Down and Out(92)

Clamping my eyes shut, I draw in a deep breath, then let it go. “Were you a virgin?”
She shakes her head against me. “No. He didn’t take that from me, too.”
I thought that would make me feel a little better, but it doesn’t. It still feels like I got kneed in the balls.
After another few seconds, she says, “You don’t see me differently now? You don’t think I’m . . . gross?”
Scowling into her hair, I say, “You’re not gross.”
I want to say I don’t see her differently, but it’s not true. I do see her differently, because tonight shed some much needed light on how Savannah became Savannah. There are so many things that make sense now.
Her distrust of men and how she doesn’t think they’re capable of sticking around. Her warped self-image as nothing more than a slut. . .
No wonder she didn’t believe me when I said I wanted more than sex. Every other guy she’s been with only wanted an easy lay. It’s almost like she seeks these kinds of *s out. Whether it’s conscious or not, I don’t know, but it’s kind of like a self-fulfilling prophecy.
That piece of shit drilled it into her head that she was a whore for what he did to her, and now casual sex is all she’s comfortable with because it’s all she knows. She’s scared of anything real and meaningful, and I think it’s because deep down, she doesn’t think she deserves it.
Well, it’s f*cking bullshit. All of it. She’s not damaged goods. She may be cracked, and those fissures may run deeper than I realized, but she’s not broken.
And really, who doesn’t have a few cracks in them? It’s what you do with them that matters. 
Sighing, I say, “I see what we did differently. If I’d known then, I wouldn’t have done it that way.” Pulling back, I wipe her face one last time. Her eyes are starting to get puffy from all her crying, and she looks exhausted. I lean in and kiss her head. “Are you ready to go to bed?”
She nods and moves her hands away from my hips, but I catch them in mine, knotting our fingers together. “Sleep with me tonight?”
Surprise flits across her face, but I lead her back to my room before she actually has a chance to say anything.
I turn off the lights as we walk in, using the light from the bathroom as a guide. Yanking the covers back, I help her climb in, then slide in behind her and pull them over us.
I lie on my back and hold out my arm. She looks at my invitation skeptically at first, then slowly inches her way over to me until she’s resting her head on my chest. There’s still a good half foot of space between our bodies, and that just won’t do. I’m greedy. I want all of her. So I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her flush against me. She’s awkward and stiff beside me for a second before she melts into my side.
My fingers dip under the hem of her shirt, grazing the side of her hip as my nose skims her hair. There’s still a trace of her shampoo, but the majority of her scent is mine. I never thought I could be so turned on by someone who smells like Axe body wash, but here we are.
Savannah idly traces patterns on my chest. “This is nice,” she says, tilting her head back to look up at me.
“I know. I’ve been trying to tell you.”
Her brows furrow as she looks away. “I was scared. Of this. Of us. Of you.”
“But you’re not anymore?”
A wry grin tilts the side of her mouth. “No, I’m still scared shitless.” She shrugs and says, “I was scared of letting you in. Now that you are, I’m terrified of losing you.”
The hand that’s not wrapped around her lifts her chin, until her eyes are on mine again. “You know I’m not going anywhere, right? Neither are you. I don’t want to hear anything ever again about you moving out. You’re not going anywhere. I’ll block the door and play keep-away with your keys if I have to.”
“That was a dick move tonight, by the way.” She rolls her eyes and playfully punches me in the stomach. It’s still hard enough that the air in my lungs gushes out of me in an oompf.
You know what else is hard? Trying to replenish the air in my lungs while laughing. It’s damn near impossible.
When I can finally breathe, I roll onto my side and face her, propping myself up on my elbow like she is. “I wasn’t trying to be a dick, I was just trying to get you to talk to me for five seconds. I missed you. I was ready to call a truce. Shit, I would’ve gotten down on my hands and knees and begged you if that’s what it took, but then you said—”
Then you said your underwear was for someone else when I jokingly asked if it was for me.
My fingers play with the ends of her hair as I remember her saying that. She only said it to hurt me, and it did. It was f*cking brutal.
At the memory, my chest aches. My heart was like Humpty Dumpty tonight, getting broken and put back together repeatedly.
It’s still missing some pieces, though. Probably always will be.
“I’m sorry I said I’m not your Kitten anymore. I love that nickname. I missed that nickname, and when I heard it tonight. . .” She shrugs, her mouth turning down in remorse. “It hurt.”
She loves it? I didn’t know that. Is there a step between “tolerate” and “like”? Because that’s how I thought she felt about it.
Her eyes flicker before she looks down. “I said some really shitty things tonight and I didn’t mean them.” She places her palm over my heart, making the damn thing speed up. Gray eyes meet mine as she says, “I do want this, I just don’t know how to take care of it. . .”