Page 84 of The Hangman's Rope

Satisfied she was all good, I held her close, giving in to every silent plea and demand for kisses and touches; gladly.

I made love to her slow and sweet in the bed – which was honestly a first. We hadn’t made it to the bed the last couple of times, which was honestly alright by me, too.

I loved that my Sweetpea was a princess in the streets and a succubus in the sheets. One of the most amazing attributes that she had was her resilience – of which I felt that I was the only witness to it. I liked that. Sort of coveted it. I felt special to be the one to witness it.

She flowed around and over every obstacle in her path, soothing, gentle, resplendent like a waterfall. Water was a powerful element. It held patience, time, and transformation, and could blow things out of its path, or wear them down out of existence with its patience and time.

As she cuddled close to me in the candle lit dark, the storm raging outside, her body soft and warm against mine – I curled my arms around her protectively and felt so incredibly at ease. I’d never felt that with a woman in my bed before. Never felt so perfectly in synch and like we just meshed.

I carefully cultivated my calm, and I’d never had anyone compliment the level of quiet and peace that I strived for quite like Lorelai did.

It was awesome and a marvel and I never wanted to let go.

“What are you thinking?” she asked quietly after the latest clap of thunder shook the house and rolled off into the distance.

“That I love you,” I said honestly. “That I’ve never had anyone quite like you in my life, and I worry that I might somehow fuck it up, or be too much or whatever.”

She chuckled lightly at that and traced a soothing pattern on my chest with light fingertips that made me chuckle and pull back from the tickle of it.

“I thought I was the one who was supposed to be insecure,” she said wryly.

“Why?” I asked her, genuinely curious.

What followed was a surprisingly deep and frank conversation about trauma, the world we lived in, and how the justice system didn’t always work – especially where women were concerned.

I found that we exceedingly similar views on things, and it was both eye-opening and some real food for thought.

I hazarded a guess, and went out on a limb and asked her, “If it comes down to it, would you want to face him?” I asked softly.

“What, like in court?” she asked with a dubious laugh.

“Not what I’m asking, and I think you know it,” I said, tone slightly chiding.

She was silent, for a long time, and I could practically hear the gears in her head turning. Whirring and clicking away – and I was both glad she was really thinking it through and suddenly nervous all at the same time.

Had I misread her? Had I opened myself up?

“Yes,” she said finally. “I want him to suffer the way he made me suffer. I want him to feel helpless, and hurt, and have every last bit of his bodily autonomy stripped away and I want to watch and most of all, I want him to know that he was suffering precisely because of what he did to me. I want him to feel the weight of consequence –realconsequence, upon his head and I want him to die for what he did. I want him to die knowing that he couldneverharm another person the way he harmed me and I honestly don’t think I would lose any sleep at night. Quite the opposite, actually… I think I would sleepbetterfor knowing he wasn’t out there doing this to anyone else.”

God,that was fucking hot.

I held her a little tighter and kissed her forehead, comforting her as I knew that deep down, even though that is what she wanted on some deep and fundamental level – it was anathema to who she was to want these things so ardently.

I brought it up, and she gave a bitter laugh, a caustic thing that ate a little at my psyche just to hear it.

“I’m getting used to the cognitive dissonance,” she said dryly. “I seem to be experiencing it quite a bit lately.”

We talked about that, the discomfort over knowing two things that were seemingly total opposites of one another, and how they could exist in the same time and place.

By the end of the conversation, I felt as though I knew her better and also, without her meaning to, I felt that she understoodmeon a deeper level than even some of my brothers.

“Sleep,” I ordered her gently when she’d yawned practically three times back-to-back. “Let all of this go and let me carry it for you for a while.”

She looked up at me, and her smile was sweet.

“I don’t want or need you to carry this for me,” she said. “I’m just still adjusting to this new normal, that’s all… I’ll handle it with more grace eventually.”

“Baby, no judgment here,” I said. “None at all. You already handle everything that’s come your way with a certain amount of grace that’s unfathomable to most people. You’re doing amazing, even if you don’t feel like you are.”

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