Page 78 of Save Me

He grabs onto my ass and I close the gap between our mouths again, wanting everything he can give me. As if reading my thoughts, he leans forward before deftly flipping us onto the bed so I’m underneath him.

“Harder, Jax,” I moan, his name like a prayer on my lips. “Fuck me harder.”

As if undone by my words he pulls back, until just the tip is left inside of me, and I arch my hips up into him, wanting more.

“So impatient, love,” he murmurs before thrusting forcefully back inside of me.

I moan, and his name drips off my lips like honey, and I’m met with a growl of approval.

He keeps up this pace, and I start to unravel, wrapping my legs around him and clawing at his back, trying to grasp onto any part of him that I can.

My back arches off the bed and I find myself lost in my own wave of pleasure, my eyes close on instinct, but Jax’s voice brings me back to him.

“Open your eyes, love. I want to watch you when I come inside of you.”

His words only heighten the pleasure I’m feeling, and my eyes meet his, the anger that was there earlier now replacedby nothing but desire. His lips crash into mine again as his movements become more desperate, pumping faster and faster into me as he finds his own release.

He collapses on top of me, planting tender kisses on my forehead before rolling to the side, our breathing in sync as we slowly come down from the euphoria that threatened to sweep us away.

CHAPTER 32

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Itake adeep breath as tears roll down my face, the grief and guilt flowing out of my body despite my best efforts to keep everything contained.

It’s my sixth therapy session and each one has been getting progressively more intense, our conversations diving right into the depths of my trauma and trying to untangle the way it has impacted me, reprocessing it, and coming to terms with how I have been affected.

“Where is the guilt sitting within you, Evi?” Angela asks.

“Right here.” I place my hand over the center of my chest. “It feels—it feels like everything could come crashing down on me, as if I am suffocating because of it.”

“And what does the guilt say to you?”

I let out another sob as I try to wipe the tears from my face. “It says I should have fought harder, it says I should have tried to get out of there, to get away from him, and it says that Jax will eventually come to his senses and hate me for it all.”

“I want to take a moment to recognize that there is no right or wrong way to act in a situation like this, that your body stops being in your control when it feels as though your life is in danger. Our brain switches into survival mode, and when that happens we can find ourselves in fight, flight, freeze, or fawn—all strategies meant to protect us, to protect our life, when we’re in danger. So, there is nothing, and I mean nothing, you could have done differently when you’re in this state.”

I nod as I reach for another tissue, blowing my nose and trying to compose myself.

“You said you think Jax ‘will hate you for it all.’ Can you elaborate on that?” she says kindly as she pushes her blue glasses higher on her nose, her eyes giving me a sympathetic look.

I can’t meet her gaze for long, not when I’m about to speak something out loud for the first time, so I stare at the sailboat painting I hate so much instead. “I pretended it was him. Not the first time, but the other time, I pretended it was Jax on top of me instead of…him.” I refuse to say Tanner’s name, never speaking it during the session. “It feels disgusting and wrong to have done that, to have taken someone who cares so much about me and pretended it was them when…” I trail off, pausing myself as I take deep breaths, keeping myself in the present moment.

“What role do you think this thought process had in keeping you safe?” she asks, and I think for a moment.

“I think,” I start before pausing for a second. “I think I wanted it to hurt less. I think I wanted to feel less guilty for freezing or fawning or whatever you called it, for doing what he told me to the second time. And I think that by pretending it was Jax, someone I care about, it took my mind elsewhere, somewhere safer, somewhere maybe I wanted to be, even if what was happening to my body was none of that.”

She nods and gives me a reassuring smile, so I keep talking. “But it didn’t work, no matter how much I tried to picture him, I couldn’t take away from where I was, from what was happening. But then, my body started… I don’t know—” I cover my face with my hands. “Irespondedto him touching me, even though I hated every second of it, hated every touch, every thrust, everything he said to me, but I…” I can’t say the words, can’t let them leave my lips as I continue to cry, confusion and guilt sweeping me away.

“I want to make it very clear, Evi, that there’s a difference between pleasure—desire—and a physiological response to stimuli. Your body reacted, not because you wanted to be there or you were enjoying yourself, but because that is what it is designed to do; what happens when friction and nerves meet. Let’s take a moment to ground ourselves and then we’ll work on releasing that guilt that you’re feeling.”

We do what she suggests, working for the better part of thirty minutes to talk through—breathe through—everything I’m feeling and thinking. As we near the end of the session, I’m starting to feel a lot better, like an invisible weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

“What does it mean then, if I want Jax like… that?”

“I don’t know if I’m following,” Angela responds.

“Like, okay, this is mortifying.” I feel myself blushing. “This is way too much information, but our sex life was good, like reallyreallygood, before all of this. And now it’s… it’s not really happening the same way. He’s very understanding and has been letting me take my time to work my shit out, so we’ve been doing a lot of other things, and all of it is so hot. It’s just that the sex is… it’s more gentle than usual… passionate, and great, but not as… carefree as it used to be.” I try not to stumble over my words as I keep explaining. “I’m enjoying myself, truly, but I can’t help but feel like I want it how it used to be, which was usually… less restrained. A bitrougher. Is that fucked up? That’s fucked up, isn’t it? To want it like that after—” I gesture vaguely. “To want it like that after being treated like that… god, it feels like a part of me is so broken saying this out loud.”

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