Chapter 132
811 Words
“You sure? You feel ready?”
“No.” She shook her head. “But that’s the thing: I’ll never feel ready. I have to just jump in and push all the lines and just hang on if it gets bad.”
He leaned back. “And what do I do if it gets bad? If you panic?”
“Don’t let go.”
Chris paused. “What?” He ran his huge hands through his hair. “Shouldn’t I let you go if you’re scared?”
“No. Hang on to me, OK? If you let me go, I’ll just run upstairs and hide in my bedroom and never come out. You need to… to keep me here. I need to face it and get through it.”
“Jenny.” He was pale. “I’m not going to hold you down if you’re panicking. I’m not going to force you to stay where you’re scared to be.”
“It won’t be like that. The best way to retrain me that men are safe is for you to comfort me and make me feel secure when I’m afraid… you need to show me that a man’s touch can soothe.” She held his eyes. “Can you do that?”
He swallowed hard, and then nodded.
“OK.” She moved a bit closer. “So, let’s try.”
He placed his hand on the sofa, palm-up. She stared at it for a few seconds, imagining its heat, its strength. Her own hand made a fist, and she forced herself to open it up, to loosen her fingers.
“Jenny. Baby, give me your hand.”
“OK,” she whispered, but she still didn’t move.
Jesus Christ, Jenny. Just take the man’s hand. Children hold hands on the playground for f**k sake… it’s easy and simple and totally non-threatening. Just take his hand. Now.
She reached out and gently placed her small hand in his big one, just set it down, barely touching him. She froze at the contact, made a fist again.
“Open up to me, sweetheart,” he said softly. “Just open your hand, OK? I’m not going to close mine, not going to take your hand. Just – just touch me.”
Jenny extended her fingers again, placed her palm down on his. His heat surprised her, and she felt his strength even as his hand sat immobile under hers. His hand had rough spots, from working on the motorcycles, she assumed, and she found that she quite liked them: they gave her something to focus on, besides her own rising panic. She took a shuddering breath, felt her heartbeat pounding out of control. Her tongue felt huge in her mouth and she couldn’t talk… but she stayed where she was.
Chris couldn’t believe that he was actually touching Jenny for the first time, after months of wanting to do exactly this. Her hand was small and soft in his, and he watched her face closely, trying to read her thoughts.
They sat like that for a minute, Jenny shaking a bit.
“You OK?” Chris asked, his voice low.
“I think so.” She moved her hand a bit on his, curled her fingers around his lower palm, resting them lightly on his wrist. She felt his pulse now, slow and steady. “Yeah. I am.”
“So,” he said. “This isn’t so bad, huh?”
Jenny looked up at him, saw the strain around his mouth. “No. Not so bad.” She hesitated. “Can you – can you close your hand on mine? Hold it properly?”
“OK.”
Slowly, Chris curled his own fingers around hers, pressed his fingertips against the back of her hand. She made a sound in her throat – a sob, a sigh – and he stopped.
“Jenny?”
“Yeah. I’m OK.” Tears slid down her cheeks. “Don’t let go.”
He nodded and held on. Her breath was coming faster now and she closed her eyes, trying to slow it down. He sat and watched her, not moving even one inch. He didn’t hold on tighter, but he didn’t move away, either. He just turned to stone, and waited for her to tell him what to do.
Minutes passed, and Jenny calmed. Her eyes opened and met his.
“How you doing, baby?”
“OK.” She ran her index finger over his wrist slowly. “I’m OK.”
He grinned. “That feels good.”
“It does?”
“Yeah. Tickles.”
She giggled and he smiled at the sound. She looked so amazingly relaxed right now, so natural and sweet. If she was laughing, then she must be fine.
At least for now. At least for this time.
- Writer
