That doesn’t sound like you, I wanted to tell him. Javier’s determination usually knew no bounds. Strangely enough he was an eternal optimist in such a negative business, always believing he would get his way in the end.
Then again, I didn’t feel like myself either. I don’t know who I felt like. Everything was different. Our location, our team, our relationship. Even the face that looked back at me in the mirror wasn’t of Luisa Bernal. She was no queen. She was a scarred, broken woman.
“Talk to me,” Javier said imploringly.
I slowly met his gaze. “I don’t know what to say.”
He studied me for a moment. “Did Esteban ever say anything to you about his plans, about safe houses, about where he might go in an emergency?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
“Think!” He smacked his hand against his thigh.
I balked, gripping the stem of the wine glass. “You seriously think I want to remember? Do you want me to pull up the memories of what happened there? I’m trying to block it out, Javier! Don’t you know what he did to me?”
“Of course I know what he did to you,” he said sharply. “You won’t even let me touch you. I’m your fucking husband.”
“You’re also a fucking liar and a cheat!” I yelled, overwhelmed by the anger blanketing me. I got to my feet, the wine splashing around the glass.
Javier got to his feet too, eyes blazed, nostrils flaring. “You were the one fucking him to begin with!”
“Only because you did it first, only because you pushed me away. You treated me like garbage. I thought our marriage was over and he was the only one who showed any interest in me. And yeah, I regret it a million times over and over and over because I was an idiot who slept with the devil and invited him in to fuck up her life, our life. I was so, so, so stupid and this all happened because of me. But I can’t forget …” I sucked in my breath, trying to calm down. This was the first outburst I’d had since being in the clinic.
He reached out and put his hand behind my neck, holding me. “I am sorry.”
I looked away but he squeezed me harder. “I am sorry,” he repeated. “I’m not going to make excuses because I was just looking for excuses to hurt you, hurt myself and I don’t know why. But it happened and there is nothing I can do about it.”
I stared at him with sadness. “You’ll do it again.”
“No,” he said adamantly, shaking his head. “I will not.”
“You will. Because when you touch me, I remember them. I can’t be with you like that … and I know there’s only so much you can take. You’ll go elsewhere. It will happen again and I’ll have no choice but to watch.”
“You will not remember them,” he said, pulling me to him, wine spilling everywhere. “I will make you forget.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” I protested.
He kissed me anyway. I froze but his lips were persistent, drawing out a deep, hard kiss. His tongue was wet, warm, feverish against mine, desperate to unleash something in me. I wanted to give in right there, I wanted to succumb to the lust, to the love, to his wildness. He moaned into me which only shot vibrations right into my core, making me swell with need and want.
I had to have my husband back.
He threw the wine glass to the sand while I barely held onto mine. He put one hand on my head, where if I had long hair he would have made a fist, his other hand to my waist, pulling me close to him. He pressed me into him, his dick hard and straining against me, while he slid his fingers down over my ass, taking a hefty squeeze that normally would have sent me into overdrive.
But I couldn’t do it.
“No,” I mumbled against him, pushing him away.
“No?” he repeated, breathing hard, trying to come closer again but I shoved him off as much as I could with my arm.
“I can’t do it,” I cried out softly. “I can’t do it, I’m sorry.” It hadn’t been his hand on my ass, it had been Esteban’s and it hadn’t been his cock vying for me, it had been one of my rapists. That vile look, the sour breath, the humiliation, the pain. I closed my eyes and opened them again, hoping Javier’s face would set me right.
The man was hurt. Angry. Frustrated. He stared at me so intently I thought he might be able to see all the ugliness inside, the traces they left behind. Maybe he did see that, because he stepped back and turned away from me, running his hands through his hair, breathing out hard through his nose.
“I’m sorry,” I called out softly. “When you touch me, it’s not you.”
He stopped a few feet away, his hands balling at his sides. He leaned his head back, seeming to ask the fading sky of something. Finally he turned around to face me.
“Don’t you think I need this too?” he asked, voice breaking. “That I need to do this? This isn’t about fucking you Luisa. This is about erasing him.”
There was a bitter taste in my mouth. As hard of a time I was having with this, Javier was too. He was a possessive man through and through and he needed to own me both body and soul.