Page 57 of It Will Always Be You
Hiding the worst of my scars from Johnathan wasn’t a conscious decision as much as it was instinct screaming at me to do so and circumstance making it easy. My left hip was against the back of the sofa, so hiding the worst from him was easy enough, and then sleeping in his shirt made it easy to hide at night. But now, sitting in the bath with bubbles up to my chest while he takes such great care in washing my hair while I hug my knees to my chest has me wanting to take that last leap of faith.
The care in his every action, the utter devotion he’s shown me, has me wanting to share it all with him: the good, the bad and even the ugly. As he massages conditioner in my scalp I feel the last part of my resistance crumble. Taking one of his hands in my own with a squeeze, I place it on the ruined flesh of my hip. He freezes beside me, fingers lightly tracing the marks there. I can feel the fury bleeding into him as he growls, “Who did this to you?”
And so, with a shaky breath and my heart in my throat, I lay my soul bare to him. The words are slow and stilted, and with everysentence, I can feel him grow tenser and tenser at my back. “After the accident, I woke up in a cell. It wasn’t long before I was sold off. For a while, I thought my new owner was the worst fate that awaited me, but then Angus paid us a visit…”
As the words spill from my lips, as I share every inch of depravity and heartbreak, part of my soul knits itself back together, the damage lessening with every word.
“After what they did to Freya…I couldn’t cope anymore. I’d reached my breaking point, and with nothing left to lose, a part of me just snapped. I killed them, Johnny. I’m a murderer. God, I feel so filthy. They ruined me in ways I don’t think I’ll ever recover from. He branded me, pierced my nipples… Jonathan, there’s nothing he didn’t do,” I sob.
“Helen…I’m so fucking sorry,” he rasps, resting his head against mine. We sit there in silence, him still gently tracing the ugly mark that ensures I never forget what happened.
103 might be free, but she’s far from buried.
Eventually, he breaks the charged silence to get me to tip my head back so he can rinse the conditioner out. At the same time, it feels like he’s rinsing away some of the hurt clinging to me. Helping me out of the bath, he keeps his gaze firmly locked with mine as he drops to his knees before me.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“Showing you just how perfect you are to me, scars and all.” He places a kiss on first one foot, then the other before making his way up my legs. Seeing this powerful man on his knees for me takes my breath away. As he works his way up my body with an endless stream of reassurance and praise, I’m a mess by the time he’s standing in front of me again. As he cups my face in his palms, tears blur my vision.
“You are perfection, Helen, and you always have been. It was always you, sweetheart;it will always be you. I want you exactly as you are. Nothing is ever going to make me want you or love you less. You’re my beginning, middle, and end. When I thought you died, a part ofme died with you. The only reason I didn’t chase death was because I knew our daughter needed me, but God, sweetheart. It was agony living in a world without you. I want to spend a lifetime by your side, helping you heal, watching you flourish and making up for what was stolen from us.” Tears stream down both our faces at this point.
“I always loved you, even when it hurt to do so,” I confess on a broken sob. With a choked noise, he drops his forehead to rest against mine. I’m captivated by his eyes, eyes I dreamt of, eyes that haunted me as I raised our daughter without him. With his hands under my ass, he lifts me, and I wrap my legs around his waist. In that moment, Jonathan’s kiss is a rough claiming as he reassures us both that this is real. It strips away the last of my control, pulling me deeper and deeper into him until the only thing I can think about is him and the burn of his mouth on mine.
I cling to him as he steps out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. The world around us blurs, shrinking to focus on the heat between us. All that matters is our raw need to be one. The whole world could burn down around us right now for all we’d notice. Setting me on my feet in the middle of the room, he takes me in with heated eyes.
“Every inch of you is mine, from the top of your pretty head to your toes, and I think it’s about time I remind you of that fact. What do you say, sweetheart?” The promise in his words has me shifting my weight, desperate for some relief from the low throbbing in my core. My mouth is dry, so with a nod of my head, I go to move closer to him, only to stop when he tsks.
“Words, pretty girl. I need to hear you say it.”
“Pretty please,” I sass, rolling my eyes at him.
His lips twitch into a smirk, and for a heartbeat, the air between us softens—less fire, more warmth. But then his gaze drops to my bare body, and a low groan escapes him as he shifts, adjusting himself.
I watch him, heart pounding, the air thick between us.
“I don’t want you to go easy on me,” I say, the words raw and real. “I need this—I needyou.You’re the only one I trust to help me take mybody back.”
The hunger in his eyes flares hotter, but it’s tempered by something deeper. Something reverent. His jaw tightens, and for a beat, he doesn’t speak—just watches me like he’s memorising this moment.
“Be a good girl,” he murmurs, voice low and reverent now, thick with restraint. “And crawl to me.”
I don’t hesitate this time. I lower myself, deliberately, onto my hands and knees, and meet his gaze as I move. There’s no fear in my chest now—only fire. Only him.
Each step forward is a quiet rebellion against the years I was forced to flinch, to shrink, to obey out of fear instead of desire. With every inch I close between us, I reclaim something.
The act of crawling should have me outraged. Humiliated. But the way he looks at me—like I’m something sacred—and the way he doesn’t command, justwaits, has me desperate to close the space between us.
When I finally reach him, he kneels too, meeting me eye to eye. One hand rises to cradle my face with aching gentleness.
“You’re sure?” he asks, voice low and hoarse with restraint. “If you say stop—”
“I won’t,” I whisper. “Not with you.”
His breath catches. Something flickers in his eyes—fierce, protective, awed.
“I don’t want you to go easy on me,” I add, barely more than a breath. “I need this—I needyou.”
He nods once, his thumb brushing over my cheek, like he’s anchoring himself with the weight of my words.
