Page 195 of Chasing Ruin
Her entire body locks. The hands that were frantically roaming my chest come to a dead stop.
I rest my hand on the back of her neck, squeezing it gently. Trying to ground her.
My head drops to her forehead as she pants, breath uneven, eyes glazed over with something I never want to see again.
Christ. It’s terror.
“Baby?” My voice is barely audible. Thick fear clogs my throat because I don’t understand how she went from lustfully clawing at me to this frozen, shaken version of herself.
“Just…” she whispers, blinking too fast. “Just give me a second.”
I can see her grasping for control. My chest clenches when she dives in again.
The kiss is different this time. Rigid. Her lips are stiff against mine, but still demanding. Like she’s desperately trying to outrun whatever just caught up to her.
I gently pull back, cupping her cheeks, forcing her to look at me. “Baby, you need to tell me what’s wrong. Please.”
She lets out a shuddered breath. Her hands going slack as they rest on my lap. My chest aches seeing her like this—like she’s losing a fight I can’t even see.
“Please, my love,” I whisper, voice rough.
There’s a part of me that already knows. That it’sme. I haven’t suddenly become her dream when I’ve been her walking nightmare for this long.
My heart sinks before she even says a word. Words I’m dreading, but desperately need to hear.
“It’s just that…” She swallows hard. “I c-can’t get naked without… without…”
Realization dawns on me, followed by a violent heat of shame.
“Without thinking of that night,” I finish for her, voice dull.
My hands drop from her face. Body growing numb with each passing breath. She looks up at me with so much pain and understanding that if I weren’t already sitting, I’d fucking collapse to the floor.
I stare at my hands with such visceral rage that my vision blurs.
Soft hands suddenly clasp mine, squeezing hard enough that I manage to lift my head. I can’t face her, the woman I wronged so mercilessly—but I force myself to.
She has a sad, wobbly smile curving her lips.
“How—” My voice breaks. “I can’t believe I did that to you. How are you even here? With me?”
“These…” she begins with a whisper, fingers brushing my wrist, “are not the same hands that hurt me, Theo.”
‘These aren’t the same hands anymore, Charlotte. I won’t let them be.’
I remember the words I spoke that day. But they seem so uselessly weak now. Insufficient.
My eyes fall shut, breath shallow. Then I feel warm hands cupping my face and I helplessly lean into them.
I hear her voice, closer now. Like she’s a hair’s breadth away, but still too damn far. “And this is not the same man either, right?”
Opening my eyes, I sigh, resting my forehead on hers again. Our noses brush against each other.
I can’t believe she’s comforting me. There’s no reality in which I deserve so much empathy from her. But she’s giving it anyway—willingly.
So I fall again. Deeper.
“Christ, I lo—” I snap my mouth shut, recalling my promise from last night. Then I swerve slightly. “You’re too good to me, Charlotte.”
