Page 34 of Filthy and Dirty with the Bikers

“Really?”

“Come on,” he rasps. “Say it.I’m beautiful…”

“I’m beautiful.”

“I’m smart…”

“I’m smart.”Why is this so hard?

“And I’m so fucking loved.”

For some reason, tears fill my eyes, and this soft bit of reassurance goes straight to my soul, filling me up in ways I’ve never been filled. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t beg. He just listened, knew what I needed, and gave it to me like he wanted to, like he means it. “And I’m so fucking loved.”

His thumb swipes away the tears falling from my vision.

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“How do you know the right thing to say, and when to say it?”

He laughs. “Years of therapist school teaches you a lot about what people need.”

“No, it’s more than that.”

He kisses my forehead and goes back to brushing my hair gently, barely touching my skin with each simple stroke. “Did I ever tell you why I wanted to be a therapist?”

“No.”

“When I was young, I watched my dad go into these rages. He’d get really angry at simple things. My mother asking him a question he didn’t seem necessary, or her needing simple reassurances. Sometimes, he’d get physically aggressive with both of us. She made excuses for him over and over again. A lot of people blamed her for staying, but I knew deep down that her brain wasn’t right anymore. She’d endured so much manipulation, so much abuse, so much trauma that she really truly couldn’t make a clear decision. I went to school to figure out how abuse affects the brain. I wanted to know every detail of what he’d done to her so I could help.”

“Did you help her?”

He looks inward again, then toward me. “I don’t think so. She was too far gone by the time I graduated. I mean, the shit abuse does to you is incredible.”

“Like what?”

“Even minor, repeated emotional abuse causes changes in brain chemistry. It leads to maladaptive coping skills, a disconnect from emotions, avoidant behaviors, and isolation. The worst part is the codependency that’s created through abuse. Your brain gets used to highs and lows, so you develop a sort of abandonment anxiety, which can lead to chronic pain, and all kinds of physical alignments.”

I swallow hard and make eye contact with Holden. “Codependency is no joke. Tyler would scream and yell, and I’d run back to him for comfort. I hated myself for it.”

“And when he hugs you after the abuse, it tricks your brain into thinking he loves you, because your heart believes he wouldn’t soften if he didn’t care. You trust again and the cycle continues.”

A lump forms in my throat and my voice cracks as I say, “Yes… that’s what kept me sucked in. I always thought that deep down he cared, and that he wanted to change but didn’t know how. In reality, he didn’t want to change at all.”

Holden stares down at me with dark brown eyes and brushes his hand against my cheek. “I’m here with you, little one. You’re safe now.”

I grin and hold him close. It’s so weird that I spent so much time watering fake flowers expecting them to grow. If I’d known for a second what it felt like to smell real roses, I’d have left ages ago.

Holden kisses the tip of my nose as I twist the hair on his chest. I’m not sure I’ll ever understand what I did to deserve these men. “I’m sorry you couldn’t help your mom. Is she still…”

“She’s up in Rugged Mountain. My dad died a few years ago. I hate to say it, but I think she finally feels free.”

I blow out a breath then lean up and kiss his lips gently, pushing my fingertips through his hair. I can’t imagine what lifewould’ve been like had I watched my father abuse my mother growing up. They died when I was young and I don’t have many memories of them, but those that I do have are good, sweet, and romantic. My father was always doting on my mom. I remember him bringing her handpicked flowers and planning romantic picnics for them by the lake.

Holden heals so many people, but who heals him?

My tongue slips past his lips and I grip him tight, stroking his hard, thick cock in my hand as I lift my hips to scrub against his mindlessly.

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