Page 150 of Wild Thing
I looked down at myself, suddenly aware Steven’s filthy hands had been all over my body. I couldn’t stand to be in this tattered and torn dress for one more second.
I started to pull at it, panicking.
“I need to get out of this dress.”
“It’s okay, I’ll run you a shower,” Brax gently helped me to stand. "Come with me."
He guided me into the bathroom. “Go slow.”
Sliding off my torn dress, he tossed it into the bin. I wanted to set it on fire. Burn everything that reminded me of this nightmare.
Brax turned on the shower, and guided me towards the benchseat.
He was shirtless, but still had his suit pants on. Even though I was swaying, possibly in some sort of trauma psychosis, I marveled at how sexy he looked. He had Steven's blood on his hands, and mine splattered on his inked up chest.
He had come for me. Saved me. Nearly killed a man for me.
Gently, he stood me up. “Come under the water.”
Tenderly, he began to wash me. The only sound was the water spray from the shower. Steven’s scent, breath, words, his filthy touch… Brax washed it all away.
“How did you know?” I asked, slurring my words. My speech was still impaired from the alcohol.
“I didn’t. It was by chance," his voice wavered. "I came to let you know that Ally and I… it–it’s over, and I wanted to apologize to you and explain everything."
His fingertips lightly traced up and down my arms.
"But when I got to your room…" he took a deep breath in. "I could hear you. The sound of your voice…"
He shook his head. He struggled to articulate what he heard. "Then I remembered I had your spare room key.”
Water streamed down his face, droplets forming on the end of his lashes.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here," he swallowed the lump in his throat. "I should have been here with you.”
The weight of everything hit me like a fucking sledgehammer. Our affair, the lying, the secrets, the guilt, the sexual assault. Everything.
It was all so fucked up.
Under the warmth of the water, I let myself fall into Brax’s arms. He stroked my soaking wet hair as I silently cried into his chest. It felt less like comfort and more like two people, broken.
I swear he was crying too.
I wasn’t sure who was holding who anymore.
Forty
DYLAN
Present Day
Iknow this session will suck.
But I need to be here because I still hate my fucking guts. And I hate no matter how I hard I try, I can't seem to let go of the belief that I deserved what happened to me.
Imagine thinking you deserve to be sexually assaulted? How fucked up is that?
“How are you feeling?” Dr. Crowe asks gently.
