Page 11 of Body and Soul

I tamped down a triumphant smile at Eli's admission. His inexperience, his vulnerability, would make this that much easier.

“You know,” I said, leaning back slightly, “many people find their first relationships to be a little awkward. It’s part of the journey, really. What matters is how we learn and grow from them.”

Eli's shoulders hunched slightly. “I guess so. Relationships seem so complicated. With hookups, it's simple. Purely physical.” His fingers tightened around his mug. “Feelings mess everything up.”

I nodded. “Especially if you've been hurt before.” I let a beat of silence stretch between us before asking casually, “Is that what happened to you?”

His gaze darted to mine, wide and wary, a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes. The silence stretched, thick with tension, as if he were weighing his words against the weight of his past.

I shrugged, taking a sip of my coffee. “You mentioned growing up all over. That kind of rootless childhood can leave scars. Make it hard to form attachments.”

Eli's eyes narrowed slightly, his posture stiffening. “Are you some kind of shrink or something?”

I smiled, unsurprised by his wariness. “I am, actually. A psychologist specializing in sex therapy.” I leaned back in my chair, keeping my body language open and non-threatening. “But let’s set my work aside for now. I want to understand what makes you tick.”

Eli's fingers tapped restlessly against his mug. “Why? What's so interesting about me?”

“Everything,” I said simply. “Your resilience, for one. It takes a lot of strength to survive the kind of upheaval you experienced growing up.”

Eli scoffed, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face before he quickly looked away, as if afraid of what I might see. “I did what I had to do. That's all.”

I hummed thoughtfully. “And that tattoo apprenticeship? That's a recent development, right? What made you decide to pursue it?”

Eli shrugged, still not meeting my eyes. “I don't know. I've always liked art. Thought it would be cool to learn how to do it professionally.”

“It's more than that, though, isn't it?” I pressed gently. “Tattooing is a way of reclaiming your body. Making it yours again, after...” I let my voice trail off, leaving room for him to finish the thought.

Eli’s head snapped up, a flash of anger mingling with something deeper—fear. “After what?” he demanded, his voice tight, as if the question had pulled at a raw nerve. I saw the walls go up around him, the instinct to guard his wounds flaring to life, and it sent a pang of sympathy through me. “Whatever you think you know about me…”

I held his gaze steadily. “I know you've been hurt,” I said quietly. “I know you've survived things no one should have toendure. And I know the marks on your skin are more than ink. They're armor. A way to rewrite the narrative of what happened to you.”

Eli's breath hitched, his fingers clenching into fists on the tabletop. For a long moment, he stared at me, jaw working as if he were physically biting back words.

Then, abruptly, he shoved his chair back and stood. “I have to go,” he muttered, refusing to meet my eyes. “This was a mistake.”

“Eli.” I stayed seated, but let a thread of dominance wind through my voice. “Sit down. Please.”

He wavered, body poised for flight. I could practically see the war waging behind his eyes—the desperate desire to flee wrestling with the instinctive urge to obey. To submit.

After a long, tense moment, he sank slowly back into his chair. His hands twisted together anxiously in his lap, shoulders hunched as if bracing for a blow.

“I'm not going to hurt you,” I said quietly. “And I'm not going to force you to talk about anything you don't want to. But I need you to listen carefully to what I'm about to say.”

Eli gave a jerky nod, still not raising his eyes from where they were fixed on the tabletop.

“I know you're scared,” I said, my voice low but firm. “And I understand why you might feel that way. You've been hurt, you've been used, and you're scared of letting anyone in. But you don’t have to keep fighting. Not with me. I’m not here to hurt you; I’m here to help you heal.”

Eli swallowed, the tension in his body so tangible I could almost feel it vibrating through the air. He remained silent, but his restless fingers continued their nervous twisting, betraying the storm of thoughts in his head.

“I’m not going to push you, Eli,” I continued, keeping my tone soft, coaxing. “But I want you to think about something. All thatpain, all the fear you’ve carried for so long—it’s not your fault. You don’t deserve to be stuck in survival mode forever.”

Eli's eyes flickered to mine, uncertainty written in every line of his face. “You...you don’t know me.”

I leaned forward, bridging the space between us slightly. “I know more than you think. I know what it’s like to feel powerless, like you're nothing more than a tool for someone else’s desires. I know the marks they leave behind, inside and out.”

His jaw clenched, but I could see the cracks forming, the way his walls were slowly crumbling under the weight of his emotions.

I held my hands up, palms open. “You have the power to walk out that door right now, and I won’t stop you. But if you choose to stay—if you can find it in yourself to trust me—what I offer goes beyond mere survival. I can help you reclaim your life, piece by piece.”

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