I squeezed you tightly from the side and buried my head into your neck.
"I want to marry you, too," I whispered.
"Really?" You asked.
"Really."
We sat there, glued to each other, breathing quietly.
"Did you doubt that I would want to be with you?" I asked gently.
"I guess I didn't know. I could see how it would be easy for you to change your mind once we got back. Maybe you'd remember all the creepy things I did and turn your back on me."
I sat up and looked you in the eye. "Zayn, I will never turn my back on you. I promise." I leaned close to you and pressed my forehead against you and whispered again, "I promise. We're together now for good."
"Good," you whispered, reaching your hand to my cheek and drawing my face even closer so that our lips were touching.
As soon as I felt your lips against mine, I kissed you passionately, pouring all of my emotion from the past few weeks into our embrace. You slid your hand further into my hair and kept me pressed against your mouth, opening yours just enough to tease me with your tongue. I loved the way you felt and tasted and I didn't want to stop kissing you. Ever.
I pushed against your shoulders lightly, pushing you to lie back on the couch. Then I slung one leg over your hips, all the while never breaking our kiss. You had moved your hands around to my back and slid them carefully under my shirt, caressing my back and causing goose bumps to form over my whole body. I moved against your body, causing obvious excitement for both of us.
I pulled away slightly to catch my breath and you attacked my shoulders and my neck with open-mouthed kisses, making me feel out of breath. I whimpered softly, feeling incomparable pleasure at just the feel of your breath on my skin. I couldn't even imagine how intense it would be when we made love. I was kind of frightened at the thought, to be honest. But I was also unbelievably overwhelmed by desire. I had never, ever wanted someone this way. No one else had ever touched me the way you did, and I had no fear of you being my first and only lover.
You kneaded the skin of my back and gradually moved on of your hands around the front. I lifted myself enough to give you access, and you cupped my breast, squeezing it carefully and exploring. This time it was you who made a small noise of pleasure at feeling something new.
It didn't matter that I was still wearing a bra, just having you touch me so intimately made me insane. "Zayn, I changed my mind," I panted in between kisses.
"About...?"
"I don't want to wait until we're married. I can't stand it. I want you now, oh god, I want you now," I said, practically growling. I surprised myself, both with what I said and with the intensity of my words.
You slowly moved your hand out from under my shirt and cupped my face in your hands. I was still lying fully on top of you, aware of the excitement that I had created in your body.
"I want you, too, love. But I think we should wait. As much as I am dying to make love to you right now, I think we should take it slow." You kissed the tip of my nose and I knew that somewhere deep down, I agreed with you, but it was very difficult to access the voice of reason just then. I'd probably regret it if we rushed right into sex and didn't save anything new and undiscovered for our wedding night.
"But if you want to," you continued, "we could get married tomorrow." Then you laughed a little and I felt your muscles tighten beneath me.
"Can we?" I asked hopefully. I wasn't entirely serious, but almost.
"I don't think your family would take very kindly to that, love."
"I know," I said, pretending to pout and reluctantly removing myself from you. "But I don't want to wait very long. I already know that I'm in love with you, and I don't see any reason for us to wait."
"You're only 18."
"And?"
"And you met me less than two months ago."
"Why should that bother you?" I asked. "Isn't that the reason you came here, to win me over?"
"Of course it is, River, but I never intended to coerce you into something. I told you it was a stupid mistake for me to take you to the cabin against your will. Please don't think it was always my plan to deceive you. I wanted you to fall in love with me. I hoped that you would fall in love with me, and I was afraid that you wouldn't. I was paralyzed by fear for so long that when I took you, it was a desperate act."
I never knew your fears, not to that extent at least. "I know, babe. I know what your intentions were. We've been over this. I forgave you for what happened at the cabin."
"I know...I just...." You were getting choked up as you spoke.
I leaned my back against the armrest of the couch, and I pulled you to lean against my chest, and I stroked your hair gently, encouraging you to continue. "What is it, Zayn? What are you afraid of?"
"I don't want to lose you. I've been completely in awe of the fact that you even let yourself get close enough to like me, let alone love me. I'm afraid that when you spend more time with me, you won't want me anymore."
"Babe, I got to know you better than I think I've ever known anyone in my life. Think about it – we were stranded in a cabin together for a month, without any outside contact, no phone or internet. I learned a lot about you because we were side by side without distractions for all of that time. That was more than enough time to fall in love with you."
"Yeah, I guess you're right," you agreed.
I sat there stroking your hair, trying to get you to relax and trust in my love for you. It was getting quite late, so I asked, "Can I spend the night?"
"I was hoping you would," you replied. "But no funny business, all right? I'm an honest, decent man."
You were so adorable, I could hardly handle it. "All right, but the same goes for you. I've missed sleeping next to you."
"Me, too."
I called my family and told them I was staying with you. They weren't very happy, but I told them I was 18 and I wasn't asking for permission. I was going to stay.
We got ready for bed and gratefully embraced each other after you turned out the light.
"Don't worry about me, Zayn. I'm not going anywhere."
You held me tight and I fell asleep securely for the first time in weeks.
The next day, I helped you get settled back into your apartment, which didn't involve much. We put away the rest of your groceries and I tidied up the place, wiping off the thick layer of dust that had accumulated since you'd been gone. Finally, we assembled your easel and took out some of your art supplies.
"Why don't you paint something right now?" I suggested.
"Well, I don't feel particularly inspired at the moment. But can I show you some of my other work?"
"Of course," I said, beaming. I found it strange that I hadn't seen any of your art work when I was at your apartment before. But then again, I didn't snoop in every closet and corner.
You went to the bedroom and came back with a very large portfolio. You sat down next to me, and untied it. The first piece you took out had me gasping in amazement.
It was an image of a ship at sea, being tossed by the wind and waves. It was dark and stormy, but there were still glimpses of light, occasionally poking through the clouds and through the portholes on the ship.
"Zayn, this is unbelievable. I can't believe you painted this. It kind of reminds me of the Hesperus."
The next several pieces evoked the same reaction.
Eventually, you came to one that you were hesitant to show me. "I don't know if you'll like this or not," you said.
"If you painted it, I will love it!"
You slowly turned it around. It was a painting of me, on vacation in England. I was wearing my favorite swim suit, which no longer fit me. It had peach flowers and frills around the edges, but it wasn't made for a little girl. It was a modest cut, even though it was a two-piece. I couldn't believe the way you had re-created me in the picture.
"You made her much prettier than me. Her hair is stunning. My hair has always been so...lifeless."
"You've got to be joking. You are the most exquisite woman I have ever met. You are beautiful in every way and your hair is the perfect color."
"Thank you," I smiled shyly. I didn't want to refute what you were saying, but the girl in the picture seemed much more elegant than plain old me. I was flattered that you saw me in such a glamorous light.
You showed me one more painting and I could tell it brought tears to your eyes.
It was your mother, and she was beyond beautiful – so carefree and timeless. My heart ached for your loss – it was far worse than losing my father, since he was still alive. Sure, it hurt that he rejected us, but your loss was far greater because your mother was completely out of your reach.
"She was lovely," I told you. "I wish I'd met her."
"Me, too," you said, brushing away a tear.
"I'm so, so sorry about what happened to her, but it wasn't your fault, okay? Your father made some very foolish choices and her death was his fault, plain and simple."
"Do you think I'll turn out like him? I've made some foolish choices, too."
"Zayn, you are the most kind and gentle person I've ever met. You could have become violent towards me when I was hitting you and practically pushing you down the stairs at the cabin. But you didn't hurt me. I didn't even see malice in your eyes. You just stood there and took it."
"I deserved it," you said.
"Maybe a little. But it would be any man's instinct to fight back and you didn't. You've had the most gentle love for me. You are nothing like your father. You are the opposite of whatever he was."
You just nodded with a grateful little smile.
I kissed you lightly and then I suggested, "Would you like to come to my therapy appointment with me?" I thought that Dr. Conyers should meet you so she could see for herself that you were harmless, as well as honest and upstanding. But I also hoped that she would be able to recommend a therapist for you as well.
"Um...." You hesitated. "Sure, I guess."
"Good!"
I didn't even ask Dr. Conyers about bringing you with me; you just joined me at my appointment the next day.
When we went into her office, she was surprised, to be sure.
"Hello, Dr. Conyers," I said. "This is Zayn."
Her eyes went wide, but then she recovered her manners and shook your hand, "Nice to meet you, Zayn. What brings you here today?"
"River invited me along," you spoke quietly.
"Oh," was all she said.
"I thought he could tell you – or I could tell you – a bit about his past, so you might be able to recommend someone who could help him."
"All right." Dr. Conyers face remained stoic, but at least she was willing.
We sat down and then she started. "River has told me a bit about your history, actually. I hope you don't mind." You shook your head and she continued. "She told me that your father killed your mother. Can you tell me more about that?"
I dreaded having you tell her all the horrifying details yourself, but then again, I thought it would be good for you to get it out, to talk to someone about it and share your burden with others.
"I was playing ball in the house, which wasn't allowed, of course. I was just getting a snack and I lost control of the ball."
I could tell the memories hurt you deeply. Of course they would; it was an awful thing for a child to endure. I rubbed your back gently while you tried to maintain your composure.
"The ball knocked an expensive painting off the wall and my father came into the room, furious at me. He started yelling and pushing me around, telling me I was useless and such a spoiled brat that he couldn't stand to be around me. He said he wished I'd never been born."
You hadn't told me that part. A new ache formed in me. My dad had essentially said the same thing to me with his departure, that I wasn't important enough for him to stick around, but at least he didn't kill anyone I loved.
"My mum came in and tried to get in between us so that he wouldn't hurt me, but he pushed her out of the way. She came back between us and he shoved her hard enough against the kitchen door that it opened and she fell down the concrete steps. She..."
The tears were coming, I knew it. I wanted to just hold you and let you cry like I did at the cabin, but you had to get through this.
I looked at Dr. Conyers. She was visibly moved by your story, her face no longer stoic, but drawn into a sympathetic frown.
She gently encouraged you, "Keep going when you're able." Then she handed you some kleenex and a bottle of water from her mini fridge.
"She hit her head and it was bleeding so much. I ran to her and hugged her, begging her to wake up. My dad just stood there and I yelled at him to call for help. He walked away slowly. A few minutes later, I heard a gunshot. I didn't want to leave my mum, but I had to find out what happened. I went into his room and the fucker blew his head off."
There was a new rage in your voice – I didn't blame you. You rarely swore, so I knew you were filled with anger and hatred in that moment.
"The ambulance didn't come in time to save my mum. I called, but when they came, both my mum and my dad were gone."
With that, you broke down and sobbed. I held you again, stroking your hair like I did at the cabin, whispering, "I'm so sorry that happened to you."
Dr. Conyers patiently waited for you to recover. Then she asked, "Did your father drink alcohol?"
"All the time."
"What was life like before that day? Did you have a happy childhood or were you always afraid of him?"
"When I was small, we seemed pretty happy. But I when I was seven or eight, he started getting really angry about everything and that's when he started drinking. My mum was always amazing about it. She was very protective over me and she would tell me that Daddy just needed his space. She thought the best of him and he turned on her. What kind of sick monster does that to his family?"
"He was sick, Zayn. He was a very sick man, mentally and emotionally. What he did to your mum was not your fault. I know that a lot of people who go through something like this will blame themselves for what happened, but I assure you it wasn't your fault." Dr. Conyers sounded far more convincing than I had been.
"I shouldn't have been playing ball in the house," you said mournfully.
"Zayn, it wasn't the broken painting that set your dad off. He was a ticking time bomb, bound to lose it sooner or later. The fault was entirely his, not yours. You have to tell yourself that until you believe it."
You just nodded. I could tell you weren't really ready to let go of your self-blame.
She asked you then to tell her about your grandfather and how you convinced the authorities that he could take care of you. She asked some other details about your family and your childhood and if mental illness ran in your family.
Finally, she said, "I don't want to insult you, Zayn, but would the records in England verify your story?"
"Yes."
"And what is the name of the town in which you resided?"
"Leigh-on-Sea."
Dr. Conyers looked surprised. "Oh, River's family vacationed there a few years back, but I'm sure she told you that."
"Yes, Ma'am. I saw her there."
I froze and you realized what you had just said.
"I mean, I saw her pictures from there, and I recognized the places she'd been."
Oh, thank you for thinking of a quick cover up!
Dr. Conyers said she would be willing to meet with you personally, unless you wanted to talk to someone else, or possibly to a male therapist.
You said that meeting with her would be just fine.
I was eager for my next appointment, so I could talk with Dr. Conyers alone about her impressions of you, and if she would relent on her stupid Stockholm Syndrome theory.
When we got out to my car, you suddenly pulled me close to your body and kissed me. "Thank you, River."
"For what?"
"For helping me. I couldn't do this without you."
"I'm glad you're finally confronting all of this. I've been dealing with my dad's abandoning us for years, but you probably haven't spoken to a single person about your traumatic life."
"No, I haven't."
"See? You needed me," I said lightly.
"You have no idea how much I needed you."
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So, I finally updated. In case you didn't read my recent status updates, our house was flooded by a broken toilet tank in the upstairs bathroom. (Just the supply tank, not the yucky water.) It poured hundreds of gallons of water throughout our home. We came home to this mess after being gone for 5 days! Right now, part of my house is torn up, there are at least 8 industrial fan / dryers and it's as loud in our house as a jet engine! It's also very dirty and stinky because the walls are opened up and there's paint and dust flying everywhere.
ANYWAY, we just "moved" to a hotel for a while to get out of the house. And I desperately needed to write - it's my therapy. Hopefully I can post a few more updates soon.
THANKS to all my new readers! I'm so excited that you are enjoying my story! :D