Chapter 89
I look up at him then. His face is pale and strained but his eyes don’t leave mine.
“I swear it,” he adds.
I nod weakly. I don’t trust myself to speak.
The weight of everything settles over me all at once. Exhaustion, grief, rage and shame all tangled together.
I press my forehead to my knees and cry until my chest hurts and my throat burns, until there’s nothing left but empty sobs.
Zane doesn’t touch me.
He stays right there anyway.
I stay on the stairs for a long time after the crying stops.
My eyes burn and my head throbs, when I finally lift my head, Zane is still there.
He hasn’t moved. He’s sitting one step below me now, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together like he’s holding himself in place. He looks… wrecked.
I push myself up slowly. My legs feeling weak, but they hold. I wipe my face with my sleeve and take a breath that doesn’t quite reach my lungs.
There’s a thought in my head that’s been circling for a while now. I tried to ignore it, tried to push it away. But it keeps coming back, louder every time.
I look at him.
“Zane p>
He looks up immediately. “Yes wife p>
My voice comes out rough. “I need you to do something for me p>
His brows pull together. “What is it? I’ll do anything p>
I swallow my throat still feels tight from where his hand was earlier.
“I need you to make me forget,” I say.
He goes very still.
“Forget what?” he asks, though I think he already knows.
“Their hands on me.” I say quietly. “How it felt, how it still feels p>
The words hang there between us.
Zane straightens, shaking his head once. “Elaine p>
“Don’t,” I cut in. My voice cracking, but I keep going. “Just listen… please p>
He closes his mouth and watches me.
“I can’t get it out of my head,” I say. “It’s always there. In the quiet, In my sleep, I feel it even when no one’s touching me p>
My fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt. “I don’t want to think anymore, I don’t want to remember that night or years ago. I just want it gone. Even if it’s just for a little while p>
Zane stands slowly but he doesn’t touch me. Not yet.
“You’re asking me to He stops and runs a hand through his hair. “Elaine, I need to know you’re not saying this because you’re hurting p>
I let out a humorless laugh. “Of course I’m hurting. That’s the point p>
He steps closer, but still leaves space between us. “That’s not the answer I want to hear p>
I lift my chin. “I’m saying it because I want to. Because I’m choosing it p>
His eyes search my face like he’s looking for cracks, for hesitation, for anything that tells him to stop.
“Are you sure?” he asks quietly.
“Yes,” I say without thinking.
Another pause, this one stretching longer.
“You don’t owe me this,” he says. “You don’t owe me anything p>
“I know,” I reply. “That’s why I’m asking, not because I have to. Because I want control over something for once p>
He exhales slowly, like he’s bracing himself.
“If at any point you want me to stop,” he says, voice steady but tight, “I would stop, no questions asked. No arguing p>
I nod. “I know p>
He hesitates again. Then reaches out, not to grab me, but to rest his hand lightly against my arm.
I don’t flinch.
His touch is warm, not like before not like them.
“Okay,” he says finally. “We do this your way p>
I don’t answer. I just lean forward and rest my forehead against his chest, breathing him in.
And for now, that’s enough.
Zane’s POV
Every word she says lands like a blow.
She tells me about being eightneen, about the fake IDs and loud music and the thrill of getting into a place they didn’t belong. About thinking they were safe because the men smiled, because they bought drinks, because they acted like it was nothing.
She tells me how everything after that feels disconnected and blurry.
She remembers being moved and lifted, hands on her arms, on her waist. She remembers saying no over and over and over again and she remembers it not mattering.
Her voice breaks when she talks about the friend she was with then, how she could hear her and she could see her. How she couldn’t move to help her. Couldn’t help and couldn’t scream.
She doesn’t cry while she says it, not at first. Her face is empty and her eyes fixed somewhere past me, like she’s watching it happen all over again.
By the time she’s done, she’s shaking. Her hands twist into my shirt like she needs something solid to keep her from falling. She finally breaks then, he forehead presses into my chest and the sound she makes is so loud it tears straight through me.
I don’t move and I don’t interrupt her. I just hold her while she empties herself of something she’s been drowning in for years.
When she finally pulls back, her eyes are red, swollen and raw. There’s no embarrassment there, exhaustion and want.
Not want. Need.
She grips my collar suddenly, like she’s afraid if she hesitates she’ll lose her nerve. Her mouth crashes into mine before I can think. It’s not gentle, It’s desperate. Like she’s trying to anchor herself.
I kiss her back instinctively, then stop myself, my hands freezing at her sides.
I can feel how fragile she is with her much she just gave me.
I say her name… a warning. Not necessarily rejection just concern.
She shakes her head,her breath uneven. Her hands trembling against me.
“Please,” she says sounding broken. “I can’t sit with it. I can’t go back to feeling like that p>
Her words come out rushed now. She isn’t asking for romance, she isn’t asking to be saved she’s asking to feel something that isn’t fear or shame from her memory.