down my chest.
Our shower is sensual as always. I wash and condition her hair, but then we take it a step further and wash each other’s bodies, avoiding the most sensitive bits. I’m sporting a semi that morphs into a hard-on as I watch her towel off.
Anticipation coils in the air around us, and then we’re kissing again, frantic this time. We ditch our towels and kiss our way down the hallway, hands roaming.
Every touch of her fingers to my skin is like a kiss of fire. A little burst of electricity.
Once we make it to the edge of the bed, I pull back, holding her face in my hands.
“You still want to do this?”
“Yes.”
No hesitance, even if I see a flash of it in her eyes. But this is her call to make, so I follow her lead as she climbs onto the bed. I join her and then grab the box of condoms and some lube.
She reaches out and gives my cock a few hard strokes, making my brain misfire. All I can do is groan. And try not to come. If we do this, I want it to be phenomenal for her. She deserves that much. For it to wash away at least some of the uncomfortable feelings still burning deep inside her.
I slide the condom on and add a bit of lube, then turn to Chelsea, splayed out, auburn waves framing her flushed cheeks.
“Spread those legs for me, baby.”
She does, and I nestle between her thighs, then lean down to kiss her.
“How are you doing?”
“Okay,” she whispers.
Not the strongest vote of confidence, so I slip my hand between her legs and drag two fingers up her center, pausing to swirl them over her clit.
“Better,” she breathes. “More of that.”
I play with her pussy and her clit until she’s nearly riding my hand, then pull back and line myself up at her center.
“What—what should I say if I want you to stop? Like do we need a safe word?”
I bring my face right over hers, brushing a whisper of a kiss to her lips. “If you want to stop, you say ‘stop’ or ‘no.’ I want you to know those words have meaning. If you say them, I’ll listen and do whatever you ask.”
Another bit of her uncertainty washes away, and I take that as a good sign.
Trying to keep her from getting lost in her head, I run my lips over her neck, kissing and sucking, while I tease her nipples with my fingers. When she relaxes even more, I move closer, then slide my hands down to her thighs, gripping them firmly as I move closer. Even through the condom, I can feel the heat of her.
My tip grazes her entrance, and I—
“Stop.”
Chelsea’s voice is almost painful, and I instantly pull back. Assessing her face and finding her ghost white, I leap off the bed and rip the condom off, then fumble to get my boxers on.
“It’s okay. We won’t do anything else tonight. At all. Until you’re ready.”
I grab her sleep shirt and hand it to her. She takes it, but doesn’t make a move to put it on.
Fuck.
“I can go if you want.”
That’s the only thing that makes her move.
“No.” She throws her arm out to me. “Don’t leave.”
I pull my sweats and a tee from my bag and put them on, then look at her, still lying there naked, holding the shirt.
In her drawer, I find a pair of soft, little boxer short things, and cautiously, I walk over to the bed and climb on beside her. When she doesn’t move, I slowly lift one leg and slip the underwear over her foot, then do the same with the other before pulling them up, being mindful to keep my hands only on her outer thighs and hips. Then I pull the shirt over her head and help her put her arms in.
Not sure what else to do, I lie down beside her, keeping space between us, but gently resting my arm over her waist.
For a moment, she doesn’t move, but then her body shudders with a sob.
My heart fucking shatters, and I’m about to get in my car, drive to Syracuse and hunt down every fucker with blond hair and hazel eyes until I find who did it.
But then she rolls over, throws her arm around my waist, and buries her face in my chest, and I know my only place is right here, holding her.
“Why is this still breaking me? I knew it was you. I knew I was safe. But all I saw was him. I was right back in that moment, barely aware of my surroundings, trying to scream and fight him off.”
She sobs into my chest, and it takes real work to keep my rage contained.
Focus on her. What she needs.
“I don’t think it’s breaking you,” I whisper. “I think this is the first time you’ve come anywhere near this line, and you made it really far without those thoughts creeping in. That shows how much you’ve healed. Tonight wasn’t the right time, or the right way—or both. That’s okay. There’s no rush.”
“But I want to be with you like this. I want to be with you. You make me feel safe and loved—incredible. I want to have that experience with you. Now I’m afraid he took that from me too.”
“No,” I growl. “He didn’t take shit from us. We will get there, whether it’s next week or next year. And whenever we do, it’ll be that beautiful connection. But even without taking it any further, we worship each other’s bodies and connect in a deep, intense way. When you feel ready, we’ll refocus on that. If you feel ready to try this again, then we will. There’s no timeline, just us. And we’re pretty fucking spectacular together. So we’re going to be fine. Own every single thing you’re feeling. Feel it all. Process it how you need to. But don’t worry . Especially not about us. Because we’re going to be okay. We’ll be amazing.”
“I love you,” she sniffs, not lifting her head.
I press a kiss to her head. “Love you too. Are you sure you’re comfortable with me staying tonight?”
“Yes,” she answers instantly. “I need you here. When your arms are around me, I’m safe. I need you to hold me and let me feel that all night.”
“I’m all yours,” I whisper, holding her tighter.
If this little bit of safety is all I can give her, I’ll hold her forever if she wants.