by Blair, E. K.
Her tears are unrelenting, but this girl allows herself to get so tangled in her irrational thoughts that she can’t understand she doesn’t have to hide from everything.
“I trusted you,” I add. “And you hurt me in a way no one has ever been able to do. But it was worth it just to love you and feel you loving me.”
“I’m so sorry,” she cries into her hands and it’s all too much for me. I gather her in my arms and hold her tightly as she breaks down. “I felt so lost and scared and it made me insecure. And then I felt guilty for everything you were doing, which only made me feel weak.”
I tilt her head to look at me and tell her, “Of course, you were weak. Your father almost died. You’re allowed to be weak.” I drag my thumbs through her tears. “You’re allowed to be devastated and broken, and you’re allowed to need me without having to feel guilty about it.”
“I felt like a burden.”
“I know you did, but you needed to believe me when I told you that you weren’t.”
“I just didn’t know what to do, and I didn’t know how to talk to you.”
“That’s fine if you can’t talk to me, but you don’t have to push me away.” To have her back in my arms and no longer fighting against me, I’m able to breathe again. I swear I can feel my heart lift to a place where gravity doesn’t exist. “I know there’re a million thoughts in your head that you will never speak to me because it makes you nervous to be vulnerable. I’m willing to accept that side of you, but I need you to promise that if you start doubting yourself, you won’t run because I’m not an abandoned house here for you to come and go in and out of as you please.”
“I promise,” she says, and I wipe more of her tears away. “Losing you was excruciating, and I know it was my fault and that I’m not perfect, but I’m here now, and I’m so sorry.” She lets go of an emotional sigh before giving me everything I’ve been hoping for, telling me, “You’re what I want—you’ve always been. I’m just praying that you can forgive me because it’s killing me to know I hurt you and that I can’t take it back.”
Without a breath of hesitation, I tell her, “Of course, I forgive you.” Holding her in my hands, I stare into her teary eyes. “But I can’t do this again unless I have your whole heart this time.”
“You have it. It’s yours,” she says freely. “It doesn’t beat without you.”
And with that, I kiss her—I kiss her so deeply, licking the salt from her lips and wondering if she can taste my own pain. Her grip tightens, and I swear I’ll spend the rest of my life twisting her heartstrings around my wrists to keep her close to me because I don’t want to ever experience life without her again.
I tried to let her go, and I failed miserably. As much as I wanted to hate her and move on, I couldn’t. This girl found a way to make herself a home between my ribs and become the rhythm of my damn pulse. I never thought I needed someone as much as I need her.
Drawing back slightly, I look deep into her eyes, needing her to feel my words in her soul when I tell her adamantly, “I don’t ever want you to think that you aren’t good enough for me because you’re the best thing that has ever happened to my life.”
She nods and breathes a heartfelt, “I’m sorry,” and I feel it, the guilt for ripping us apart.
I want to take the pain away because it serves us no good, so I let go of the seriousness for a moment and chuckle under my breath. “You had me moping around like a little bitch.”
She draws back, allowing me to see the slightest tug at the corner of her lips.
“I was miserable without you,” I add more seriously.
Unwilling to waste any more time, I take her up to my room and show her how much I love her in the most honest way I know how. We lock ourselves away, and with our defenses down, I make love to her. She reaches into my infinity, silently crying as I move inside her. Clinging her arms around my neck, she begs for more, needy to mend her heart’s fault lines, all the while confessing our shortcomings and regrets so that we can move past them and be stronger.
And, in the moment her body splinters beneath mine, she kisses me before giving back the same words I once gave her when she whispers, “You’re the realest feeling I’ve ever known.”
KATE
Four months later . . .
Letting go of insecurities doesn’t come easily. My past has scarred me in ways I’m still trying to cope with. As much as I love Trent and trust that he loves me, it’s sometimes challenging not to let my mind wander into the worry of am I enough. I’m trying to be more open, to share more of my thoughts and feelings with him, to say the words that expose me to vulnerability. He deserves it and so much more after the crap I put him through. Guilt for hurting him manifests at random times, and the need to apologize weighs heavily on my shoulders, but each and every time it gets too heavy, he’s there to assure me he’s over it and that I should be too.
I’m moving forward, and even though I’ve been racked with nerves about my future, I’m also excited. The two of us graduated a couple of weeks ago, and I start my new job at one of Miami’s top entertainment groups as a club promoter next week. It’s a dream job to nail fresh out of college.
Along with the anticipation of this new chapter in my life, I’m also dealing with losing Ady. She and Micah are already packing to move to San Diego in a few weeks, and I’m dreading having to say goodbye.
“I can’t believe you’re moving,” I tell her as I help her box up a few belongings.
“You’ll have too much fun at your new PR job to even know I’m gone.”
“Doubtful.” The moving boxes are already starting to pile up around the condo, and I hate it. “Have you decided what you’re going to do for work?”
As she tapes up the box, Micah comes up from behind and nips her neck, joking, “She’s going to be my wife, so she’ll be busy cooking, cleaning, and doing laundry.”
She laughs and pokes him in the ribs. “You wish.”
Suddenly, the door swings open and Trent steps into the condo with his arms spread wide open. The three of us stare as he boasts a grand smile, wearing a suit and tie.
“Dude,” Micah says. “Why the fuck are you dressed like that?”
“Interview day, young pup.” Trent saunters into the room, adjusting his tie that doesn’t need adjusting. “My people, you are now looking at the future of Tate and Nixon Investments.”
“The future what?” I ask, stifling my laughter because he looks so damn proud.
He’s overly dramatic as he falls back into one of the chairs and crosses his leg over his knee. “The future everything, my unemployed friend.”
I sneer when I remind him, “I got a job last week.”
“Peasant work.” He brushes imaginary lint off his shoulder before wagging his hand at me. This time, I do laugh because his phony arrogance was nowhere to be seen earlier today. He isn’t one who really ever gets nervous, but his anxiety as he was getting ready for his interview was undeniable.
“So, what’s your job title?” I ask.
“I’ll be a financial analyst.”
“Entry-level?” Micah inquires when he closes the fridge and pops the cap off a bottle of beer.
“A man can be defined by his capacity to be humble, so yes, I accepted an entry-level position.”
“Congrats,” Micah says as he raises his beer in salute. “You’re one step above an unpaid intern.”
“Eat dick.”
“No thanks.”
“God, this place is depressing,” he says as he looks around and notices how much Ady and I were able to pack up while he was gone.
The four of us spend the rest of the day just hanging out, knowing our time together is ticking down. When evening falls, we order in pizza and find a movie to watch. It’s nearing midnight when Micah and Ady call it a night and head to bed, leaving Trent and me out in the living room.
Curled up on the couch together, I roll over to face him and smile.
“What?”
“Congrats on the job.”
“Yours sounds like more fun.”
“Jealous?”
He smirks. “Fuck yeah.”
“I’m nervous,” I admit.
“You’ll be great.”
He tugs me in closer, pressing our bodies flush against each other, and I kiss him, tasting a love I once feared I’d never have again. My hands lose themselves in his hair when his hands begin to roam. There was a time I believed I would never have him this close again. I was so foolish, but if I had to do it again just so I could appreciate him as much as I do now, I would. I’m stronger than I was before because it allowed me to finally see the truth to my faults. I hate that we both had to suffer for me to get here, but in the end, it was worth it.
His hand slides under my shirt, and he hooks his fingers into the cup of my bra, laughing when he yanks it down and my breast spills out.
“You’re such a child,” I tell him as I roll my eyes, but it’s when he lifts my shirt and shoves his head under it that I bust out laughing.
Playfully, he takes me into his mouth, and the moment he starts sucking, I go silent as my eyes fall shut and a breathy moan falls from my parted lips. Far too soon, he pulls his head from beneath my shirt.
“Why are you stopping?”
He looks so sexy with his devious smirk and mussed hair.
“Don’t be a tease.”
He then grabs my ass and pulls my hips roughly against his hard dick. “Trust me, I’m gonna give it to you, but I want to ask you something first.”
“Ask me later.”
“I’m not a cheap toy for you to use for your pleasure.”
With a fast hand, I pinch his nipple, and he flinches away, cupping his pec. “Damn, girl.”
I giggle, but when he settles back down, his easy smile is gone.
“What do you want to talk about?” I ask.
“You know I have to be out of this place in three weeks, right?”
I nod.
“I checked out a vacant unit on the sixth floor the other day that I’m going to sign a lease for, and I was thinking that, for the environment’s sake, we should put your name on it too.”
“What does that have to do with the environment?”
“Isn’t there a global water crisis or some shit like that?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” I respond through a light chuckle.
“Okay, then, but I still want to shower with you,” he says and then winks. “We could bang it out every morning before work.”
“So, you want me to move in with you for the sole purpose of shower sex?”
“Oh, don’t worry. There will be other perks too,” he says suggestively.
As exciting as the idea of living with him is, I don’t agree right away, and slowly, my smile falls.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know, it just . . . it seems like a big step.”
“You scared?”
“I’m not sure what I am,” I tell him honestly.
Putting all jokes aside, he takes my hand in his, lacing our fingers together. “I love you,” he states without a hint of doubt. “And we’ve known each other for four years.”
“I know.”
His eyes drop down to our entwined hands, and he goes quiet for a moment before looking back at me. “I want to be with you.”
“You are with me.”
“I want more.”
And I do too. It’s been a rocky year for us, but to expect perfection when we’re both trying to figure out our relationship would be foolish. Yeah, we had a hiccup there in the middle, but he’s been one of my closest friends. As I look into his eyes, I see his love for me, a love he has proven to be reliable. Change unsettles me, and I don’t think that will ever go away, but without it, I never would’ve found myself here with him. And it’s with him that I’ve finally found a place of security, a place where I belong, and a constant in my life that makes all the other changes I might face a lot less scary.
I know that, with him, I’m planted on a sturdy foundation. So, I ignore the unease that comes with taking this next step. So long as he’s by my side, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
“Are you sure about this?”
“I never would’ve asked if I wasn’t,” he tells me. “What do you say?”
Happiness expands within my heart, and although I’m nervous to take this step with him, I’m also rooted in my faith that he’s my forever. So, with a smile, I hold his hand as I take this leap. “Yes. I’ll move in with you.”
His eyes light up, and I swear it’s the most beautiful vision in this world. I kiss him because he’s mine and I can, but it only lasts a moment before I pull back in wonderment, asking, “Who are you?”
His brows furrow, and where I would normally hold back the emotions roiling through me, I share them with him, when I go on. “Who are you to walk into my world without a key, knowing nothing about me, and make yourself at home?”
He stares into my eyes, which are now open paths to my soul, only for him to walk upon, and on a faint whisper, I ask again, “Who are you?”
He smiles. “I’m the fucking love of your life.”
Did you love the Secrets & Truths duet?
Follow Ady’s story in the Crave duet!
Keep reading for a sneak peek.
National Domestic Violence Hotline
If you are worried about your relationship or have questions about your partner’s behaviors, contact an Advocate.
They are available 24/7/365.
It’s free and it’s anonymous.
Call 1-800-799-SAFE (7233)
or chat online
Sneak Peek of CRAVE
I often find myself wondering if I have always been like this, if I ever existed without being afflicted with this craving. When I think back, I reach static before finding a time where I was free. Maybe I’ve never been free. Maybe I was born with some sort of displacement. A wiring gone wrong.
I was six years old when I saw my first set of tits.
I woke up in the middle of the night, thirsty for a drink of water, when I walked into the living room and saw my babysitter naked from the waist up while kissing her boyfriend. I didn’t understand at the time exactly what I was seeing, but I knew I liked it. Not in a sexual way, but the visual intrigued me.
Her name was Shannon.
I don’t remember much about her. She was one of a number of babysitters that would stay overnight while my mother worked her second job. I often found myself staying up late, hoping Shannon’s boyfriend would show up. To this very day, I can still remember the excitement I felt when I saw her on the couch with him, when I heard the sounds they made. I would crouch on my hands and knees and watch them as I hid behind a fake ficus tree that sat in the far corner of the living room.
The excitement of watching her dry hump her boyfriend didn’t make my dick grow like it does now as I clench my hand firmly around myself. Memories play behind my eyelids, and I cum quickly, shooting my load into a wad of toilet paper before flushing it.
I wash my hands and then run damp fingers through my hair as I look at my reflection in the mirror. I stare into green eyes, eyes that bear no resemblance to my mother’s, and tell myself under my breath, “Seven hours,” but I already know I won’t be able to last that long. I only set these trivial goals to give myself the illusion that I’m being proactive about controlling whatever this is.
The idea that maybe I’m uncontrollable has been weighing heavily on me lately, but I shrug it off as I walk out of the bathroom.
“Bye, Mom,” I shout and then grab my backpack and the keys to the shitty old Camaro I recently bought. I was finally able to save enough money from the part-time job I’ve been working after school to buy the damn thing. It’s old and rundown, but it gets me from point A to point B.
The car fits in with the apartment complex, but I tell myself that I don’t. The thought of this being my life has never sat well with me. I’ve grown up thr
eadbare with an absentee mother who works herself to the bone for every penny she makes, only to fall short every month. She’s drowning in debt, and I refuse to go down that same path.
I toss my backpack into the passenger seat and pump the gas a few times before cranking the ignition and bringing the car to a grumbling start.
Most would look at a kid like me and make the stereotypical judgment call. But I’m smarter than the other dopeheads that live on this side of the tracks. The only way I have a chance of getting out of here is by going to college and making something of myself. All I have going for me is academics, so I’ve made them my priority, and in return, I’ve maintained a solid four-point-oh GPA semester after semester.
Pulling into the parking lot of South Shore High, I park in my usual spot next to Micah’s pristine truck where he and our buddy Trent are already waiting on me.
Micah claps his hand obnoxiously against the old metaled hood of my car and gives me a shit-eating grin. “Kason, what the hell happened to you last night?”
“Got tied up with stuff.”
“Speaking of stuff,” he hints as we head into the school building.
If it weren’t for my association with Micah, I’d be just another roughneck outcast. But with his money and popularity and my ability to score him weed on a consistent basis, we’ve forged a friendship that benefits my social standing in this school. I guess that’s one of the perks of living where I do—pot is an easy score for the rich kids. I’ve never touched the stuff myself, but I’ll happily buy it off my neighbor, inflate the price for the naïve Micah, and pocket the profit.
“I gotta work this afternoon, but I can meet you when I’m done.”
He turns to face me as he walks backward down the crowded hall, telling me, “Indian Rocks. The guys and I will be skimming there.”
