Damaged 2 (5 page)

The
conversation ends, and we're miles away from where I wanted to be. In the back
of my mind I'd hoped that it was possible to fix things with him, that Peter
could convince me that he's the same person that he always was, but he doesn't
even try. Instead, he shuts me out. I'm not the one who did this. My resolve to
push him out of my heart solidifies. Peter Ferro will never know every part of
me again.

CHAPTER
7

Dinner
is slow and silent. By the time we head back to the room, I'm ready for a long
hot shower. Peter unlocks the door and for the first time, he flips on the
lights. I stop in my tracks just on the other side of the door. Peter rams into
my back, nearly knocking me over. He grabs hold of my arm just above the elbow
and steadies me.

"Holy
shit." The room is…I have no words. My senses are overwhelmed with thick
textures, red velvets and satins. There's a shag rug the color of a rose that
covers the floor from wall to wall. One huge heart-shaped bed sits in the
center of the room with a matching heart-shaped mirror on the ceiling. I'm
standing there with my hands clapped over my mouth.

Peter
shoves past me. "She's a nice old lady with interesting taste." Peter sits down
hard on the bed and pulls his shoes off. He flicks his eyes up at me after a
second. I haven't moved. "So it looks like a porn set from the seventies. What's
the big deal?"

My
eyes widen, and I look over at him. "There's a pole." I walk forward and slowly
reach out my hand toward the brass pole in the middle of the room. I move
carefully, like it might bite.

Peter
has a crooked smirk on his face. "You're so prude."

I
yank my arm back and turn on him. "Are you insane? This room would make a prude
person have a coronary! They'd fall over on the bed and watch themselves die in
the ceiling mirror. There's a pole!" My voice squeaks the last part.

Peter
peels off his shirt and shakes his head. I watch him do it and wish I hadn't.
His body is so beautiful that it's hard to look away, but I manage. My stomach
does a little somersault just before I turn. "So hang your laundry on it and
stop freaking out."

"What
kind of married couple uses a pole on their wedding night?"

He
grins. Peter pushes off the bed and walks over to me. He looks down into my
face. He's standing too close, and from the look on his face, he's doing it on purpose.
"I think you wouldn't be freaking out if you'd seen a pole dance before. You
know the woman doesn't actually fuck the pole, right?"

My
jaw drops. I make a high-pitched sound and slap his chest. "Yes, I know that.
And I suppose you've seen plenty of dances on one of these."

"Yeah,
but only at strip clubs." His eyes drink me in. They're so dark. He holds my
gaze for a moment and adds, "How about a private performance?" I go to slap his
face again, but Peter catches my wrist and stops me. It dawns on me that he
could have stopped me last time, too, but he didn't. His eyes flick back and
forth between mine. "Stop slapping me, Colleli."

"Stop
giving me a reason to, Ferro."

Peter's
look hardens. He drops my wrist like it's made of thorns, points to the bed,
and uses a stern voice. "Sit." It doesn't sound optional. I wonder what the
hell he's going to do. For once, I don't question him. I just follow his finger
and sit on the edge of the heart.

Peter
walks toward the pole and takes hold of it. He doesn't look at me. Instead his
dark gaze is downcast and his long lashes hide his eyes. I don't know what I
expect him to do, but he starts to move. I feel a smile spread across my face.
"I know what a pole dance is, Ferro."

"Uh-huh"
is the only thing he says. Peter moves around the pole, flashing his sculpted
muscles at me. I roll my eyes and act like I'm bored. He smiles, but doesn't
look up. It makes my heart pound. That shy smile is what drew me to him in the
first place. It's one of the looks that Peter gives that makes me want to melt.
At first I'm ready to laugh, but after that, something changes. The way he
moves his body is titillating. I feel hot, and certain parts of me are
demanding attention. I try to stop looking, but I can't.

When
Peter reaches for the button on his jeans, I jump up and stop him. My hands fly
to his before I realize what I'm doing, and how close I am to touching him in a
way that I shouldn't. My pulse is pounding and everything sounds so much louder—my
breaths, his breaths.

Peter
freezes when my hands land on his toned stomach, right over his. Neither of us
moves. For a second we just stand there. The compulsion to wrap my arms around
him shoots through me. I want to feel Peter against me, but that door closed.

I
shift and try to pull away, but Peter doesn't let me. I look up. Mistake. His
eyes hold me in place, and all the air is stripped from my body. "No touching,
Colleli."

"I
wasn't…I mean, you can't strip for me." I remove my hands and step away,
breathless.

He
grins. "I wasn't.

"Then,
what were you doing?"

"Taking
off my jeans. I don't walk around commando. Do you?"

I
shake my head. The thought terrifies me. "No."

Peter
holds my gaze for way too long. The expression on his face says that he wishes
things could be like they were. If he could rock-step his way back into my
heart, he would. What he doesn't realize is that he's still there.

I
shiver and turn away. I hate this room.

"You
can wash up first. The bath is around the corner." He points at the red wall in
front of me. I nod and grab my bag.

When
I round the corner, I gape at a huge champagne-glass tub and keep walking.
There's a door at the back. I assume the shower is in there, but when I pull
open the door, it's only a toilet. Turning slowly, I look back at the
monstrosity in the center of the room. "Peter…?"

"Yeah?"

"You
want me to clean up in the sex tub?"

"You're
in the sex room, Sidney. Get over it."

Fine.
What an asshole. I poke around until I find the water and turn it on. I fill
the huge glass tub, and look at the wall. From where Peter's sitting he won't
be able to see me. I strip quickly and get into the glass tub. It's not as deep
as it looks. My heart is racing. If Peter walks over, he's going to get an
eyeful. There's nothing to conceal any of me. I wash as quickly as I can and
nearly drown myself trying to scrub my hair.

After
I towel off, I pull out my pj's. They're not guy friendly. I didn't expect to
have anyone with me on this trip, and they were the pair I told Millie to pack.
I have a threadbare white tank top and bottoms that are too short to wear.
They're slightly longer than my panties, but they don't really cover anything.
I don't want to be prude, so I tug them on and run a brush through my hair. I
stand there way too long and look at myself. My headlights are on and very
visible. I can't go out there and waltz by Peter like this.

"Come
on, Colleli. I need to get in there." Peter's voice is coming from the corner.
I know he's standing right there. I pull a towel off the rack and wrap it over
my shoulders. It doesn't do anything to hide my butt, but it's the best I can
do.

I
try to walk past him quickly with my head down and my brush in my hand. Wet
hair sticks to my cheek as I look at the floor. Peter's bare ankles catch my
attention. My gaze flicks up and I see Peter standing there in his boxers. I
want him to hold me so badly. I wish today never happened.

"Are
you going to wear a towel to bed?"

"Yes
and if you try to take it from me, I will kill you."

One
of his eyebrows creeps up his forehead. "Feisty much?"

"No.
Serious much. I didn't plan on having anyone with me. I packed comfy, which
means this is old…"

"And
filled with holes. Oh come on, Sidney. It's not like I'm going to judge you and
your ratty pj's." He reaches for the towel, but I shriek and spin away.

"Don't
touch me!" My heart is pounding violently. I clutch the towel tighter so he
can't take it. I know I'm overreacting, but I can't stop. My emotions are short-circuiting
and fear is pouring into me.

Peter
steps back and raises his hands, palms up. "I'm not. I won't touch you. Sidney,
I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" His voice is so soft, so warm. I press my lips
together hard and hold them like that. I'm afraid of what I'll say. Peter
remains where he is. "I won't hurt you, Sidney. No matter what happens between
us, I promise you that."

Glancing
over my shoulder, I see his face and know he means it. My throat is too tight
to speak, so I nod and walk over to the bed. I keep the towel around me and
climb under the covers. I feel so stupid and afraid. I don't know if I'll ever
be normal again, but I wish I were. I'm so sick of feeling this way, of
overreacting. I can't read people anymore. I don't trust myself, and if I can't
trust me, how can I trust them?

It's
always
but Peter
.

CHAPTER
8

My
mind wanders in darkness, seeking out memories that I'm always trying to
forget. Dean's face comes into focus. His vivid eyes glitter like emeralds. He
holds my hand and whispers sweet words in my ear. I'm younger and unafraid. He
says everything I want to hear. I smile and lean into him.

The
grass turns to carpet under my feet, and we're in the mall. My heart beats
harder; my mind knows this memory well. I feel sick, but I can't stop it. The
dream continues, and Dean is holding my hand like he's done a million times
before. He's walking toward his van at the back of the parking lot. I follow
him. I trust him blindly. We get in the back, and he kisses me. Dean's lips
cover my neck and trail down my chest. It makes me giddy and nervous at the
same time. I'm not ready to be with him, not yet. I want him to slow down, but
he urges me to go on, saying he loves me.

I
hear his voice like it's next to my ear. "I love you, baby. I just want to show
you."

"Dean,
slow down." I'm still smiling, but I'm nervous. I love him. I want to be with
him, I'm just not ready yet. The idea of giving myself to him like that scares
me a little bit. I'll be connected to him for the rest of my life. The words
echo in my head like a gong as Dean presses kisses to my throat.

"Let's
play a game," he tells me and grabs a tie he has in the back of the van. Dean
is lying on top of me. My shirt is gone, and so is his. His eyes keep drifting
to my black lacy bra before returning to my face. "It's like the trust game we
played when we were kids. I'd fall back and you'd catch me."

"Or
drop you."

He
smiles. "Exactly, but we're taking it to the next level. You fall first, then
you can do it to me."

My
stomach is swirling in knots, both good and bad. This scares the hell out of
me, but I nod. Dean ties the blindfold around my eyes, and the world goes
black. Then I feel something stiff wrap around my wrists. "Dean, what are you
doing?"

"The
same thing you'll get to do for me. Trust me, baby."

He
ties my wrists together and tugs the seat belt all the way out. It snaps back,
locking in place, holding me still. I'm blind to what he's doing, but it feels
good. His fingers trace my curves, gently touching my stomach and trailing a
line up to my neck. My pulse beats faster and faster. I like it. I like what
he's doing and how he makes me feel. I'm not sure how much time passes but my
wrists start to hurt.

He
trails his lips to my waist and unbuttons my jeans. I stiffen and tell him to
stop, but he doesn't. "It's your turn to fall, baby."

In
that second, everything changes. Dean doesn't listen to me anymore. The more I
tell him to stop, the faster he moves. He shucks my jeans, and they're gone,
along with my panties. I beg him. The words flow from my lips over and over
again. "Stop," but he doesn't.

He
touches me anywhere and everywhere. He tells me that I can do this to him when
he's done. I keep thinking that this isn't happening, that it can't possibly be
real, but I feel his fingers push into me followed by a sharp pain between my
legs. I try to lock my knees together, but he forces them apart. Dean's jeans
are open and his hard length presses into me.

I
retreat into my mind. It's the only way to escape. I stay there, half a world
away, but it's not far enough. Dean says things but his voice is muffled, lost
in ecstasy.
It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.
Tears stream from my cheeks
and I stop yelling. I whimper, silently waiting for it to end. But I don't know
that it'll ever end, that this will replay over and over again every time I
close my eyes. Dean shudders and goes still. He rests on top of me, breathing
hard as I cry.

The
dream blurs, fading to black, but my heart continues to race like it's going to
explode. There are arms around me and a soft voice in my ear. Peter holds me,
saying soothing words that don't register. I'm not fully awake, but I'm not
asleep. I'm caught in between. My towel is wrapped around me, but I feel
Peter's warm skin on my arms. He holds on to me with his face nuzzled in my neck.
My cheeks are cold and damp like I've been crying forever. I wish it would
stop, but it never does.

Drowsiness
overtakes me and pulls me back under. Dreams swirl around me, but they don't
ensnare me this time. The night passes, and when I wake up, I'm in the bed
alone. I stretch and sit up, looking for Peter. He's lying on his back at the
foot of the bed with a pillow under his head, breathing slowly, still asleep. I
watch him for a moment, wondering if he was really next to me or if I dreamed
it. If I was braver, I'd get up and lie down next to him, but things can't be
like that anymore—not for us.