Page 183 of Bitter Poetry
My next breath turns ragged. I sink against Dante, sucking in more deep breaths, fighting the crushing weight that is somehow less oppressive for feeling his heartbeat under my cheek.
That other person was never gentle when I dissociated.
That other person used it as an opportunity to take cruelly.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I whisper, reaching back for Christian, getting what I need when his hand takes mine. He leans in closer, pressing his chest to my back. The tears come. I hate that Ettore took something that should have been playful, natural, and pleasurable from me.
“You don’t have to,” Dante says. “But I just triggered you, and I don’t want to do that again.”
His acknowledgement makes it inexplicably better and worse. I tighten my fingers over Christian’s and try to convey without words that I need them to be closer still.
They oblige, holding me like I’m precious. But I’m broken, and my confused mind believes they should push me away.
“I guess blowjobs are off the table,” Christian says. “I never liked them anyway.”
I huff a laugh through my tears.
Dante’s chest stutters under my cheek as he chuckles, too.
“I don’t believe you,” I say.
“I don’t believe him either,” Dante agrees. “But putting Christian’s poor attempt at humor aside, when you’re ready, and if it will help, we should talk about it.”
My racing heart steadies, and a form of grief settles over me.
I’m leaving today.
Easing back, I scrub the tears from my cheeks.
My resolve for what I must do tightens.
I might not get a chance to explain myself again.
“I don’t understand why it triggered me... I mean, I know, but also, I don’t. It’s not like being encouraged bothers me. I like it when you—” I shrug helplessly. This feels like a deep-end kind of conversation, and my cheeks are getting warm.
“You like being dominated,” Dante supplies. “You like it when I’m rough.”
I nod. “That. Yes… But when it comes to…” God, why can’t I say the damn word? Why is this so hard?
“You don’t have to do this now and today,” Dante says. “But with hindsight, we should have had a conversation sooner. I can’t help but worry it was too much, with both of us, us forcing you to climax. It’s a lot for anyone, but especially someone with your experiences.”
I put my hand on his chest as I squeeze Christian’s hand. “I don’t believe talking before would have helped. My reaction took me by surprise as much as you.” I swallow. “But now, when I think about how I felt when you pushed… what you wanted me to do.”
“It’s alright, baby.”
“No, I want to tell you. I think you need to know, you deserve to.” I can do this. I can get it out. It’s better out. This particular wound has been festering too long… since the start.
“It was before we were married. He took me for a meal and ordered food and a drink, neither of which I even liked. The conversation was awkward, and he spent half the time on his phone. I was out of my depth and floundering, so I didn’t mind much about the phone. Then, when we got home, he got a call that seemed to please him. He took me to his study…. Papa’s study, where he gave me a gift.” A bitter laugh bubbles up. “A new bracelet because he said it wasn’t appropriate for me to wear the one you gave me anymore. It was big and heavy, and it looked ridiculous on my wrist. I hated it because it was to replace the one you gave me. And after he said I should thank him, and he… h-he pushed me to my knees…”
Christian mutters a low angry curse.
“That’s not even the worst part.” I’m tearing up inside. Speaking makes me feel like I’m there again—the sensation of shame, of not being in control, the confusion—his foultaste. “The worst part is that this happened five days before our wedding, and the next morning, Christian told me what happened to you.” My breathing turns choppy, and I push thelast words out. “That’s why he was so happy. While he was doing that to me, his men were hurting you. W-what kind of monster would?—”
My emotions overcome me. No more words will come out.
“Hush,” Dante says. “It’s alright. It’s over now.”
“I’m so sorry.”
