Page 18 of Be Your Forever
“Baby, you don’t have to keep going. We can stop here.” I trace patterns on her arms, hoping to give her some comfort.
“No, I need to get this out. We were at a stop light singing at the top of our lungs and laughing our asses off. The minute the light turns green, I step on the gas. Within a matter of seconds, my car is struck on the passenger side. I guess a drunk driver blew through a red light and slammed into Max.
“Cut to us in the hospital. Max is unconscious in the operating room, and I have a minor concussion and some scrapes and scratches. I barely had anything wrong with me, while Max was fighting for his life. I wanted to go fucking axe throwing.” She sucks in a breath, darkness shrouding her features with how difficult this has been for her.
“Bri…” I whisper her name, tracing slow, soothing patterns across her cheek with my thumb.
"It was because ofme. I wanted to go, he didn't. I begged. He agreed." Regret swims in her gaze. "He needed all of those surgeries because ofme."
Bri hides behind her hands, looking like she wants to crawl into a hole and disappear. The breath I’ve been holding rushes out of me. Here is a woman who’s been holding onto this unnecessary guilt. The amount of weight that Bri has been carrying on her shoulders is unfathomable.
“Bri. That’s some heavy shit you’re carrying. The only person who should feel any guilt is the person who decided to drive drunk. I know that believing what I say is easier said than done. It kills me to know you’ve been battling these demons by yourself. I know I haven’t been your favorite person, but I’m here for you. Whenever you need.”
“I…I don’t hate you. Well, not anymore, I don’t.”
Her words feel like a lullaby to my soul, providing soothing comfort and healing a part of my younger self. My younger self who so desperately ached for her.
My fingers brush her silky tendrils away from her face, the smooth texture reminiscent of the highest quality cashmere sweater. A thought pops into my head, but I’m not sure how she’ll take it. I try anyway in hopes that her lack of hatred for me will remain intact.
“Have you thought about talking to someone? Therapy has been really helpful when I had to work through my issues with my brother.”
“I’ve been so consumed by my guilt and shame that I haven’t thought about it much. I feel that because of everything that’s happened, I have to suffer the consequences.”
“Baby, you never have to suffer alone. Going through so much trauma alone is too much for anyone to handle. Promise me you’ll think about going?”
“I don’t want to be a burden—”
“You couldn’t be a burden even if you tried. Just promise me.”
“I promise.” I’m not entirely convinced, but I’ll take it for now.
“Great. If you really want to get rid of the books, I’ll help you. I’ll even donate them to a thrift store.”
“I—Yes, that would be great. Thank you.”
“Of course. Now, let's get to work.” Little does she know that I won’t be donating shit. I plan to keep these books in pristine condition until she’s ready. She deserves the world, and I’m the guy to give it to her.
Brianna
Fall in love with what?
I’msittingatmykitchen table, iced coffee in hand, thinking through everything Asher said to me this morning. It makes sense logically, but emotionally? Well, I might need more weapons to battle my inner demons.
I’m nowhere close to who I used to be, but I felt something shift last night curled up between Asher’s strong arms. It’s true what I said to him—I don’t hate him. He’s been amazing with me ever since he showed up on my doorstep. But sometimes, the poisonous snakes bite, my self-doubt the venom that pulses through my veins. If I keep this up, I might never find the girl I once was. Sometimes, I wonder if I’ll ever be.
But the way he caressed my stretch marks last night as if it was the sexiest thing about me was exhilarating. And the desire I felt? It’s a sensation I’m craving a repeat of. His touch quieted every negative thought I’ve had about my body since I’ve gained weight. Now that I’ve had a hint at what freedom tastes like, I want more. And I think that Asher is the perfect person to help me.
While Asher’s at the store picking up storage boxes, I try to come up with a plan of things I want to work on. The first thing that comes to mind is my negative body-image. I still only look in the mirror when necessary, and it’s only for a brief second or two. I’m not the size eight I used to be,and it's been a struggle coming to terms with my curvier shape. It’s not that I want to lose weight—or need to— to feel beautiful. I just want to fall in love with the body I’m in.
I want to fall in love with sex again.
Sex for me was a way to celebrate my body, my femininity. I mean, yeah, I’ll admit I loved the attention from men, but it was more than that. Having every inch of me explored and appreciated was exhilarating. I am a firm believer in being both a giver and receiver, so I made sure to find partners with the same mentality. Now, when I think of sex, I’m hyper-focused on how I look to my partner, and it just takes me out of the act altogether. So, really, I guess sex and body image are one in the same.
I want to start living outside of the comfort of my own home. I was always the social butterfly, and I miss it. Besides Asher, Avery is the only other person who’s seen me, and I feel like that’s only fueling my insecurities. Plus, I miss my best friend. We used to have so much fun together, and I’ve been stuck in this fear that I’d bring the mood down. Which makes zero sense because Avery would never feel that. It’s just something my mind has created.
After my talk with Asher this morning, I want to conquer my shame and guilt. He’s right in the sense that I don’t need to carry this trauma alone. Asking him to help me pack up my books was a huge deal for me. I want to get comfortable with asking for help, which includes going to therapy. I hate to admit it, but I need help. Even though he says I can lean on him, I don’t want to put all my trauma on Asher.
I also want to conquer my newfound fear of driving. There’s something about getting in the car—no destination in mind, just driving. I’d blast the music and belt the lyrics at the top of my lungs. I’m the worst singer known to man, but I couldn’t care less. Putting on Grammy winning—well, in my head they were—performances for just me and no one else was intoxicating. I want that back. Not sure how that’s going to be possible, because anytime I even think of stepping foot in a car, my panic renders me useless for the rest of the day.
