Being Me(Inside Out 02)(74)

I cling to him, holding on for what feels like dear life. “I
should have told you.”
“You would have.” He pulls back to look at me. “When you
were ready. We all have to deal with our inner demons in our
own way, in our own time.”
My fingers trail over the stubble on his jaw, and I understand
too well what he’s telling me. He hasn’t told me everything,
either, and I can’t bear the idea that there is still something else, some dark secret that could potentially tear us apart when I’m not sure we’ll survive what is already before us.
“Your car’s ready at the back door, sir.” Chris and I turn to
the uniformed guard who has appeared beside us. “The press has
been cleared.”

Chris shakes the man’s hand and it’s clear this isn’t their first
meeting. “Thanks, Max. You’re a good man.”
We exit to a parking lot and slide into the car. I settle under
Chris’s arm, seeking the warmth of his body, the protection
I’ve sworn I don’t need, too many times to count. But I need it
tonight. I need it and him, in ways I’ve never needed another
human being. It’s both comforting and terrifying to realize that
the very thing I’ve feared would happen has happened. I don’t
know who I am without Chris anymore. I don’t know where he
begins and where I end. He says he’s mine. He says I’m his, but
no matter what Chris says, he isn’t really mine at all. He’s still a prisoner of his own inner demons and now, I worry, of mine, too.
We don’t speak on the short drive back to the hotel, both of us
lost in thought. The cold reality of what has just happened seeps
into my mind and crawls through my body. Despite it being
eighty degrees outside, I shiver, and Chris runs his hand up my
arm. I turn into him, settling my ear on his chest, listening to
his heartbeat, trying to lose myself in the steady rhythm. But my
thoughts find a way inside the rhythm. My father finds a way
inside my head. I should be beyond his reach, incapable of feeling anything where he is concerned, but I am not. My mother is
dead. My father couldn’t care less if I’m dead. Michael is the son my father wanted and he would justify anything Michael did as necessary, even forcing himself on me.
By the time we are walking through the hotel lobby, I am
one big ball of explosive emotion. I am clawing my way out of
my own head but there seems to be no escape, and this damnable,
pinching pain in my chest won’t go away.

We step inside the elevator and Chris wraps me in his embrace, settling my hips against his, his hand at my back. I run
my fingers through his blond hair, searching his face, and I find
exactly what I fear. He is worried about me, about us, concerned that my past, my weakness with Michael, means I’m too
fragile to be a part of his life. It wasn’t hate I’d worried about from Chris. The hate was mine. I own it. I’ve lived it. No. What I feared from Chris was this: pity. Him looking at me like I’m a wounded animal. I push away from him and try to step out of
his reach. His fingers snag mine and he pulls me back. I see the
question in his face and I plan to answer it, just not here.
The elevator doors open and I rush forward, seeking privacy
before I explode. The instant we are in the room, I whirl on
him. “Don’t look at me like I’m some helpless pup that has to
be coddled, Chris. That’s not what I need now. I need what you
needed today. I need an escape. I need to know …” So much.
Too much. “I need …” I have no more words. I just need.
Stretching behind me, I unzip my dress and shove it down
my body, leaving myself in my thigh-highs and heels, and the
dangling rubies. I’m desperate to push Chris over the edge, to
make him take me the way he always does—passionately, completely.
Chris pulls me hard against his body, and he is hard where
I am soft, strong where I am still weak. Yes. This is what I need.
“Fuck me, Chris. Take me to that place you go and don’t be
gentle.”
He runs his hand down my hair. “Not tonight, Sara. Not
after you just told me that bastard forced himself on you.”
“It was two years ago, Chris.”

“Which you had to relive tonight.”
“Don’t do this. Don’t treat me like I’m breakable, or Michael
wins.”
“I’m not treating you like you’re breakable.”
“You are, and if you do it now, you always will. It’ll change us.”