Page 22 of Bend
His rational words, coupled with the pet name he just gave me, are a complete contradiction. I’m suddenly very unsure of myself.
“What do you want?” This time I’m not growling, because he’s right. He must know I can’t afford the attention a scream will bring. “And you didn’t save me, I was not trying to kill myself.”
He laughs, causing his hips to grind against me for a second. My breath hitches and a small whimper comes out. This moment of weakness makes him prop his upper body up on his elbows and the seawater rushes in around my face. I panic and squirm, closing my eyes and my mouth, desperate to keep the water out.
Strong hands slip under my head and lift it out of the danger zone, but it’s too late, the adrenaline is too much. The fear takes over and I begin to shake and cry.
“Open your eyes.”
I do not open my eyes. “Just get off me!”
“Open your eyes and look at me.”
“No, just do it. If that’s why you came, then just fucking get it over with!” And now I really do cry, because I just started a fight with a very big guy, jumped off the Huntington Beach Pier, got crashed into a support pillar, swallowed water, almost suffocated, and I’ve been caught. By this man who… who… who is making me feel things I have no business feeling.
He does nothing. His breath is completely back to normal now and I wish I could say the same thing about mine, but I can’t. So he just waits me out as I come to terms with my situation.
I stop crying and laugh instead.
Did I ever think it would end this way? Not in a fight but in total surrender? I am the weakest person alive. I am the weakest person who will—
“It’s funny now?”
His question stops the laughing. Because it’s not funny. “No,” I squeak out. “It’s not funny, but I’m scared.” My teeth are chattering from the cold water that relentlessly ebbs and flows. Covers me and then recedes, leaving nothing but the chilled air rushing in.
He waits.
I wait.
The waves come in, the waves go out.
His body is still and calm as it rests on top of mine and then his face dips down to my neck and he takes a breath as a wave recedes. “You’re bleeding. Does your head hurt?”
I answer with a slight shake and I continue to struggle with my panic, trying to hold my breath so the sobs can’t escape, but failing miserably.
His hands still cup my head, keeping the rushing water from invadin
g my airway. After about a minute, my heart stops the wild rhythm and I settle into his hold.
“Better?” he asks.
I nod.
“Now open your eyes.”
I draw in a steadying breath and obey, blinking back the water for a few seconds as his features come into view.
“You don’t look like a killer.”
He’s repulsed by my words, or maybe shocked. For a moment, at least. Then his expression is impassive again.
I study it while he’s silent. His eyes are a brilliant green. And he’s so close I can even see all the little flecks of yellow and brown in them. I swallow hard and stare into his expectant gaze. “Now what?”
He stares back at me and the moments of silence make things uncomfortable. He’s on top of me.
And then, as if he’s reading my mind, figuring out that his touch is making me nervous, his leg changes position, his one knee drawing up against my hip. Then the other. I close my eyes and begin to cry again, because now I figure he’s gonna rape me and I just had random lustful thoughts about my rapist.
“Why are you crying?” He sits up, so he’s straddling my body, holding me down by the shoulders. But he’s not resting the full weight of himself on me anymore and that’s a welcome relief.
