Hold On

“Fuck you!”


The two words rent the air. They weren’t a crack. They weren’t a slice.

They were a slash.

They went through me.

I felt them.

I just wanted them to go through him.

Leave him bleeding.

Leave him.

Destroy him.

Get him out of me for good.

I had to go.

Fuck.

I had nothing on up top.

I didn’t care.

I turned and ran.

I didn’t make it out the door. I was caught with an arm at my waist.

I started fighting again.

I was shifted to the side, pressed front against a wall, nearly immobilized, only able to kick back.

But I wasn’t hitting anything.

“Calm down.” The growl came at my ear. “Talk to me. What the fuck’s the matter with you?”

“No more. No more of that shit. Hold me down so you can’t see me. Fuck me. Think of her.”

“Have you lost your goddamned mind?”

“You think I don’t know?”

“You don’t know.”

“I know.”

“Jesus, Cher. If you knew, you wouldn’t say this shit. You wouldn’t even think it. It’s you, for fuck’s sake. Been you since the beginning. Never her. Christ, woman, I’m in love with you. Mia does not factor.”

I stilled.

Mia?

“You gonna calm down?”

I stared at the wall.

Merry’s wall.

Merry’s wall in Merry’s bedroom in his crappy condo.

I’m in love with you.

The words should have given me something else.

Instead, they opened me up for it to come.

And it came.

Oh yeah, it came.

The pain.

The pain of shame.

Fast. So fucking fast. No way to hold it back. It tore through me in a way I couldn’t hold it back. Not anymore. I couldn’t bury it. I couldn’t stop it overwhelming me.

My legs buckled under the weight of it and I slid down the wall.

I didn’t hit the floor.

I heard, “Jesus, baby,” and I was up.

I curled into him, and when we were down and my ass was in his lap, I burrowed into him.

Through this they fell.

The tears.

Uncontrolled.

Choking me.

Drowning me.

They felt strange. Hot. Ticklish. Shameful.

Hateful.

“I’m right here, Cherie,” he murmured, one arm holding me tight, the other hand stroking my hair. “Not goin’ anywhere. I’m right here. Talk to me. Where’d that shit come from? What’s goin’ on, honey?”

I tried to suck in breath.

Through the sobs, I barely got any in.

I burrowed closer like he could give me oxygen.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Just hold on and get it out.”

I did as told.

I held on and let it go.

He held on too. He stroked me.

And he absorbed it.

This went on for what felt like years before I started to quiet.

He said nothing. He didn’t push. He didn’t ask.

He just kept holding me, stroking me, and letting me let go.

Just like Merry.

Perfect.

“I should have known,” I whispered into his skin.

“Shoulda known what, brown eyes?” Merry whispered back.

“He did me on my stomach. Hands and knees. Only those. He never let me look at him. I thought it was his kink, but I should have known that wasn’t kink. It was sick. I didn’t know that if he let me look at him, he would have seen me. Me. And he wouldn’t have been fucking Feb.”

I wheezed as Merry quit stroking and both his arms tightened so hard, I couldn’t breathe.

Just as quickly as he did it, his arms loosened.

But not by much.

“I triggered a memory,” he muttered.

He did.

“Yeah,” I whispered.

“Fuck.”

I pushed even closer. “Not your fault.”

He was silent a second before he urged gently, “Give it to me.”

I took my moment of silence before I said softly, “In the beginning, before I learned, learned what he didn’t like, he held me down and would say it. ‘Stay down.’”

“Fuck,” he repeated.

“Not your fault, Merry.”

“We’ll avoid me fuckin’ you on your belly in the future. And definitely those words.”

I closed my eyes tight. “No.”