First Love: A Superbundle Boxed Set of Seven New Adult Romances (93 page)

I yank my hand out of her jeans and instead hug her tightly as she hits me again and again, trying to break free of me. I’m not letting go of her—not until she calms down and talks to me.

“Let me go!” she screams, and she starts to cry. Her chest heaves as she buries her head in a pillow and bursts into tears.

“It’s okay,” I tell her, still holding her close. “It’s me... Owen. I’m not going to hurt you.”

I lay by her side, gently embracing her as she sobs into the pillow. Time ceases to matter as I lay beside her, and I don’t know if minutes or hours have passed when her tears finally subside and she settles into a deathly silence.

“Maria, please talk to me,” I beg her.

She slowly turns to face me, and her eyes are red and puffy from crying. I feel terrible now. This is all my fault, and I wish I could go back in time and fix whatever I did to hurt her.

“One more round of truth or dare, please," she whispers shakily. "You ask."

“Okay... truth or dare?” I whisper back to her.

“Truth.”

“Did you ever have something really terrible happen to you?” I ask, and I brace myself for the answer.

She nods and buries her face in my shoulder as she starts crying again. I hold her close, gently running my hand up and down her back. I can wait as long as she needs.

“When I was fifteen, I went to visit my brother at college,” she whispers, choking up as she tries not to cry. “He left me alone at the apartment when he went to class, and his roommate raped me.”

Everything suddenly makes sense now, but my heart still sinks into my stomach at the sound of her tears.

“Oh God, Maria... I’m so sorry.”

“Every time I blow up on you like this, I’m having a flashback,” she whimpers. “It’s like I’m losing my mind, like my body
wants
me to go back down into my own personal Hell again.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper again, not knowing what else to say. All I can think to do is hold her close.

“No, it’s me that should be sorry,” she protests, holding back her tears. “You’re the one who has to put up with my messed up...”

“No. Don’t even go there.”

“But it’s true!”

“You deal with my problems,” I counter, squeezing her tightly. “I can deal with yours.”

Her voice is so sad that I almost want to cry on her behalf now. Does she really believe that she’s a burden to me? Meeting her is the best thing ever to happen to me.

“Owen, I can’t predict when the flashbacks come,” she whispers, almost as if she’s confessing a horrible crime. “You deserve someone you can trust—someone less broken than me. You’re not messed up like I am.”

“You’re right. I’m not,” I reply, looking her straight in the eye. "I’m the Owen style of messed-up, and you’re the Maria style... and do you want to know something else?”

“What?"

I kiss her softly on the lips before finishing.

“I don’t
care
if you’re messed up. I am too. It doesn’t matter how lost we were, because we found each other anyway.”

She smiles radiantly at me, but her eyes are still red and puffy from crying.

“Besides, you deserve someone better than me,” I continue. “You deserve someone who isn’t living in terror of his father—someone who doesn’t have nightmares about his sister.”

“But then I wouldn’t have
you
,” she protests.

“That’s how I feel about your flashbacks, Maria,” I whisper to her with a soft smile. “You have to take the bad with the good, and you’ve got more of the good than I ever imagined.”

She puts her arms around me again and snuggles up close.

“Owen?” she whispers, not looking up at me.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“You’re worth it, Maria,” I whisper back, stroking her hair softly. “You’re totally worth it.”

Sunday, March 10 – 7:00 AM

Maria

I wake up with a splitting headache and I feel sticky, sweaty and gross. Owen is still asleep beside me with his good arm wrapped comfortingly around me. He looks so peaceful that I don’t want to wake him up, but I really need to get away.

I slip carefully out from under his arm, and I sigh in relief as, miraculously, he doesn’t wake up. He rolls in his sleep and snores into the pile of pillows while I tiptoe to my dresser for clean clothes and a towel.

The bathroom is just across the hall from my room, and my headache slowly diminishes as the white noise of the shower blocks out the rest of the world. The bathroom fills with steam as I stand under the hot water and wait for my thoughts to make sense.

“He’s still here,” I whisper to myself as the burning water pours down over my head. I can’t believe still here!”

I was scared that I’d wake up and he’d be gone. He knows what happened to me now, and he’s still here. He didn’t let go when I flipped out on him and stayed with me all night while I cried. He held me and ran his hands through my hair until I finally fell asleep. I’ve never felt more grateful or more ashamed of myself before.

Would I have been there for him if instead he had needed me? I can’t imagine myself doing what he did, being there for him as he was for me. I’m too scared and broken for that.

No... I
did
do that for him. I stayed with him after he broke his hand.

I still don’t know what he sees in me, though.

The hot water runs out eventually, forcing me to get out of the shower and face the day. The bathroom is so steamy that the walls are dripping as I change into my soft, green pajama pants and a tee shirt.

Owen is still asleep when I tiptoe back into the room, and I can’t help but smile at how cute he looks. He rolls over in his sleep, and I snuggle up behind him and kiss him softly on the neck. He stirs as I keep kissing higher and higher up his neck, up his cheek, and then gently bite his ear.

That finally wakes him up, and he groans and stretches his arms.

“Good morning,” I whisper.

He grunts unintelligibly, still caught up in his morning stretch. God, he’s so adorable.

“Good morning, Maria,” he finally mumbles. His eyes are half-shut with sleep, but his smile is certainly awake now. “How’d you sleep?”

“Not too bad once I finally fell asleep, at least,” I answer, cuddling up close to him and putting my arms around him. “How about you?”

“I’m okay. Just a little sleepy.”

“Thanks again,” I whisper, and he rolls over to face me and kisses me softly on the tip of my nose.

“For what?”

“For not giving up on me even though I keep flipping out on you,” I whisper. I lean my head against his chest and close my eyes, listening to his slow, soothing heartbeat. Why can’t I always feel this relaxed?

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” he tells me quietly, and I shake my head.

“Yes I do. I don’t deserve...”

“Oh don’t you start this again,” he interrupts. “I don’t deserve
you
.”

I stare at him in exasperation and his face mirrors mine perfectly.

“So if neither of us deserves the other, what happens then?” I whisper to him.

He winks and kisses me softly. A delightful shiver runs through my body as his lips brush gently against mine. I lean into him as I pull him close to me, pressing his lips into mine, dragging my teeth softly along his lower lip before releasing it. His tongue finds mine as it slowly explores, and I feel a euphoric haze starting to form in my mind. I’m in Heaven.

“If neither of us deserves the other, I vote that it all cancels out and we’re back to deserving again,” he answers with a grin, and I giggle and kiss him once more.

I can’t get over how amazing it feels to kiss him. It’s like all the best, most relaxing parts of having a little too much to drink, but with flying added to the deal. It’s all I can do not to laugh from sheer joy as our passionate kiss ends and we come up for air. I feel like I’m soaring high above the ground.

“Do you want to talk about anything from last night?” he asks, and I shake my head.

“I don’t know why the memories keep coming back or why I can’t get rid of them, but what I need most is time and patience.”

“You don’t even have to ask for those,” he whispers back. “They’re all yours.

I squeeze him as tightly as I can. God, I love him so much.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he continues quietly. “If you’re willing to stick by me and put up with my problems, I’m sticking by you.”

“I’m not going anywhere either,” I whisper breathlessly, and I lean in to kiss him again. This time, it’s a slow, soft, romantic kiss. I want so badly to be in his arms and to feel his warmth that it almost hurts. Our tongues seek out each other as our lips play together, and he holds me close to him as I touch his chest.

“Owen... can I... well... oh, never mind,” I stammer, losing my words. I’m too embarrassed to ask what’s on my mind.

“What is it? You can ask me anything,” he whispers back. I lay my head on his chest before speaking again.

“I want to explore you, too,” I whisper, running one hand gently down to the hem of his shirt. “Can I...”

I shake my head as I lose my nerve again. I want to see his scars, and I don’t know how to say it.

As if he already knows what I wish I could ask, he smiles, sits up, and pulls his shirt off before lying back down beside me. His chest feels soft and smooth as I run my hands over it, but countless white scars—each one a terrible memory—pattern his skin.

“Only for you,” he tells me anxiously. “I hate the way it looks.”

He looks so uncomfortable to bare his chest that I grab the comforter and wrap it around us. Now he’s safe. Nobody can see him but me, and I love him too much ever to hurt him.

“Most of them are just from the usual beatings... you know, whatever he had in his hand at the time,” he whispers.

“This big one here is from where he threw a plate at me,” he says, pointing at a long, straight scar with a white center and a dark outline. His voice wavers so much that I worry he’s going to break down telling me. “It cut me when it broke.”

I gasp and cover my mouth in horror as he traces the long, painful-looking scar with one shaky finger. Why am I doing this to him? Why am I making him relive all the nightmares just for me?

“I’m so sorry, honey,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry I brought this up. I just wanted...”

He interrupts me with a firm but gentle kiss.

“No, ask me anything you want. You need to know about my secrets too,” he quietly tells me. His voice is weak and frail, as if he’s ashamed of himself. I wish I could pull all the horrible memories out of him and hide them somewhere far away, where he’d never have to relive any of the misery.

“Owen, I want you to lay down, okay?”

He nods and then lies back on the bed as I pull the comforter over him, and then I duck out of sight beneath the blanket.

“What are you doing?” he asks, but I don’t answer. He’ll understand soon enough.

My lips brush against his soft skin as I kiss the lowest scar I can see on his torso, and I slowly work my way up his body. I can’t possibly get all of them—there’s just too many—but I’m going to kiss every scar I can.

He sucks in a breath as he suddenly realizes what I’m doing, and I feel him tremble beneath me.

The long, jagged lines, the small, white dots, the strange, impossible-looking shapes that can’t possibly be accidental... they’re all part of the boy I love, and he needs to know that I love them too. He found a way out of Hell, fell in love with a mess like me, and I can’t imagine being without him now.

He shivers as my lips flit across a long brown scar and I smile, happy that I can make him feel good. Maybe he can do what I can’t and teach himself to remember good things when he thinks about his scars. If all I could ever give him was the memory of this morning—of me kissing him and all his imperfections—it’d still be the greatest thing I’d ever done.

I pop up from beneath the blanket and kiss his lips as I hold him in my arms. His eyes are wide with wonder and he kisses me back like I’m the most special person in the world. I want to curl up next to him forever and never have to remember anything bad ever again.

I run my hands slowly down his back and then stop as I feel the ridge of a scar beneath my fingers.

“What’s this one from?” I ask, tracing it along his back with one finger. It feels like it goes on forever.

“I accidentally broke the broom when I was sixteen,” he answers. “It was behind the car, and I ran over it when I backed it out of the garage. Dad beat me with the broken end of it.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, touching the painful memory with the tips of my fingers.

“That’s just the top one,” he whispers, and he kisses me softly.

I run my hands further down his back. Five... six... seven... God, how many times did his father hit him?

“You’re lucky to be alive, Owen...”

“I’d give Samantha some of that luck if I could.”

I have to pull him out of that memory in a hurry, and I lean in and press my lips to his as I hold him close. I can’t give him back his sister. All I can give him is me.

He draws me in to him, pressing his body against mine as he kisses me back. The kiss starts out soft and slow, but it quickly ignites with a passion that takes my breath away.

“I want to try again,” I whisper. “Like last night.”

“Are you sure?”

I nod silently and gently kiss him.

“Tell me when to stop,” he whispers in my ear, still holding me tightly against him.

I feel so warm and safe in his arms that I never want him to let go. His lips find mine again as my mind starts to get hazy. I love the way this feels, the way my mind wanders off into a pleasant fog when he kisses me, and I let my body take the lead. It knows what it wants better than I do anyway.

I moan softly as he runs a ticklish finger down my cheek, down my neck, and then even further down my sides until he reaches my hips. His touch feels incredible and my skin starts to burn. My body is alive with desire now and my heart races in excitement.

Owen rolls me on my side and lies behind me, still holding me close as he runs his hands from my hips up to my breasts. My body writhes against him of its own will, and suddenly I can’t seem to catch my breath. Each one comes as a short, frantic gasp as his touch sets my body on fire.