Page 27 of The Tourist

The raw emotion in her voice breaks something inside me. I want to reach out and hold her. I want to make everything better, but I’m paralyzed by my own helplessness, my own fears of hurting her, and the blame I feel for her suffering.

“Tell me,” I say softly. “Tell me everything. I want to understand.”

Chloe takes a deep breath, her eyes going distant with memories.

“It was like being trapped in a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. They’d hold me down as the heroin would hit. At first, it was a relief because it numbed everything. But then the real dread started. I could feel them everywhere. I could feel hands, mouths, penises, objects, everything, but I couldn’t fight back. I was trapped in my own body, screaming in a place no one could hear. Your body is the only thing that is truly your own. No one should be able to take away your control over what happens to it. By injecting me with the drugs, they did just that. I couldn’t fight them. I just had to lie there and accept it all. I think that’s the worst part.”

My stomach twists at her words. The thought of her suffering like that is too much to bear. “I-I’m so sorry. I wish I could have been there to stop them.”

She shakes her head, tears running down her face. “It’s not your fault. But now, without the drugs, every touch and every memory is etched into my skin. I can’t scrub any of it away. I want to feel human again.”

Her pain fuels my own rage and helplessness. “You are human. You’re not defined by what they did to you. You’re so much more than that.”

She looks up at me, her eyes filled with a desperate plea. “Then help me. Help me experience something normal, something real. I need this. I need to know that I can feel good about myself again. Talking about everything is okay, and the counseling is helping, but I need something more.”

Her words tear at my resolve. I want to give her what she needs, to help her heal. But I also know that this is a delicate line we're walking.

“I want to help you,’ I tell her. “But I don’t want to do anything that might hurt you more.”

“You won’t hurt me,” she insists, her grip tightening on my arm. “What hurts is feeling like I’ll never be normal again. I need to reclaim my body, my life. I need you to kiss me again.”

“Okay. But we take this slow. We go at your pace.”

She nods, relief washing over her face. “Thank you.”

I reach out, gently taking her hand in mine. “You’re not alone in this. We’ll get through it together.”

Chloe smiles. It’s a small, tentative smile that breaks through the darkness. “Together,” she agrees, nodding.

I wrap my arms around her, holding her close. I’m starting to need her as much as she says she needs me. I can feel her trembling in my arms, but I know she’s not afraid. This is another step toward her healing.

I lean in, my lips brushing against hers again, but this time it’s different. It’s a tender, gentle kiss, promising safety and understanding. She responds, her body relaxing into mine.

“Chloe,” I whisper against her lips. “None of it was your fault. You shouldn’t feel dirty. You’re beautiful, and you deserve to feel good.”

She looks up at me, her eyes shining with the tears she’s been crying. “Please make me feel clean, Diego. No…make me feel normal.”

I nod, guiding her to lie back on the sofa. I kiss her softly then trail my lips down her neck and collarbone, taking my time to make sure she knows this is about her. When my mouth reaches her core, I look up and meet her eyes.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

She shakes her head, her breath hitching. I push up the long skirt she’s wearing until it’s bunched around her waist and then gently pull aside her panties. I’m surprised to find how wet she is already. Her scent intoxicates me.

“Don’t stop. Please,” she begs.

My thumb circles her clit, and her moans fill the room. My movements are slow and deliberate, focusing on her pleasure alone. I want to replace her memories of pain and violation with something pure, something healing.

Leaning forward, I kiss her inner thighs. Her skin is soft and warm beneath my lips. I move my mouth higher until I’m gently teasing her core and she’s writhing with need. I look up once more and see the desire and trust in her eyes.

“You’re safe with me,” I whisper before lowering my mouth to her center once again.

I take my time, my tongue lapping at her core with gentle, unhurried movements, teasing her while carefully listening to make sure she wants me to continue.

Her hands reach out toward me, and she grabs my hair tightly with both her fists as her breaths come faster. She’s in charge now, and when she starts tightening and loosening her grip, I speed up and slow down in response, allowing her to be in total control of what is happening to her body.

Her moans become louder and more urgent, and I increase the pressure of my tongue against her core, wanting to bring her the freedom she needs. When she finally climaxes, it’s a quiet, shuddering release as her body bathes my tongue with her essence.

She starts to cry, but I know these are tears of relief, of a small victory over the darkness.

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