Page 8 of Love Takes Home

He does as I ask, stepping back, but I feel his hand still on my elbow, ready to catch me if I fall again. As soon as I’m sure mylegs will hold me, I step away and start pacing. I’m wringing my arms out, but it’s no use. I can’t fucking breathe.

I claw at my dress, trying to get the ties undone in the back. I know there’s a hidden zipper somewhere, but I can’t reach it and if I untie it, it’ll come loose and I can take it off. I’m suffocating. My chest is closing in on me, crushing my lungs, and I can’t fucking breathe.

I feel my head shaking from side to side, trying to make my brain listen to me. I know I’m having a panic attack. I know if I can just calm down, it’ll stop, and I’ll be able to take a deep breath. But I can’t. I can’t get this dress off and I can’t fucking breathe.

Why did I agree to wear this thing? Why did I let him talk me into being someone I’m not? How did I convince myself that I would be fine with a man like him? Oh, God, what if he’s dead on the side of the road? What if he’s not? How is he going to make my life hell when he finds out I walked out? What is he going to do to my things at home? Oh, no. Where am I going to live? What about my job? Will he find a way to fire me? Make me pay for embarrassing him? Cut my brake lines and watch me die in a fireball when I run into a building because I can’t stop? Fuck! I can’t fucking breathe.

What are my parents going to say to me when we get back? My friends? Is Keith going to track me down in this cabin in the middle of nowhere and kill me? Could he be that mad at me? What if…what if he finds me alone and hurts me instead? I never told anyone about the other times. They don’t know what he’s done to me. How he’s really treated me. And I let him. I let him hurt me. I did that. Because I’m broken. I’m unlovable. It’s what I deserved. And I can’t. Fucking. Breathe!

“Ginny! Virginia!”

Joker. He’s here with me. What does he want? Can’t he see I need help?

“Ginny!” His voice is so commanding. Demanding. “I need you to fucking look at me right now!”

The order. The voice. Deep. Laced with worry and pain? Why’s he worried? Did I hurt him when he was carrying me?

“If you don’t look at me right now, I’m cutting that fucking dress off your body and anything else you have on that looks even remotely tight!”

He wouldn’t. Would he? He can’t! He can’t see me naked. It would turn him off. Just like it did Keith. No one wants to or should see me naked. What did he say? I need to look at him. My eyes, which I’ve been squeezing shut, pop open and look around the room. I can’t keep them in one place. I can’t focus. And do you know why? BECAUSE I CAN’T FUCKING BREATHE!

“Fuck this,” I hear him say.

Is he right in front of me? I close my eyes and try to focus again, but you know what helps with that? A big, deep breath. Which I can’t take, because I can’t fucking breathe!

“Ginny!” His voice tries to get my attention again, but it’s not until he grasps my face and stops my head from shaking side to side that I can even try. My eyes snap open, meeting his dark brown ones full of emotions I’m not capable of dealing with right now. “I’m cutting this fucking dress off of you now!”

“What? No!”

“Yes!”

And then I hear it. The snip-snip sound of scissors. The weight pulling me down falling away. I drop my eyes and watch as the embodiment of everything rotten about the last two years falls away from my body. But I’m not any better. I still can’t inhale a full breath and my chest still feels like it’s caving in and crushing my lungs and my hands are starting to tingle. “Can’t…fucking…breathe!” I cry as loud as I can. Even in my state, I can hear the desperation in my voice. What is wrong with me?

Joker begins pawing me. Is he feeling me up? Now? Nah. That would never happen. But then I feel it. He snips the straps of my shapewear and starts pulling it down my body. Exposing me to him, one inch of skin at a time. Oh, God. Is he looking at me? Will he compare me to a can of biscuits exploding when being released from its can? All of my flaws. On full display. Can this day get any worse?

“No,” I pant. “No. Stop. Don’t look at me,” I cry, squeezing my eyes closed. I can feel the tears running down my face. My mortification complete.

“I’m only helping, Gin. You’ve got to start taking deep breaths for me, okay?” I try, and to my surprise, I’m able to take one. And then another. “That’s it. Easy does it, Beautiful.”

Did he just call me beautiful? Why is he lying? I slowly open my eyes and watch him go down on his knees in front of me, attempting to untie my crinoline skirt so he can continue to pull down the awful binding fabric. He’s going to see my fat. He’s going to see my scar.

“Okay.” I inhale. “I think I can manage from here.”

I try to step away from him, but he reaches out and grabs my thighs, stopping me. “Let me help you. Please.”

“I don’t…Joker. I can’t let you. Please understand.”

Never once does he drop his eyes from mine to my chest. He makes no comment about my boobs or how they aren’t as perky as other women’s. Or how they are too big, or too fat, or too much. No words about how inconvenient they can be or how much of a slob I am when food falls on them. Because let’s face it. You either rest them on the table and lean over or take the risk. Sometimes the risk is messy. Much like my entire life right now. My focus is still shit, but I can’t look away from him now. If I hold eye contact, he can’t look at my body, right? He finally closes his eyes and nods. Standing, he takes my hand and walksme toward a door in the side wall. He opens it into a small bathroom and steps aside so I can enter.

“I’ll be right back,” he quietly tells me before closing me in.

I lean against the closed door and let my head fall against it. Now that I have air moving through my lungs again, I can take stock of everything. Well, not everything. Just the last five minutes. Which makes my chest tighten again, so I stop that. I step into the middle of the room, pulling everything remaining on my body away, including the jewelry I have on. I start to pull the pins out of my updo when there’s a knock at the door.

“I have something for you,” Joker says through the door.

I open it enough to stick my face out and see he’s got a stack of clothes for me.

“Thank you,” I whisper, reaching through the door and taking his offering. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

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