Does It Hurt?

by H.D. Carlton

I’m ashamed of myself, but I don’t think I know what it’s like to feel anything else.

“When have we ever been able to let go of the things that hurt us most?”

“Isn’t that a rite of passage to manhood? Knock a girl up and leave?”

Body of a Greek god? Check. Could ruin my life with just the tip? Check. Has a permanent scowl and carries himself like he hates the world? Just fuck me already.

He groans against me. “You taste better than the sweetest wine, and I could fucking drink you forever.”

yes.

If this man were my kingdom, I’d sit on this throne for fucking eternity.

“Are you ready?”

YES GOD YES

So, what am I even fighting for? If I’m not fighting to stay alive for someone else, what's the point in staying alive for myself when I don't even want to be here?

Sawyer nudges my arm from behind and whispers, “See, the bean gods did bless us. With coffee beans.” My eye twitches.

lol

“Why did you get to be God’s favorite?” He stares down at me with a savage expression. “You can ask him yourself when I take you to see him.”

“Don't hide your tears, bella. You're so pretty when you cry.”

It’s like I’ve scribbled all my resistance into a charcoal ball deep into the paper, and she took a fucking eraser to it until there was nothing left but the faded remnants of when I hated her.

I may hold on to stones from my past—keepsakes that I’m not ready to let go of—but the stones Sawyer carries are too heavy, and she doesn't think she's strong enough to throw them away.

“I will make you see that,” he vows. “What happened to you does not define you. It only forged a new path that will take you to a different version of yourself. But no one can force you to walk that road; only you can determine who you will be once you get there. It’s your choice who you become, Sawyer.”

“It doesn’t matter if he’s dead or alive, he’ll always haunt me,” I rasp, sadness ringing from the truth. “Then I will haunt you worse.”

“Are you noticing similarities between the wood on the ceiling and the stick up your ass? I’m sure they have comparable textures.”

“You’re a goddamn siren, and I’m the fool who would gladly drown just to get a taste of you. Starve, for all I care, bella, but I will be eating tonight, and the only thing I’m hungry for is you.”

Can he hear me tell him that he is the first man I could pleasure without feeling sick? Can he hear that with him, inviting a man into my body feels like a choice and not a means to survive? Does he hear me thanking him for making me feel less broken?

“Show me, bella,” he rasps. “Show me where you hurt so I know where to love you most.”

“There’s a place in the ocean, so deep, where not a single point of light penetrates through it. And for so long, I’ve been trapped there, unable to breathe. When I met you, you lifted me out of that darkness, and it was the first time I came up for air. You’ve become my oxygen, bella ladra, and I can no longer breathe without you.”

“There are many things you deserve, bella ladra, but the only prison you will be a captive in is one of my own making. If my love is a prison, so be it.”

It hurts like hell, but pain always comes before beauty. How else would we appreciate it?