My voice catches in my lungs and I can’t formulate a reply, I just stare at him in open-mouthed silence,
inner tingles waving over me like hot sauce. Jake’s never mentioned marriage before, I know he loves
me, but part of me still finds it hard to believe he loves me as much as this.
“You want to marry me one day, right?” He halts and suddenly sounds so young and unsure, my
silence making him think I’m freaking out in a bad way. I guess a small part of me is, but mostly I’m
shocked into silence. He moves closer, panic in his face, the doubt that he’s said something he
shouldn’t have. I reach out for him and he follows, wrapping himself within my arms.
“I just didn’t think you would want that with me,” I mumble, the tears stinging my eyes for a different
reason and I sniff.
“Why wouldn’t I? You know how I feel about you … I’ve told you enough times.” His face comes to
mine, his hand clasps my chin and tugs my eyes up to meet his.
“It’s just … I’m broken … You can have any woman you want, why would you choose to marry
someone as messed up as me?” It’s the first time I’ve ever verbalized some of my inner insecurity and
anxieties to Jake. Something I’ve always hidden because it’s such an ugly way to think and I don’t want
him thinking me pathetic. He seems taken aback for a moment and stares at me with furrowed brows.
“Is this what goes on inside that head of yours? Is this how you think?” He seems genuinely surprised
and I close my eyes and nod, painful to even admit this to him. This inner voice that’s always with me,
always doubting my worth, always hiding in the recess of my brain that I would never let anyone see.
Suddenly his mouth is against mine, his kiss forcing me to respond, his hands come up to cup my face
and hold me close. I return the softness, parting my lips, sagging against him as our tongues meet,
gently caressing. He kisses me until I’m panting then pulls away.
“You’re not broken … You’re scarred … You’re the only woman I ever want! Even if you left me
tomorrow, I wouldn’t move on. Even when I thought I could never have you; I couldn’t just get over you.
I couldn’t get you out of my head. Everything reminded me of you … … … Tell me what I need to do to
make you feel secure, bella. To believe me … I’ll do whatever it takes to remove those doubts from that
beautiful little head.” His gaze is so intent on mine that I feel like he’s trying to dig deep within my soul,
trying to figure out why I would think this way. He’s no clue to the depths of insecurity I have inside of
me, the depths of self-doubt and lack of worth. I’ve always hidden them so deeply behind my mask that
no one knows, not even Sarah.
“Everything you’re doing already … Little by little, it helps.” I finally respond softly. I don’t know what
else he could do to make me believe that I mean as much to him as he does to me.
“Non avete idea di quanto ti amo, bambino,” he mutters, his eyes focused on mine, slipping into his
second language because he’s emotional. I giggle and raise an eyebrow.
“What?” I gaze at him indulgently as he breaks into a smile and looks down at his hands between us,
holding mine.
“I really need to teach you the basics of Italian. I said: you’ve no idea how much I love you, baby.” He
kisses me on the nose. “You tamed il Casanova, mio amore, that in itself should be proof of what you
are to me.” He smiles lovingly.
I close my eyes tightly and take a huge deep breath.
He’s right, he’s told me a million times, and now maybe it’s time I told him why I’m so sure that I’m not
worthy of anyone to love me the way he says he does.
I trust him, he shares so much with me, yet I hold back. There’s a part of me that’s always afraid that if I
tell him about my past properly, he’ll turn from me. Disgusted at what I am, but if I don’t, he’ll never
really understand me. I owe it to him to open up, to at least try. He opens himself to me in every way
possible and yet, he no longer pushes me to do the same. I love him enough to let him in fully, it’s time.
“Ray Vanquis wasn’t the only man to ever hurt me in that way,” I say it so quietly, with such fear that I
can’t even open my eyes and see how he’s looking at me. He stiffens, he isn’t sure if he should say
anything or move, still holding my hand in his. He can sense that my statement is something more than
a random sentence. He knows I’ve decided to start talking about my past, he knows me well enough.
I reach over and cover his hand with mine, take another steadying breath and I gulp unsteadily.
Knowing it’s now or never and before I lose my courage; I should just get it all out.
“There were more than a dozen men in my mother’s life who tried, some a little more successfully than
others, to abuse me.” My voice breaks but I swallow down the urge to cry. This is so much harder than I
could ever imagine. Telling Jake of all people is the most devastating thing I’ve ever done. I don’t want
to open my eyes, I don’t want to do this, but I know I must; If I’m ever to feel worthy of his love then he
must know all of what he’s trying to love. Give him the full picture, so he can run if he wants to. He
needs to see that dark side of me, the part I keep hidden away and only then, if he still loves me, will I
genuinely believe that he can love me as much as I love him.
He doesn’t speak, or move, I think he’s holding his breath in case any sort of interruption stops me from
going on, bringing that door closed in his face again, like so many times in the past. My hands begin to
shake with the effort of doing this, but he stays, unmoved as my breathing gets shallower and nausea
swirls crazily up from my stomach.
“Some just managed to kiss me and touch me in places they shouldn’t have … I was really young the
first time, so young I didn’t understand, I just knew it felt horrible and wrong.” Tears begin trickling down
my face, more from the shame of having to tell Jake than the actual memories. I long ago stopped
crying over those men. Breathing so heavily, finding it painful to go on, his forehead comes to mine,
grounding me a little, his own breaths shallow too. His thumb stroking my cheek, urging me to go on, to
finally tell him and I swallow hard, my body trembling with the effort.
“Some hit me … Kicked me, it wasn’t sexual with those ones … I saw them do things to my mother that
I’ll never forget though, things no one should see, especially not a child.” I swallow down bitterly, a lump
rising in my throat, threatening to choke my voice from me as images flicker through my brain.
Memories I had long ago ground down into a tight little box away from the light of day.
“Some of them tried to have sex with me, but I learned quickly to fight back, they didn’t like that and
would leave me alone, but they tried. I still remember the feel of their hands on me.” I shudder heavily
as his grip tightens on mine, giving me the strength to continue. “By the time, I was seven I’d been
groped and mauled in so many ways, I felt sick to my stomach when boys would come near me in the
street or at school … I became very introverted, extremely aggressive. I got kicked out of school so
many times for my behavior, lashing out, hitting boys … Smashing things up. I had so much rage.” I
sob as he pulls his hands away, wrapping them around me instead and tugging me against his chest to
support me.
If I stop now, I’ll never have the courage again. If I let myself stop and think about what I’m telling him
then I’ll never find this voice again … ever. Those memories will only be driven down deeper inside of
me to never see the light again.
“I started sleeping with a baseball bat that I bought with money from a news delivery when I was too
young to even know what sex was. I bought it because I knew the men wouldn’t stop coming and I
hated what they would do to me … I ended up in protective services by the time I was eleven; a
neighbor reported my mother’s boyfriend for beating her up, hearing the screams almost daily … You
would think that losing me for a year, to a horrendous life in a children’s home would change her, but
no. I came back to exactly what I left behind.” his thumb moves across my cheek, wiping fresh tears
and I tilt my face into his touch. Still he stays quiet and just listens intently, barely making a sound.
“Somehow, it was better than what I dealt with in that home; kids can be cruel and the carers were just
as abusive, so I learned to lie and hide the things going on as much as she did. I didn’t want to go back
there, it was awful … But the older I got, the more sexual the advances became. She has a knack, you
see, for finding men who are the same as the last. Perverted assholes with serious dominance issues
and no qualms about using women as punchbags. I would fight back as hard as I could, but the first
time I got properly beaten up my mother wouldn’t take me to the ER because she knew I would get
taken away again. I had to strap up broken ribs myself for weeks on end and pretend I was fine.” I gulp
down more sobs; my face is soaked, the sheet covering my breasts getting cold with dampness. Jake
is still silent, breathing hard, gripping me so tightly it’s beginning to hurt, but I don’t care. I need him
holding onto me, to find the strength to get it out and done with so we can move on from this. I can’t
bear to look at him, can’t bear to see the rage in his eyes or the despair I can feel coming off him in
droves. I just need to keep going, keep talking and get it all out there.
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