Not Without You

by Clare James

  There is something so intimate about locking eyes with a woman as you sink into her. I plan to remind Tab of that right … now.

  She pushes up against me, causing my vision to blur. But I don’t shy away. Instead, I plunge into her heat, succumbing to the monster inside that she’s created.

  It’s not quite make-up sex. It’s I’m-discovering-who-you-are sex. How can that be possible after everything we’ve been through? How can there still be so much to know about each other?

  Chapter 10

  “Babe, that was so incredible,” Tabby says when we finally make it to the bed.

  I spoon her and wrap myself in her warmth. She sighs, content as she settles under my weight.

  So much anxiety around sex—and just being together—had built up for days that finally doing it was such an enormous relief. I know we have work to do, but I’m hoping this was at least a step in the right direction.

  “It was no dance studio,” I say with a yawn. The exhaustion hits me hard now.

  “No.” She traces tiny circles on the back of my hand. “It was better.”

  “Really?” The shock of her admission wakes me up a bit.

  “Really¸” she says. “I could tell you were relaxed tonight. You weren’t fighting with yourself inside your head like you have been lately.”

  “You knew I was doing that?”

  “Of course I did. I know you better than you think.” She squeezes my hand. “But you know what the best part was?”

  “What?”

  “You were rough with me,” she says with no idea how that word is like sandpaper against my skin.

  “What?” I feel the rage filling me up once again.

  “You weren’t treating me like I’d break,” she explains.

  “Tab,” I say with a bite, trying to dismiss this conversation. I’m not going listen to her tell me that I need to treat her like a whore. Tonight was so great, we were finally making our way back to each other and now she was going to ruin it. “Don’t. Please.”

  “Don’t Tab me.” Her fury comes back as well, and this time, I know she’s not going to back down. “We need to talk about it. I know you think you know what’s best for me. But you don’t. Granted you’ve had some awesome ideas along the way. And I am as over at what happened in Illinois as I can be—a lot of that is because of you. But having you treat me different because of that one night? Well, that’s like picking at the scab. I need you to treat me like a normal girl.”

  “I do treat you like a normal girl,” I say through gritted teeth. “Because you are normal."

  “Well, guess what? Sometimes, this normal girl likes to be fucked. I don’t need sunshine and roses all the time. I want you to be able lose control with me. Don’t you get that?”

  “I’m not sure I can always do that. I love you, and I’ll whisper all sorts of dirty shit in your ear if that’s what you need, but I’m not calling you names. I’m not using you. I just won’t have this shit anymore. I’m not doing it.”

  “Oh, you’re not doing it,” she hisses. “That’s how it’s going down?” She sits up, and I can feel the anger rolling off her in waves. “How about this? I’m not doing it, Noah. I’m not. Worrying about fucking triggers and validation and feeling safe—it’s not helping. And this? This is not therapy. You are not my doctor.”

  “Please just settle down.”

  “Don’t patronize me like that. Especially when anyone who’s watching would tell you this is your issue. Your problem.”

  “Who?” I ask. “Who would enlighten me? The notorious Dr. Payne?”

  “For one,” she says. “Maybe it’s time you paid her a visit.”

  The second time someone’s told me that in as many weeks.

  “Let me fill in the blanks for you,” she goes on. “What’s going on between us is normal. I’m not shutting down about something that happened years ago. I’ve moved on and I’ve healed. But the fact that we have to have this conversation right now really pisses me off. Why can’t you just let go?”

  “I thought that’s what I just did.”

  “Yes, you started to. But something always holds you back.”

  “Please, Tab. Stop.” This time it’s me who starts to shut down.

  “I just don’t understand why we can’t keep moving forward. Noah, why?”

  I don’t respond. I can’t.

  “I hate being stuck here,” she finally says. “And I hate that you’ll always see me as someone who’s broken.” Then she walks out of the room.

  Chapter 11

  Tabby doesn’t come back to bed, and I toss and turn all night. I guess it’s okay for me to be a selfish, controlling asshole in bed, but exercising my opinion outside the bedroom isn’t allowed. The irony isn’t lost on me.

  I just wish she’d believe me when I tell her that I don’t think she’s broken. Not that I got the chance to tell her last night. I think she’s about the bravest person I’ve ever met. I’ve thought so from the very first minute I met her …

  ***

  “Sorry to interrupt your evening,” she said, catching herself as she teetered on her impossibly high heels, “but I’m killing these guys with the bar bingo over there”—she pointed to the regulars—“and I could really use some competition. Are you up for it?”

  Oh, I was up for it. I had gone to the pub that night to talk with someone about a story idea I had for the paper. We were a few weeks from the start of a new school year, and I was finally coming out of exile. Hell, I was desperate for some fun. And when my contact hadn’t shown up, I’d thought I might hang out for a while—especially considering there was a gorgeous blonde at the end of the bar.

  She’d been laughing with the guys and drinking mojitos all night. At one point, I’d thought she was checking me out, but then her attention turned elsewhere.

  I’d just been getting ready to talk to her when she’d made her way over.

  Now, when someone under the age of eighty asks you to play bingo, there’s usually an ulterior motive, but I had no idea what she really had in mind.

  We played bingo for hours and talked and danced. But she wouldn’t give me her name. And she didn’t ask for mine.

  I didn’t think it was going anywhere until she got ready to leave. She had to catch a bus, and I was devastated because I didn’t want the night to end.

  I offered to give her a ride home in a desperate attempt to avoid goodbyes, and I was completely floored when she said yes.

  She lived in a nice apartment on the river, not typical student housing.

  “It’s late. I better let you get inside,” I said, walking her up to her apartment.

  She looked at me like she didn’t want me to leave.

  “I don’t want to overstep here. We just met and—”

  She quickly shut me up with a kiss. Girl was on a mission to get some. And who was I to argue?

  My plans were to be a gentleman, but once I tasted her, there was no going back. She was sweet like her drink—mint and sugar and alcohol—and I wanted more.

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Because, if we’re going to do this, I need your name.”

  “Tabitha,” she said.

  I repeated it over and over in my head.

  Then I pulled her to me, my arms snug around her back to hold her in place as our tongues explored while our bodies clung to each other. My hands tangled in her hair, and I deepened the kiss. Her movements grew frantic; she made me crazy when she decided to take the lead.

  I dropped my hands to her waist. They quickly made their way under her shirt so I could make quick work of her bra. We were still in the hallway where anyone could see us, but I didn’t care. It almost heightened the experience. I exhaled, and she moved closer.

  There was this amazing push-pull thing going on with us. I’d take the lead—then she’d steal it back, trying to get me to surrender.

  In a big move, she pulled away from me and looked
into my eyes. Then she smiled as she lifted my T-shirt from my jeans and slid her hands up to my chest.

  “Jesus, you are ripped,” she breathed in my ear.

  I’m not going to lie. It was music to my ears. She rested a protective hand on my heart, feeling each erratic beat. Then she began her descent, and my breathing caught up with my heartbeat. She brought her hand to my stomach, following my happy trail, before dipping her fingers under my jeans.

  My grip tightened around her ribs, and I kissed her with so much force that I think I almost knocked the wind out of her. This incredibly erotic dance continued as I took over. My hands released their death grip on her body and traveled upward. But just before they reached my intended destination, she yanked me inside her apartment.

  I didn’t argue. I followed willingly, kicking the door shut behind me.

  We fell onto her couch, and my head smacked hers.

  “Ouch.” she laughed.

  “Sorry, Tabitha.” I kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips. “Sorry,” I said again, brushing my lips on her chin, her neck, her chest.

  I lifted her onto my lap, and we sat face-to-face with her thighs straddling mine. I gently tugged on her tank top—though my intentions were anything but gentle. I gathered the bottom of it and slid it up over her head. Even though the clasp was open, her bra still covered her, so I planted deep, hot kisses over the silk.

  She then dropped the bra straps off her shoulders, and I went nuts as the damn thing fell to the floor. Next was my turn. She moved to me, lifting my shirt off. Her eyes held my gaze while she opened the top button of my jeans, and then she led me to her bedroom.

  I didn’t stand a chance.

  She lit a candle and made it unquestionably romantic—odd considering we’d just met and the swift forces she was using to get her way.

  She walked toward me, toward the bed. I reached out and laced my fingers in hers, craving more intimacy. She still didn’t ask my name, and I hated to admit it, but that bothered me.

  I wanted to try to make this real. As real as I could, anyway. I pulled her down to the bed and brought her to me, parting her lips. Nipping and sucking them before peppering wet kisses down her neck and up to her ear.

  “Is this okay?” I whispered.

  She replied with her own trail of kisses.

  Her fingers explored my skin, and once again, she moved to my jeans.

  “Tabitha.” I groaned. I liked saying her name too much.

  She didn’t say anything, but I felt her skin go cold.

  “Tabitha?” I sat up and reached out for her. “What’s wrong?”

  She was lost.

  I’d later find out she was having a flashback from the night with Thomas.

  “Tabitha?” I wrapped an arm around her. “Are you okay there, little one?”

  She wasn’t—not even close.

  “It’s all of those mojitos.” She found her excuse. “They’re catching up to me.” She grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around her. “I don’t feel well. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, helping her into bed and tucking the covers around her.

  She tried to brush me away, but I wasn’t going to leave her. I knew there was more going on, and like it or not, I wanted to be there. So, for the next twenty minutes, I played nurse. I fed her Advil, made tea, and put a bucket on the side of her bed. Then I crawled into bed next to her. It couldn’t be helped.

  We fell asleep, and I swear I fell in love.

  Until she kicked me out the next morning.

  The tables might be reversed now, and she wants what I can’t give her. Won’t give her. But as I think back, I’m not sure we’ve really changed at all. It has always been this way between us—wanting, or needing, something the other couldn’t give.

  And in the back of my mind, I guess I’ve always been waiting for her to kick me out again.

  Chapter 12

  Well, if it’s a fight she wants, that’s exactly what she’s going to get. I’m not backing down on this one. Because I know Tabby. She pushes herself to do things she’s afraid of, whether she’s ready or not.

  I admire that. I really do. But fuck it if I’m going to let her drag me into this.

  And it isn’t just Tab I am worried about. I like the depraved shit a little too much. What if I can’t come back from it? Tab doesn’t deserve to be stuck with someone like that.

  But even after talking all that smack in my head, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.

  Things between us don’t get better and she doesn’t back down. In fact, she hasn’t talked to me in three days.

  The closest I’ve gotten to her is in bed. And even there, she curls up along the edge, piling a fort of pillows between us. So, despite my better judgement, I call Dr. Payne. I need the reinforcements.

  The very next day, I’m biking down to the her office in the old Victoria house on Franklin. I hate to admit it, but instant calm washes over me when I pull up to the driveway. Must be the comfort and relief I felt whenever I drove Tabby here. I always knew that things would get better when Tabby came here. Of course, on occasion, they’d have to get worse before they could get better.

  I’m hoping that Dr. Payne can help me figure out what to do about Tabby.

  I lock my bike in the rack in front of the house and can’t help but laugh when I notice all the rocking chairs out front. It’s just as Tabby’s described so many times. I’ve never been up this close and personal to the porch to have seen them for myself.

  Inside, a receptionist takes my name.

  “It’s so nice out today. Why don’t you grab a seat on one of the rocking chairs? Dr. Payne likes to conduct her sessions out there whenever she can.”

  Oh, I know all about those chairs.

  It’s strange to walk in Tab’s footsteps.

  Out on the patio are six chairs lined up in all colors of the rainbow. Some are strategically placed to overlook the driveway or the garden. Another is tucked in the shade. And one bold, yellow chair is front and center, bathed in sunlight.

  I take that one.

  Head on, Adler.

  Dr. Payne doesn’t make me wait long, which is a nice surprise. I have some recon to do on the Richardson case and I can’t miss it.

  “Noah,” Dr. Payne says when she appears. She’s just as Tabby’s described, though she may have changed the shade of her glasses. The specs she’s wearing today are bright turquois.

  “Dr. Payne.” I stand and offer my hand. “Thanks for agreeing to see me on such short notice. I really need to talk about Tabby.”

  “Sure. I hope I can help,” she says. “But just so you understand, I can’t discuss any specifics about my sessions with Tabby. That’s all privileged information. But you are welcome to share or talk about anything you like and I can try to help you.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s the reason I’m here today,” I tell her. “Tabby. I don’t need you to tell me any of her details, but I thought it’d be good to offer some information that might be helpful for your sessions with her.”

  “Whatever you need,” she says, but I’m wondering if she’s listening. “Let’s sit.”

  She eyes my chair choice, and I see what Tabby means. Tab always said that it felt like a test. Choose your chair and reveal your soul or something.

  I can only imagine what my choice says about me. Front and center; always right; cocky; bold; bossy. Man, Tab would have a shitload of fun with this.

  “So, what’s going on, Noah?” she asks. “What kind of problems are you having in your relationship?”

  “It’s not problems so much as it is that fact that I’m worried about Tabby.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s been acting out,” I say quickly. “You know, sexually. And I’ve read that, with someone with her background, this type of behavior could be detrimental to her.”

  “Hmm.” The doctor pauses to take notes. “Okay.”

  “She’s worked so hard,” I continue. “I don’t want to s
ee her slip.”

  “What do you mean by ‘slip’?” she asks.

  “Go back to the panic attacks every time I touch her,” I say. “Or that distant behavior when she wouldn’t talk to me. The pulling away.”

  “Sounds like that really impacted you,” the doc says.

  Completely missing the point here.

  “I don’t care about me,” I say. “I’m just worried for her. I don’t want her in pain.”

  “Why?” she asks, which may be the world’s dumbest question.

  “Why? Because she’s suffered enough. She doesn’t need to keep reliving it.”

  “How does that make you feel when you see her reliving it?” She dips her head, getting closer to me. Or closer to uncovering the truth.

  “Helpless,” I admit, not wanting to meet her eyes. “Sick. Impotent, I guess.”

  Jesus, where did that come from?

  “So you like being there to help her.” She nods, while her pen moves across the notebook she rests on her lap.

  “Of course,” I say.

  “And her recent behavior. How does that make you feel?”

  “Helpless, I guess. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to deny her, but I don’t want to hurt her or make matters worse.”

  “But what do you want, Noah?” she asks, circling back to me again. “Are you against doing this type of thing in the bedroom?”

  And there it is.

  “God, no,” I say, wishing my answer hadn’t come out so fast. Or so loud. “Not in theory. But I’d have to be an idiot not to realize that this—what she wants to do—is about something else.”

  “Why? Haven’t you known other women who like to experiment?”

  “Sure. But not women who’ve been assaulted.”

  “How do you know they haven’t been assaulted?” she asks.

  WTF is she getting at?

  “I’m a pretty perceptive guy,” I assure her. “I’d know.”

  “Well, statistics say that twenty percent of woman are assaulted at some point in their lives. So the chances are pretty good that someone from your past has been.”