Page 130 of Everything Under the Sun

His hips reduced to a slow, hard thrust, once, twice, a third time, so deep inside of me I thought I felt him in my womb. His lips were parted and from them came his panting breath, hot against my neck. With my eyes closed I searched for his mouth, and he kissed me with so much passion and love that he never would’ve had to say he loved me for as long as we lived, and I would always know that he did.

He held himself inside of me. I could feel him there, still swollen, still needing me: my warmth, my body, the salvation only I could give him. And I opened my eyes and looked up at the man I knew I would die for one day, and my heart, as always, was full.

ATTICUS

I kissed her tears, and then I kissed her mouth, her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, her neck, and then her mouth again. I slipped her shirt off and kissed her heart. And I looked into the eyes of the woman I knew I would die for one day, and my heart, as it always was when I looked at her and only her, was bursting.

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ATTICUS

We laid together, Thais nestled in the crook of my arm, and we stared up at the ceiling where shadows from the candle flames danced, and neither of us spoke for a long time.

What have I done? What have I done…?

I hated myself for not being as strong as I needed to be for her.

“Thais?”

“Mmm-hmm?”

“Are you okay?”

She drew her hand up and placed it over my heart; my hand cradled her soft fingers.

“Yes,” she said.

“Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head.

“Atticus, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.” I combed my fingers through her hair.

She kissed my chest.

“What happened to…well, what happened to you to make you hate yourself so much?”

I flinched.

I never told her. I couldn’t.

“Thais, I’m sorry,” I said minutes later, still combing my fingers through her hair.

“I’m not,” she said.

I was sorry for being so rough; I was sorry for only pleasuring myself; I was sorry for letting my demons get the best of me in the worst possible moment; I was sorry for everything.

THAIS & (ATTICUS)

“I’m glad it happened,” I said. I was, despite the soreness I felt.

I sat upright beside him. A familiar wetness, a feeling of being unclean, plagued me, and I tried my best to hide it from him. My monthly cycle couldn’t have come at a worse time. But it had always been fickle.

I glanced at the mattress and my face flushed hot with embarrassment when I saw the bloodstain on the sheet. I froze, and couldn’t look at Atticus; I wanted to run out of the room, but if I got up he would see the stain so I did not move.

“What is it?” he asked.

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