Page 37 of Edge of Ruin
“... okay? Jesus, Viv! What did I do?”
“It wasn’t you,” I said, through shaking lips. “I’m sorry.”
“What the fuck? What happened?”
“It was that position,” I admitted, my voice small. “It just triggered some bad memories, that’s all. No big deal. I’m okay now. Really. Totally fine.”
“What do you mean, that’s all?” His face was pale with alarm.
Crap. I had been so close to getting through this stone wall in my own head, and I had to have a meltdown right now, just when I got to the good part. So freaking typical.
“... memories? Can you talk about it?”
The look on his face told me that he wasn’t going to let this slide. I gave in to the inevitable with a sigh. “It was a bad boyfriend I had once, years ago,” I explained. “The relationship went sour. So did the sex. It took a while for me to pry myself out of the situation, and in the meantime, well. It left me hung up. He was, well. Heavy into control, let’s just say, and leave it at that.”
I was afraid to look at Jack’s face. Pity would make me cringe. But when I finally looked, it wasn’t pity I saw. It was fury. A blaze of anger that made my heart do a weird galloping skip of primitive fear.
“Tell me his name, and where he lives,” Jack said. “I’ll rip that filthy piece of shit to pieces and grind him into the fucking dirt for you.”
I blinked at him stupidly. “Ah, well. Um, thank you,” I said, flustered. “That’s a very kind offer, but I’m okay with it now.”
“You didn’t look okay two minutes ago,” he said grimly.
“I’m sorry I?—”
“Stop apologizing!”
The harshness of his voice startled me, and he looked away, shaking his head. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”
“We can’t seem to stop apologizing to each other.” I kept my nails dug into the muscles of his shoulders, as if I was afraid that he would run away from me, but he didn’t. Not at all. His hands crept up, crossing his chest, to cover mine. Enveloping mine. Flooding my body with reassurance.
“Do you want to, uh, just leave it for now?” he suggested gently.
“No!” I yelled. “I will not let him fuck this up for me, too! He has taken enough from me already, goddammit!”
“You don’t know how happy I am to hear you say that,” he said fervently. “Thank God. Just tell me what I need to do. Or, uh, not do.”
“It’s not that complicated. Just do what you do. You’re fabulous. Just not shoved up against the wall. And don’t pin down my hands. Or press on my throat. Or pull on my hair. And we’ll be fine. I think.”
That tightly leashed fury flashed again in his wolfish eyes. “That sick, filthy fuckhead,” he said.
“Yeah, maybe he is, but starting now, he leaves the scene,” I said sternly. “No more airtime for the sick, filthy fuckhead. It’s just us now. Just Jack and Vivi, capisci?”
He nodded. The silence grew so long, we both started to laugh.
“I feel really shy, now,” Jack admitted. “I think you’re going to have to choreograph this one. I’ll just follow your lead.”
“But I don’t know where I’m going,” I protested. “That is to say, I have a rough idea, but I might drive us into the swamp, you know?”
“So we’ll lead each other. Like hands on a Ouija board,” he said. “I’ll give you a tip to get you started. Take my hand and lead me into the bedroom. That’ll get us going.”
I lifted my hands from his shoulders and grabbed his hand, pulling him into the adjoining room. It was practically empty but for the futon with my sleeping bag and my suitcase tucked in the corner.
The walls were alive with shifting green shadows from sunlight sifting through oak and maple leaves. I longed for the cover of dusk, or night, but no. It was all going to be so visible. So terribly deliberate.
I gave him a questioning look. “Next tip?”
“Take off your clothes,” he said.
