Page 36 of A Little More Hope

The room spun around me, as it got harder and harder to breathe. I frantically tried to pull in some oxygen, but my throat closed. Stars appeared in front of my eyes as I struggled to get the air I needed. Bending at the waist, I tried to force more blood to my head and stave off the inevitable blackout creeping along the edges of my mind.

“Shit, Mason, no,” he stated adamantly, panic and fear coloring his voice. His hand rested on my back and rubbed up and down, instantly bringing the comfort I consistently yearned for from him. Disgust roiled in my gut at needing comfort in the first place, when all it would do was prove him right. Prove I was broken. Prove I did genuinely need to be fixed. Prove he was the only one who could fix me.

“That’s not how I see you at all.”

“Then what, Ash?” I asked hoarsely, battling for air. “What do you see?”

“Sit down, Mase; please sit down, and I’ll explain.” I dropped to the floor in a heap, my legs giving out beneath me. Ash was right there behind me, his muscled legs on either side of mine. Pulling me to him so I rested against his chest, his hands settling lightly over my lungs. “Breathe,” he stated firmly. “In—” He sucked in his own air and waited until I did the same, both of us holding our breath together. “—and out.” After what seemed an eternity, I released the air. He repeated the instructions, taking his time to help me follow them correctly. For the first time ever, I managed to regain my equilibrium using the crappy technique I’d previously judged to be useless. The tightness in my chest eased and my body relaxed into his.

I felt exhausted.

Gently leaning against the wall, Ash held me to him, my body nestled against his, arms wrapped around me protectively, my head lolling against his shoulder, too weak to hold itself up.

“I see a fighter,” he answered me gently, his lips against my ear. “Someone strong, not weak. A little damaged perhaps, but in no way broken.” He pulled me closer. “You’re scared, and have every right to be, but you’re battling your fears, working hard to beat them.” Emotion, fierce and powerful welled up inside my chest at his words. “You asked me what I see. Well, I see you, Mason. Under all the fear, under all and pain and hurt, I see you.”

Closing my lids tight, I fought to maintain the last threads of my control, failing abysmally as tears, big and fat, spilled from the corners of my eyes and down my cheeks. Hot salty tracks, dripping down my chin and onto my shirt. They wouldn’t stop falling, and as more slid down my face, the utter despair of my shattered life finally broke free. I hadn’t cried once the whole time since my attack, but now I didn’t think I’d ever be able to stop as sob after sob racked my body.

“I’m here,” Ash said, his arms cradling me, “I’m here, Mason. You’re safe.” His final word released the floodgates, letting all my pent-up emotions free. Shouting my anger at why this horror had happened to me. Shouting at the never-ending terror twisting me up in knots. Howled my fury at being so frustrated, so out of control at continuously letting my weakness win, letting the fear of another attack, another defeat, beat me every single day.

Through it all, Ash held me. The single solitary rock in the turbulent ocean I clung to. How long I cried I had no clue, but when, after an eternity, I stopped, no more tears left, my throat rough and sore from shouting, I felt better, lighter, cleansed.

“Thank you,” I whispered, wiping the wetness off my face. “Shit. I bet I look a fucking mess.”

The soft chuckle against my neck filled me with warmth. “As I can’t see your face, I’m gonna say you look as hot as you always do.”

“Smooth talker, you.” I sniffled and the congealing gooey mess ran over my top lip. Gripping the hem of my T-shirt, I wiped the cotton over my face to remove any last evidence of my meltdown when I realized my stupid mistake. “Crap, now I’m covered in dust as well as snot,” I moaned.

“Still hot from where I’m sitting.” This time I did let out a laugh, which kept happening more and more around him lately, as well as bawling my eyes out, apparently. I drew comfort from the fact he’d already seen me at my worst, so surely, life could only get better from here on out.

“I should move,” I said, “I must be heavy.” Despite our comparative height, I had a bigger, bulkier build, with at least twenty-odd pounds on him.

He snuggled in behind me, wiggling his body, trying to get closer, his cock resting against my lower back. “Nah, you’re fine. I like your weight on top of me. Makes me feel safe.”

Leaning to the side, I swiveled my head to look at him face-to-face, wanting to make sure of his sentiment, but from the sincerity in his eyes, he truly meant the words. As screwed up as I was, I somehow managed to retain the ability to make him feel safe. He had no comprehension of how much those words meant to me. The ability to give him this, however small, when most of the time I had hardly any control over any part of my life, gave me an odd sense of peace from knowing he did see me as someone strong and not the weakling I imagined myself to be.

Lowering his head, he dropped a kiss on my forehead. “Still hot, even from the front.” His soft reply had me melting on the spot. He said the sweetest things.

Chapter Twelve

Ash

“Are you feeling any better?” I asked Mason gently, my chin nuzzling his hair. He smelled of dust and sweat and the faint lingering scent of his shampoo. In other words, absolutely perfect. I never wanted to move again. Sitting here against the wall in my aunt’s house, my arms wrapped protectively around the most complex and frustrating and amazing man I’d ever met, I was in heaven.

It had taken all my mental strength to remain calm as he imploded, and I’d done the only thing I could think of to offer comfort: hold him. To hear his cries and feel his heavy frame heaving against mine as he unburdened the last few months had hurt my heart. His meltdown was always going to happen at some point, and I’d forever be grateful he’d allowed me to be the person he’d leaned on to help him through the agony.

“Yeah,” he answered sleepily. The gruffness in his voice had me imagining how he’d sound when he awoke in the mornings.

I’d like to witness that. Very much.

Mason must feel completely drained, which I guessed was to be expected. But moving him and leaving the cocoon around us wasn’t on the cards, despite my ass being numb.

The sun had passed across the bathroom, turning the hideous flowery wallpaper a bright orange by the time Mason eventually spoke, his voice seeming loud in the quiet enveloping us. “We should finish up,” he said and went to move out of my embrace.

“Let’s leave it,” I replied and, sensing him about to grumble, hid my smile. One quirk about Mason: he liked his life orderly. Whether that was due to what had happened to him he needed his environment to be so particular or his need for order was a result of genetics. Either way, the concept of not tidying up in readiness for tomorrow didn’t sit well with him at all. “Only for tonight.”

“Okay,” he replied, though by his expression, it pained him to say so.

“I’ll get up extra early tomorrow morning and tidy up so we’re ready to go on time.”

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