Worth It (40 page)

I’m not sure I’ll get a better opening than that. My stomach is a ball of nerves, and I find myself strapped into that terrifying roller coaster once again.
Sink or swim, fight or flight, right?
It’s time to take the plunge into the abyss and hope he’ll be there to catch me again.

Taking a deep breath, I unsteadily blow it out. “So, I’ve been thinking…”

His eyebrows draw together, and his face falls. “Everything okay?”

I want to wipe the worry off his face, but I know this will only get worse before it gets better. “Yeah, sort of. I was just thinking about talking to you.”

I watch as the relief, interest, and concern run across his face, and it dawns on me that he’s as much as an open book to me as I am to him.

“Okay,” he prompts encouragingly.

I look into his eyes, and from them, I gain strength to share my past with him.

“So,” I start, “I think I’m ready to talk to you about the stuff I’ve been holding back.”

He gives me an encouraging smile and nods.

Blowing out a breath, I say, “I feel kind of stupid, just coming over and immediately dumping it all out like this—”

“Don’t feel stupid, baby. If you’re ready, then there’s no time like the present, right?”

“I guess so.” I smile slightly. “Okay.” I clear my throat. “So, through most of my teen years, my mom was kind of absent.”

I look over, and he nods. My anxiety is starting to build, and I shift uncomfortably, but I
need
to talk to him.

“I already told you that my biological father didn’t want anything to do with me, and that’s fucked with me for most of my life. With my mom, him, and the normal crazy teenage hormones, I already felt pretty crappy about myself.” I take a deep breath, trying to gather courage and still the nervous shaking running through my body. “So, um…just before I turned fifteen, I met this guy who had just moved into his aunt’s place a few streets down from me. When he started showing me attention, I sort of latched on to it, to him.”

“How old was he?”

“Eighteen.”

I see his jaw clench, and his nostrils flare, but he just nods once, motioning for me to continue.

My palms are sweating. I feel the anxiety is building in my chest, and my nose is stinging with tears. I take a calming breath, so I can finally get this all out. “So, um…it started off with little things. If he got mad or didn’t like something I said, he would hit me or trip me or kick me.”

Anger flashes in Jed’s eyes, so I glance down at my hands.

“I lived for the attention he gave me and the way he made me feel wanted, so I ignored the hitting. I made excuses, but it got worse…” I trail off as my emotions start overwhelming me. I swallow them down and continue, “He told me that I had to prove to him that I loved him…by having sex.” My tears spill over. “I wanted to make him happy because I needed him. I hated it though. It hurt and burned. Whenever I told him that, he would just get mad. He would hold me down and tell me I sucked at it. I was crushed because I tried so hard to be good enough for him, and I felt like I couldn’t even do that right. He called me a whore anytime I made noise even if it was a whimper of pain—”

“Christ, Anna,” he interrupts.

I look to him to see his palm drawing down his face before it stops over his mouth. His eyes are wide with anger and sorrow. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, clutching my fingers to control my trembling.

I stare back down at my writhing hands and push myself to continue. “When I just went with it, it seemed like I made him happier, so that made me happy. But then, something would happen. He would cheat or hurt me worse than usual, so I would try to say something, but then he would get angry. He didn’t usually leave marks that were obvious, and if he had, I would explain it away. One time, he threw a basketball back at me and broke my finger—”

“He broke your finger?” he roars and leaps to his feet with his hands in his hair.

I jump, my wide eyes shooting to him.

“Sorry.” He sits back down, and he reaches over to cup my face. His thumb wipes the tear rolling down my cheek.

I lean into his hand, embracing the comfort it gives me. I love it when he does this. He makes me feel so cherished.

“I’m sorry I interrupted you again, baby, but knowing that happened to you makes me a little crazy.” He leans in and kisses me softly on the lips. Then, he pulls back just a little, so he can look into my eyes. “If you’re ready to continue, I think I can control myself long enough to listen, okay?”

I return his smile with a small weak one of my own, and I take another deep breath. Looking back down at my hand, I carry on with a shaky voice, “He’s the reason I hate my full name. He called me
his
Savannah, so now, that name scares me. We were together for two years. He got kicked out of school not long after he started, but he stayed with his aunt and got a part-time job at the convenience store a couple of blocks away.” I take another deep breath to gather my waning courage. “I don’t really know how to describe it, but I think the longer it went on, the more attached to him I got. I lived for the times when he would show he cared for me, which became less and less frequent. I thought I deserved his punishments for not making him happy. I believed him when he said I was disgusting and a whore.”

I hear Jed suck in a sharp breath, and I glance at him with tear-filled eyes. His grief is etched on his face, and his watery eyes comfort me in a way.

I choke back a sob and say, “Then, he just disappeared. I called his aunt, and she just said he moved. One day, he was there, and the next, he was gone. I was so dependent on him that I was absolutely devastated, crushed, and destroyed. I put everything I had into him, and I wasn’t even good enough for a good-bye.”

I swallow thickly and inhale deeply to steady my breathing. Tears are flowing freely down my face as the agony of the memory threatens to overtake me. “I was so lost and broken that I started…”

I look up at him, and his eyes are so full of anguish and sympathy. I’m not sure I want to say this. It’s embarrassing. Maybe it’s because I did it to myself instead of it being done to me that makes me feel like this is so much worse. It shows a terrible, dark side of me that I’m afraid to show.

He gently takes my hand. “You can tell me. I promise, I’m here for you.”

I suck in a breath and hold it in my pounding chest before I turn my hand over and use a finger from my other hand to lightly touch the faint scars on my wrist. “I started cutting.”

He brings my hand up closer to his face.

“I wasn’t trying to kill myself, but I used to cut my wrists and cover them with bracelets.” I chew nervously on my lip. “The pain helped me forget.”

He clenches and unclenches his jaw, and when he looks up at me, his eyes are rimmed with redness. He slowly brings my wrist up to his lips, and he places a soft kiss on each of my scars. Emotion I’ve never felt bubbles up, and tears stream harder down my face as he tries to kiss away my pain, telling me he accepts me, mental and physical scars and all. I crawl into his lap, throw my arms around him, shove my face in his neck, and cry into him. His arms circle me and hold me tight. The acceptance and relief is overwhelming. It feels so fucking good to get this out in the open and have him catch me. I sob harder and cling to him with everything I have. I cry for the pain, for the turmoil, the agony that I’ve experienced and lived through. He runs his hand up and down my back, comforting me, silently letting me know that he’s got me, that he’s here for me. He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t need to. His touch says more than words could.

These therapeutic tears falling down my face and into his shirt are symbolic. It’s like he’s soaking up my pain, so I don’t have to carry it on my own anymore. I’ve never felt closer to anyone, and the love I feel for him is epic. I lift my face from his shoulders and press my lips to his, telling him everything I can’t put into words.

Thank you. I love you. You’re my rock, and I’m so blessed to have you. I’m so glad that I can trust you with this.

He parts his lips and lets me slip my tongue into his mouth. The passion he kisses me with tells me he’s overcome with gratitude because I’ve trusted him enough to open up to him. He runs his hand slowly down my side, and his touch is blindingly electric with all the emotions running through my body. I reach my hands under the hem of his shirt to feel his smooth hard skin, and he trembles under my touch. He places his hand under my shirt and runs his hands up my back.

Passion ignites in me, and I need to get closer to him, to feel his skin against my own. I guide his shirt up and over his head, and he quickly does the same to mine. I press my chest against him, and I thrust my fingers into his black hair. I devour this wonderful man. He seems just as impassioned and frantic as I am as he unclasps my bra and slides it off me. My nipples pebble as he runs his thumbs over them. I’m breathing erratically, and every kiss, every touch is an inferno blazing across my skin, driving my need to crawl inside him and stay there forever. I reach down and unbutton his pants, and he leans back, breaking our physical connection, to allow me easier access.

“Anna,” he whispers reverently as his stare grazes over my body before returning to my eyes, “God, you’re so perfect.”

I crush my lips to his. He tangles his fingers in my hair and kisses me deep and fierce—like I’m his whole world. He stands up, and I wrap my legs around him as he carries me to the bedroom. He lays me down gently on the bed and crawls over me, his large frame caging me in protectively. His lips trail down my neck and across my collarbone, and he reaches down to unbutton my jeans.

As we frantically peel the remaining clothing off each other’s bodies, I’m caught up in the emotional atmosphere surrounding us like a cocoon of words not yet said. I need the connection I feel in my heart to be mimicked physically. I need him inside me, to make love to me. I need us to move together as one.

He kisses me hard and seems to be telling me that he feels the same as his fingers travel down my body to my wet, ready center. He slides one finger inside me, and my back arches because it feels so damn good. Every inch of my skin is hypersensitive. My breathing is raged, and my body is on fire. I feel every touch, every kiss, every nibble like it’s my first time. Jed is giving me back everything that was taken away from me.

“I need you, Jed,” I whisper.

“I need you, too, baby,” he groans softly against my lips.

He positions his tip against my entrance and stares into my eyes. The intensity he looks at me with goes straight to my heart, encasing it with warmth and love. He slowly glides in, filling me just the way I need. I close my eyes and breathe a moan at the ecstatic sensation.

He stills for a moment and rests his forehead against mine. “Look at me, Anna.”

I slowly lift my lids and watch his intense, burning eyes mirror everything I feel as he begins to move. He thrusts into me gently but deeply as if he wants this connection as badly as I do.

“I love you, Anna,” he breathes.

Tears spring to my eyes. I’m so fucking blissfully happy in this moment, knowing that he loves me like I love him. I know deep down that he really means it. I feel it in his movements, see it in his eyes, and sense it in his touch. I feel like my heart could burst as I reach up and place my hand on either side of his face to pull him closer, looking into his eyes so deep that I can see his soul.

“You love me?” I whisper, already knowing the answer.

“With everything I am.”

He bends his head and connects his lips with mine and kisses me with everything he has, showing me just how much he loves me. His movements go deeper and harder as he puts his weight on me, trying to get as close as possible. He breaks the kiss and buries his face in my hair, and I feel his rapid hot breaths on my skin. I clutch to him and close my eyes, reveling in this indescribable feeling.

“I love you, too, Jed,” I whisper softly. “More than words can say.”

His only response is to clutch me tighter as he moves harder, deeper. I feel the familiar build start, but I try to fight it because I don’t want this feeling to end. I want to live in this moment forever, but there’s no stopping this beautifully perfect sensation from rising inside me. It builds higher and higher as he moves drives into me with long, powerful strokes. I’m rising higher and higher until I can almost touch the sun as I hit that pinnacle, and as I crash back down to Earth in pure bliss so strong that I see stars behind my clenched eyes, I hear him groan my name as he falls over that cliff with me.

I lie awake early the next morning with Anna curled into my side. Her chest rises and falls with the even breaths of sleep. The morning sun catches the contours of her beautiful face, and I can’t turn my eyes away. She’s my own personal miracle. I can’t wrap my head around the enormity of what she’s been through and how she’s still a functioning adult. It says a lot about the type of person she is. She’s a survivor, and that is an amazing quality to have. She’s like Rocky Balboa or Cool Hand Luke. Every time she gets knock down, she gets back up. Sure, there are marks left from the blow. Her puffy red eyes and the brick walls around her heart that I had to tear down piece by piece are a testament to that, but she kept moving forward, kept living. I’m humbled by her. And I love her, every broken piece of her, more than I thought possible.