Page 75 of Loved Out Loud
“Having a quiet conversation in a steamy bathroom is probably okay.” And I don’t really give a fuck, to be honest.
“I don’t know, I’d hate to upset the Blue Sunday Acolytes. From what I’ve seen online, I’m pretty unpopular as it is.”
“What do you mean?”
“Since we’ve been photographed together several times now, the comment sections on posts are getting speculative.”
I knew it would happen, I just hoped it would take a little longer for the rumors to begin.
“Does that bother you?” My hands wrap around her belly. I love how she never flinches when I grab her stomach. I wasn’t bullshitting her when I said she was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever been with. I’d steal all her clothes if I could, just watch her live life nude.
“No, not really. To be honest there’s nothing anyone could say about me that I haven’t thought worse of myself.” She raises her toes out of the water and rests her foot on the lip of the tub. “Who knew crippling self-loathing would turn out to be a super power?”
A fracture opens in my heart at the sarcastic words she speaks so easily. I wish I could infuse her with the truth of whoshe is and how I see her. Instead I hold her closer and whisper in her ear.
“You’re immensely talented, painfully beautiful, and so smart it makes me feel like a plebeian. Let me know any time you need a reminder.”
“A plebeian wouldn’t use that term to describe themselves. But as a logophile myself, I thoroughly enjoyed the use of it.”
“I find myself falling more into the melomaniac camp but can definitely appreciate a logophile.” I run my hands up her body with the intention to cup her tits and play with those pretty rose-colored nipples but stop when I feel the scars hidden beneath them. “Can I ask you what these are from?”
She stiffens, and I know she’s about to deflect with humor. “Would you believe they’re scars from a boob job?”
I know what fake tits feel like. “No.”
She sighs heavily, covering my hands with her own. “After I attempted suicide the first time, I started cutting myself. I spent a really long time holding all the pain and confusion of my father’s actions inside myself. It was like I was terrified to be open about it or something. Like if I shared my emotions, it would make them more real and I’d have to confront them.”
I remain silent while she opens up more to me than she has so far.
“I got really good at behaving like a duck in water. Calm on top but underneath my thoughts were racing while I struggled to keep afloat. I saw how devastated my mom and grandparents were about my attempt, so when the feelings got to be too much, I’d cut myself to release them.
“Standing in front of the mirror and watching the blade against my skin provided such great relief. I used to watch the blood run down my stomach and remember that I was alive. That probably doesn’t make sense. It just always felt so good.I’ve never done drugs, but I can imagine the high of the release from cutting feels similar to the first hit you take.”
“I get it.” As much as I can get it anyway. I’ve never hurt myself purposefully, but there’s nothing like the first hit of whatever your drug of choice is. “Do you still do it?”
“Not recently. It’s been nearly a year, but the urge never goes away. Occasionally something will happen or my depression will hit a real low, and I’ll remember how it feels like I’m back in control when I cut. I usually reach out to my therapist instead of giving in.”
“Do you have any scars in other places?” I haven’t noticed any, but anytime she’s naked, I’m hyper focused on getting her off.
“No. I would just cut in these two places because they’re hidden. I never wanted anyone to know.”
“Does anyone else know?”
“No. Just my therapist and now you.”
“Not Greg?” I hate bringing him while we’re naked together, but curiosity has the best of me.
She chuckles bitterly. “No. He never actually questioned my refusal to get naked. Which, to be fair, I always thought was interesting. Not a single question or any push back on it.”
“Can we make a deal?” I ask, kissing her shoulder.
“Sure,” she answers slowly.
“Let’s promise to always be open with each other. If we’re struggling or there’s something heavy going on, we tell each other.”
“Okay.” She tilts her head, offering her rosebud lips. “Deal.”
“I have a confession.” I release her as she sits up and turns to face me. “There was a bottle of champagne in the fridge with the strawberries, and for the first time in a long time, I felt the slightest bit of temptation. Which is crazy because I’m not evena wine or champagne guy, I’m more whiskey and vodka. But seeing it there, just triggered something, you know?”
