Page 152 of Everything Under the Sun

“Atticus stop, please!”

He turned to me in the middle of the living room; fading sunlight poured in through the windows casting his furious, heartbroken face in a sheen gray; his fists were clenched.

ATTICUS

I just stared at her, waiting, though for what I didn’t know and no longer even knew what I might want from her anymore: My question answered that would make no difference? Her apologies I could not accept? Her assurances I could not acknowledge? I didn’t know!

Thais looked into my tortured face.

“Atticus,” she said, her voice desperate, soft like powder, “from the bottom of my heart, I’m sorry for not telling you”—(apologies I could not accept)—“But you have to understand that I wanted you to have my most precious gift”—(assurances I could not acknowledge).

She stepped closer, reached out to me. I didn’t stop her, or push her away, because one-half of me wanted to forgive and acknowledge, and I was at war with myself.

“But you wanted to know why,” she said, her eyes brimmed with moisture, “and I’ll tell you.”

She paused, inhaled deeply. “At first, I was afraid that if you knew I was a virgin you’d become someone different, that you’d turn on me and wouldn’t want to help me anymore; rape me even. Or…I was afraid you’d want to sell me.”

It was an answer that did make a difference—a world of difference!

I sucked a sharp breath into my starved lungs, stepped backward once, nearly stumbled, and then I stopped. My eyes were on her, but I wasn’t seeing her, my mind held hostage by a part of me I couldn’t control.

I couldn’t control…

THAIS

Atticus reached out, and my breath caught. Is he choking me? No, his hands are too careful to be choking me.

“Is that what you think of me?” he said through clenched teeth.

My hands came up and grabbed his wrists, but I did not struggle—I wanted to help him, to make him see and understand. I wanted to be where he was—because the light was drawn to the darkness.

His hands tightened with emphasis. “THAT’S WHAT YOU THINK OF ME?” he roared, veins pronounced around his temples, his nostrils flaring.

I stumbled backward as Atticus moved me toward the sofa; he pushed me onto it on my back and hitched up my dress, tore my panties down my legs with one swift hand. My heart raced, pounded behind my ribs to a frightened rhythm. But I didn’t want to get away; I wasn’t afraid of him—I wanted him. Oh, in the name of God and all things good, I needed him: his anger, his hatred, his sins, his darkness. I wept, and wept, down inside my core. Let me absolve you, Atticus! Please take my light! Please don’t let your darkness consume all that I know you are!

He lowered himself on me, and I did not struggle. I cried quietly, but I would not tell him no. I wanted this. I wanted Atticus.

“So that’s what you think of me,” he repeated, the same words heavy with the same pain. “This monster on top of you, a coldhearted rapist who could force himself on you? A man who could sell you?” Acid laced every word. Resentment laced every word.

He reached down and slid open the zipper on his pants; his eyes bore into me, never flinching, never blinking, never letting go—he was trembling, too, trembling with anger and heartbreak I had caused.

“After everything I’ve done to protect you, after all we’ve been through together? I want to hear you fucking say it, Thais!”

I gasped when I felt him near me; there was a tightness in my belly, the same I felt in my heart. He touched me, but he wouldn’t enter me. I wanted him to!

“Tell me,” he demanded, pressing himself against me but not with the teasing I was used to. “Tell me what you think of the man I am, the man you thought you knew, the monster on top of you right now, ready to force himself inside of you right now, to take what’s not his to take!”

But it is yours to take!

“Look into my eyes,” he roared, his face mere inches from mine, his body crowding me, suffocating me, filling me, loving me. “Look into these fucking eyes, Thais, and tell me what you see! I want to hear you say it!” He pressed harder against me; I could feel it, un-swollen, unforgiving, between my legs.

My fingernails dug into his arms as I held onto him; the tightness and pulling in my belly, and lower, too much to bear. I stared up into his fierce eyes, my mouth parted—I wanted him to kiss me.

“SAY IT!” he bellowed; a tear slipped down the bridge of his nose and dripped onto my face, tumbled down my cheek, and to see him cry, it changed everything, it made sex the last thing I wanted. “FUCKING SAY IT!”

“I SEE MY SAVIOR!” I cried out and Atticus flinched. “I see a man—not a fucking monster!—who risks his life every day for mine! A man who I can’t live without in this world!” Tears poured from my eyes; I could hardly see him clearly anymore for them. “I see a man who I love and cherish and who loves and cherishes me even though he doesn’t say it. And I don’t regret giving myself to you! I WILL NEVER REGRET IT!”

Silence.

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