Chapter 26 - Cat
Cat
“Maria,” I gasp as I reach for her, my fingers curling around her wrist again.
She freezes on the spot, almost as if she is waiting for something. Instead of turning back to face me, she squares her shoulders and her whole body goes rigid. The sight makes me feel sick to my stomach, and I want nothing more than to pull her into my arms. How did this happen?
“Maria, por favor, talk to me.”
I know I’m begging. I can hear it, but I don’t care. Not when it comes to her. I just need to understand why she is so upset. Galas are a tedious way to spend your evenings. Surely, she knows this.
“Amor, please…”
My voice gets higher and higher. Even though her back is turned to me, I can see her flinch, and my body goes as rigid as hers.
It feels like the temperature has just dropped ten degrees, and I’m standing with my back against the wall.
She’s crying, right in front of my eyes, and I can’t do anything to console her because I am the reason. Think, Katherina. Fix this!
“It isn’t about the gala, is it?” I whisper, and her shoulders start to shake. “Maria, talk to me. I can’t fix this if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”
The small sob that leaves her is so fragile that the sound feels like a sharp knife plunging into my chest. Her shoulders slump in defeat, and she finally turns toward me.
I go completely still when I see her tear-stained face and searching eyes, as if I am glued to the ground.
She jerks a little as if she wants to pull away from me before she crashes into me and buries her face in my shoulder.
My hands instantly come around her. One against the small of her back and the other cradling her head.
I feel her warm tears against my neck, and her body is shaking from how hard she is sobbing.
She is gripping my shirt so hard that the fabric creaks and strains against my chest, but I couldn’t care less.
Even if she’d rips it all to shreds, as long as it means she holds on to me like this, choosing to stay with me, it will be more than worth it.
Her sobs slowly turn into hiccups, and her grasp loosens slightly before she leans back a little. Her skin is so pale that it’s nearly see-through, her eyes are red-rimmed, and her lip is still trembling, but she is here.
“Hey,” I whisper, dipping my head slightly to meet her gaze.
“Hi,” she answers in a voice so raspy it hurts to even hear.
I pull her against me again and kiss the top of her head, breathing in the fresh, clean smell of her hair. Something she calls Marseille soap.
“You are shaking,” she murmurs, and I am surprised to find that I am.
“So are you,” I retort, but there is no humor in it. “What just happened?”
“I… I…” she starts and stops, her muscles clenching under my fingertips.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you. You are safe here.”
“Do you?”
The words fly out of her so fast that she gasps in horror before they can even land with me. Her eyes widen and she bites the inside of her cheek as her eyes flash over my face. I can only shake my head in confusion.
“Do I what?”
“Have me?” Her voice is small and tight, like a mouse’s squeak, but her eyes keep searching my face.
It takes a beat before the meaning of the question dawns on me, and this time I am the one who flinches. The short spasm of my body makes me jerk backward and gasp for air. I nearly lose my balance while I try to make sense of what she is asking.
“Maria,” it comes out more breath than voice, and her whole face crumbles.
I reach for her, wanting nothing more than to take her face in my hands, but I am no longer sure if that’s what she wants, too. My hand hovers in midair, and my chest tightens.
“Why?” I whisper, almost unable to keep myself standing.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the gala?” she asks again.
Confusion floods my system and I can only blink at her.
“?Cómo? ?Por qué sigues preguntándome sobre—”
“In English, please.”
She lowers her eyes, and I feel myself get cold. So very cold.
“It… it…” I stammer as I try to find the words, my mind racing but my voice unable to catch up. “The gala is a… a work thing. A charity event. They are tedious, and—”
“And you don’t want to bring me.”
She says it as if it is a final conclusion. Her hands fall to her sides like dead weight.
“Maria, I didn’t realize this meant so much to you. If I had known, I would’ve asked.”
Her eyes dart up to me, still wet from her tears but sharp as a hawk’s. Her lips are pressed together now, and her nostrils flare. Her eyes rake over me, and I’ve never felt this bare, this vulnerable.
“Would you?”
“Yes.” I don’t waver.
“I…” She squeezes her eyes closed and sucks in a breath with a sharp hiss. “I thought you wanted to—”
She stops herself and opens her eyes to look at me. I can only wait while she decides whether she’ll be open with me or lie and tell me it doesn’t matter.
“…hide me.”
I can barely hear the words, but the flash of hurt on her face tells me everything I need to know.
“Hide you,” I repeat, appalled by the words alone. “I would never—”
My voice turns sharp, and I snap my jaw shut before I can say anything that would damage us. My stomach clenches so violently that I have to suppress the urge to hurl. A clammy sheen forms on my neck and forehead, and my fingers twitch at my sides.
I raise my eyes to meet Mary’s again. She stares at me with something resembling shock. Her eyes are wide, her lips slightly parted, and there is a deep crease on her forehead. It’s as if she only now realizes the implication of her words, or at least the effect they have on me.
“I am not perfect. I never claimed to be,” I grit out. “What I did to you… how I sent you away… it was inexcusable.”
I pause to look at her. Mary is wobbling on her feet, her sunken eyes wide with panic. Even now, she doesn’t…
“I would never weaponize love,” I hiss this time, angrier at myself than at the implications. “Nunca.”
My fist hits the door beside us, and we both flinch at the sound. I retreat instantly, stumbling back two steps, holding my hand to my chest as if I need to keep it back.
“Mary, I—”
Her whole face falls and she shakes her head before darting toward me. She grabs my shoulders and pulls me into her, mirroring the hold I had on her only moments earlier.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Cat. Please forgive me. Please, I’m sorry.”
The stream of apologies floods out of her in a panicked rush, and I am not sure if they are meant to soothe her or to reconnect us. It doesn’t matter. All I want is for her pain to stop.
“Shhh, it’s okay, you’re safe.”
I whisper the words close to her ear, and I can feel her body ripple in response. My lips find her temple, and I press them there, warm and soft.
“I’ve got you,” I repeat, and this time she nods against me, accepting the offering.
By the time we have both calmed down, Mary is exhausted.
Instead of guiding her to the couch, I lead her toward the bathroom, where I slowly undress her.
My fingers are careful, each movement a question that she keeps answering with a yes.
I run the water before I let her step under it, then discard my own clothes so that I can follow her.
She instantly folds into me again, seemingly unable to let me go.
I know she is hurting and ,more than anything else, scared. This is our first miscommunication since we got together. And even though I’ve not had many relationships, I know that this is a defining moment, one in which people can make or break their connection.
The water covers our skin, and we are pressed slickly against each other.
The silky touch of it is oddly soothing.
I run my fingers through her tangled hair and dip forward to kiss her.
Not one meant to devour her, or to reestablish that she is mine.
No, this kiss is meant to sink into my own breaking heart while letting her be the one to hold it.
Mary presses her forehead against mine when we break away, and she runs her thumb over the muscles in my neck.
Only now do I realize how tense they are, popping out like bundles of wire.
I close my eyes and lean into her soft touch.
A tear slips from my eye, followed by another, and another.
I quietly break into pieces in the safety of her arms, and she holds me through every single sob.
“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so, so sorry.”
Her voice shakes even though her hands move steadily over my back now. There is only truth in them. I know psychology. I am aware that her response was rooted in a past that has nothing to do with me, but it still hurts.
“We have been together for a little over four months,” I say as my voice cracks on the words. “That is too short for you to—” My stomach constricts and I flinch. “To trust me like that.”
Her inhale is small but audible, and she instantly leans back. She shakes her head as if she can undo the words that way.
“Cat, I trust you. It’s just that I—”
“That you’ve been hurt before, and you fear I will do the same. ?Qué no?”
She looks at me sheepishly for a moment, but then nods. Her gaze falls to the floor, and her fingers curl inward.
“No,” I whisper, raising her chin with my index finger. “Stay with me, please.”
Both of our eyes brim as we stare at each other, holding on. But she stays.
“Your feelings are your feelings. They are valid. Now it is up to us what we do with them.” I pause for a beat, breathing her in as I cling to her. “What do you want us to do, Mary?”
She blinks rapidly while her chest blooms red.
Her fingers come up to her neck, and she runs her nails down her skin, leaving behind angry stripes.
Her eyes flick from left to right quickly before they stop on me.
Once she sees me, actually sees me, her chest stops rising and falling so quickly, and she can draw in a full breath.
“I don’t… want to feel like this,” she lets out on a breath, as if it is a relief rather than a confession. “I want to feel chosen and trust that I am.”
“You are.”
My nod is firm, solemn.
“You are,” I whisper more softly this time, and I pull her impossibly close.
She melts into me, and for the first time since Carmen left, I feel her body fully relax. When I lean back, her eyes are softer. Even like this, she is perfect.
“Mi tormenta perfecta.” Her eyebrows knit together in confusion, and I smile. “My perfect storm.”
I turn the water off and grab a large towel to wrap her in. As my hands rub over her body, more for the contact than anything else, she observes me quietly. Something in me clicks. This side of her doesn’t scare me.
“Come to the gala with me?”
Mary blinks and leans back, forcing me to still my movements. Her eyes take me in, and I let her. I mean it. I want her there with me. Not because I now suddenly feel like I have to, but because she belongs at my side.
“I’ll have to check my calendar,” she eventually says, but the small smirk that follows makes my stomach flutter.
“Okay,” I let out with a huffed laugh, and her smirk turns soft.
“Okay,” she replies.
She drags her fingers along my jawline and wraps them around the back of my neck. When she kisses me, my body finally unwinds again.