Blow(79)

My throat was dry. “No, he never touched me, not sexually,” I croaked.

The sigh he made was more than audible. “Then tell me what happened to you. What did I do that triggered this? I need to know.”

With a deep inhale, I forced myself to be honest. Aside from Charlie, I’d never talked about this to anyone. I wanted to tell Logan. I sat up straight and looked at him. I wanted to at least appear strong when I told the sordid details of my past. “My memories start at age six. My father always worked late and my sister and I were usually in bed when he came home. Still, every night he’d lock our door, and the sound of the lock turning would wake me up. And then I’d hear him begging my mother to have sex with him. It didn’t matter if she said no; he wouldn’t take that for an answer. He was a sex addict. He needed it. She was the complete opposite and never wanted to give it. What I remember the most is . . .” I paused.

“Tell me,” he urged.

“Is him telling her that he needed to be inside her.”

Logan cringed and his face paled. “Oh God, Elle, I’m so sorry.”

I shook my head. “You didn’t know. It’s not your fault. You see, I’ve had this rule when it came to sex—no talking. I’ve always made it very clear. But I didn’t tell you. To be honest, I didn’t want to tell you.”

His brows furrowed in confusion. “Why?”

Bracing myself, I pulled back and wiped the twin streams of water from my cheeks. “You were different.”

He hesitated but still asked, “In what way?”

I was barely breathing, I was so nervous. I was always petrified of telling anyone anything about myself. I wouldn’t blame him if he had run. The perversity of my situation wasn’t easy to swallow. But he hadn’t run, not yet. He was still beside me, waiting for what else I had yet to say. It shouldn’t have mattered to me so much that he was, but it did.

What would happen after I confessed my strange reaction to him? I had no idea. But Logan wasn’t mine and if he chose to leave, I wouldn’t blame him. What was coming sounded beyond bizarre, even to me. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

His gaze gently flickered across my face. It was the first time he’d looked at me that way—like he saw me, not the person I reminded him of. It was like he was looking at me, not avoiding her. “No, Elle. No I won’t. Tell me.”

Ironically, I had to avert my own eyes before I could say it. When I was looking anywhere but into his eyes, I finally spoke. “Since the very first time I had sex, I thought I was like my mother.”

“What do you mean?”

I shrugged. “Asexual isn’t really the right word, but it’s close. Not really into sex. I had sex but I felt very little, nothing really. For years I was relieved, because at least I knew I wasn’t a sex addict like my father. One day I met a guy and he became my boyfriend. We were compatible in so many ways, especially in the way that sex was secondary. It wasn’t what drove our relationship. Our friendship did. But then we broke up and I fluttered again from man to man.”

Logan bristled slightly and I lifted my gaze. He was staring at me. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “Why did you break up?” he asked.

I wasn’t ready to share that part of me—the most broken part—so I shook my head. “Things just didn’t work out,” was all I said. I wanted to finish this, to tell him what I was feeling for him, but he had to understand me first. “After Charlie was out of my life, I started searching for what it was about sex that could turn someone into the monster my father was. My sister was afraid of my father and even though she always warned me to be quiet on those nights I’d woken up, there were times I couldn’t stand to hear my mother cry or to hear my father’s demanding voice. And during those times, I’d scream and scream and scream until my father marched in the room and whipped me with his belt. I didn’t care, though, because after he was done with me, he’d also leave my mother alone.”

Logan drew in a breath before he pulled me to him. I wanted to shrug him off, but not as much as I wanted to feel the safety in his arms. He kissed my forehead. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”

Baby?

No one had ever called me by that term of endearment. The strength I had gathered was starting to weaken and I jumped out of his hold and to my feet. “I want to finish.”

Although he paled, he nodded in understanding.

I walked to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. I could feel his eyes on me the entire time, but I never looked back. Busying myself in the kitchen, I was allowing my strength to build. Once the coffee was done and I’d poured us each a cup, I felt much stronger. Turning back toward him, I could see that his eyes were filled with sympathy and something else.

I didn’t want that.

He took the cup I offered him and then I sat down next to him, with my own cup in hand. My hands were shaking, but I ignored it and took a sip of my coffee.

Clearing my throat, I finally continued. “Up until I moved here three months ago, that was who I was. A single woman who didn’t really care that much about sex but was searching for answers, so I pursued it from time to time.”

Logan tried to remain undaunted, but I could see the muscle in his jaw clench.

I set my cup down. “I’m only telling you this so that you can understand me.”