When I pull out, she has tears on her face and is gasping for breath.
“I’m going to ask you this exactly once. Is there something you should tell me?”
She shakes her head no.
“Fine. Turn around. Face in the bed, ass high.”
She turns, gets into the position I require of her. When I press down on her lower back, she arches it, and I can see all of her now. My hands move to cup her ass, spread her wider. She’s shaved everything.
“I like you like this. Did he like it too? My father? Did you show him too?”
“What? No!”
I hold her in place when she tries to move, slap her ass.
“Did you get on all fours for him?”
She pulls away. I let her this time. She turns to me.
“No. Why would you say that? No. God. No.”
I point to the space before me. “Get back up. Now.”
“No. What is wrong with you?”
“I said up, damnit.”
She tries to scramble backward, but I grab her ankle and tug her to me so that she’s flat on the bed.
“Leave me alone!”
“You’re mine. Not his. You’re going to remember that after tonight. Get. Up.” I flip her over, slap her ass again, and drag her hips to me.
“Stop it! You’re hurting me.”
“I thought you liked that.”
She kicks her leg back, just missing my balls. I grab her and haul her up so she’s kneeling up on the bed. “That was a mistake.”
“Did you hurt her?” she blurts out.
I stop.
“Is it true? Did you?” I let her go.
It’s like a slap in the face. I feel her words like a physical assault, and it takes me some time to process. I shake my head. These words, they impact me more than I care to admit. More than I thought I could be impacted.
“You ask me if it’s fucking true?”
She’s watching me, crying a little. I get on the bed, grip her hair, and tug her head backward.
“How can you ask me that?” I’m calm. My heartbeat is level in the face of this betrayal.
She looks up at me, and I see so much sadness in her eyes, confusion and trust that’s been broken again and again and again. And I can’t blame her.
“I never hurt her. Not like he said. Not like they printed. I wouldn’t, not her, not anyone. I thought you’d know that about me.” I shouldn’t care what she thinks. Why do I? I should just put her back on her hands and knees and fuck her. That’s all she should be to me.
But instead, I release her and get off the bed. I don’t feel like a fuck anymore. I find my pants and pull them on and walk to the bedroom door.
“I shouldn’t want you,” she says, stopping me when I reach it.
“Don’t worry. I’ll make it easy for you.” I put my hand on the door handle.
“You’re not good.”
“I don’t think you’re looking for good.” I step back into the room. “I think you’re self-destructing. I think you’ve been hanging on by the thinnest thread for so long, you can’t even see straight anymore. You can’t see good or bad, and you’re so fucking scared to let go of that illusion of control you think you have that it leaves you empty and alone. Let me tell you something. You have none. You have zero control. You need to stop running and face the past. Face yourself and move the fuck on.”
“Move on? You think I haven’t tried? You think I don’t make myself look in the mirror every single day? Make myself count every single line on my back every single fucking day? I was raped!” She chokes on that word. “I was raped by five men. Five men my brother arranged to rape me while he watched. While he took fucking photos. I’m not sure there’s anything sicker than that, and you think I should move the fuck on?”
Her face crumples as she says it, and I wonder if that last seam isn’t coming apart now. That final thread finally ripping.
“Do you have any idea how hard—how fucking impossible—it is for me to get up out of bed every morning? Do you think you know what it’s like to be betrayed like I was?” She’s talking through sobs. “And yet you want me to trust you, but it’s not like you tell me anything, is it? Not like you tell me anything when I ask. You just tell me I have to trust you. How can I?”
“I didn’t rape Angelica. I didn’t impregnate her then abandon her. My father did that. And when she reached out to me for help, I wasn’t there because he made sure I never heard her cry.” I stalk to her, take her by the arms, and shake her hard. “You asked me if I wanted to save you because I couldn’t save her and I don’t know. Maybe I do. I don’t fucking know. But you fucking sit here and tell me you still don’t trust me. Let me ask you this. How many times do I have to save you for you to learn? For you to see that you can trust me? How many times do I have to come after you for you to see that I’m not going to let you go? That I won’t let you drown? How. Many. Times.”