Ben searches for words, but he doesn’t seem to know what to say.
"You probably wonder why I don't change. That would be the easiest thing, right? That's what people have been telling me all my life. Lose weight, lower your expectations. Don't tell men about your work, they don't like strong women. Nobody wants to hear about that trip to Guatemala. Why are you so boring and don't drink? You’re so cold. Oh god, can you stop joking and take things seriously," I rant and tears sting behind my eyes. Ben just studies me.
"I've tried. Fuck, have I tried but every time I change something that someone has criticised me for, they find something else wrong with me. I've lost weight, changed my personality, but it made no difference. I'm tired. I want to be me. I want to be accepted for being me." I slam my hands against my chest. "The thing is that I don’t mind all the things people judge me for, I even like some of them. I see myself as adventurous with my travels and I’m proud of it. I love being successful in my job. I think I can be funny, sometimes. I don’t drink by choice and I’m not sure why that makes me boring. But why am I the only one who likes those things?"
Ben draws in air as if he wants to say something but I stop him again, "I know, I know. I also heard more than once ‘You shouldn't care what others think.’ Usually from the same people who kindly advised me how to shape my personality differently. And, in theory, it's not bad advice. Fuck them and just be me. But what if every single person that ever meant something to you wants you to be different? What if you want nothing more than to have one person in your life who accepts you for who you are?" Angrily I wipe my tears away. "I've never had someone look at me in love, like there's nobody else but me for them."
Ben interjects, "I did, Amelia."
"No, you didn't," I counter bitterly.
"Yes, I did," he insists. "Do you think maybe you just don't see when someone looks at you like that?"
"Maybe. See, that’s another thing wrong with me. I'm in this catch-22, Ben. I have been told so often that things are wrong with me that it’s incredibly difficult to believe when someone tells you something nice. The thing is," I continue, "if someone tells you something hurtful, the only goal they can have is to hurt you. It's transparent. If someone tells you something nice they could have many goals. They want something, they lie because they don't want to hurt you, or they're trying to manipulate you."
Ben considers my words for a moment. "How about they mean it?"
"There is that," I admit. "The problem I have is that I'm shit at reading which one it is."
"Maybe everyone is bad at that," Ben suggests. "Because everyone hopes that the other person means it."
I shrug. "Maybe, but in my experience, they never do. So now I just mistrust people from the get-go, which is then another thing: pushing people away, which in turn makes me think everything is wrong with me and―” I look up at him and there is a storm raging in his eyes. “What if I die before anyone ever honestly tells me that they love me?”
I need to stop. I sound insane and I can only imagine what Ben must be thinking. One more thing to add to the list – neurotic weirdo.
Suddenly I’m aware of the silence in the room. My question hangs unanswered in the air. I lock eyes with him but It's difficult to read what he’s thinking.
"Sorry, I'm not sure what came over me. I’ve never told anyone that," I whisper. I grab our plates and take them to the sink. His chair scrapes on the floor as he gets up.
"Thank you for telling me." He turns me and pulls me into his arms. For a second, I think of fighting him but then I let him draw me in. His warmth engulfs me and the simple contact makes me shake with tears. I can't stop crying so I bury my face in his chest.
"Have you ever considered talking to a therapist?" he asks carefully, his hand gently stroking my back.
"For another person to tell me what is wrong with me?"
"That's not how therapy works, darling. But you have been hurt, hurt too much and it’s driven you down a rabbit hole. A professional can help you to deal with the hurt."
"I don't know."
"I went when my mum died," he says like it's not a big deal.
"Did it help?"
“Yeah," he snorts, "it made me realise again what a twat I was when I was younger and how much I hurt you, and it helped me learn to deal with it… Amelia, I don't think we should continue with the PD thing."
I lift my head from his chest, "Why? Oh god, I've put you off with this soppy story. I'm sorry, B—"
"Don't! You have nothing to be sorry about. I've hurt you badly in the past. I'm the reason you are feeling the way you feel. How can we continue with this? Frankly, I don't understand why you don't hate me more." I can see pain on his face.
"You hurt me back then and you might be one of the reasons that I think I'm not good enough the way I am. But this all started way earlier in my childhood, and it wasn’t just you. Ben, you’re different now. When I’m with you I don’t think about the young guy from years ago. And I'm no longer the same woman. I'm a messed-up cat lady with an extensive collection of vibrators," I joke and sniff at the same time. "But I’ve never felt more like myself, more accepted for who I am, than when you pinned me against that wall and told me to spread my legs. For the first time in a long time that wasn't me doing something I thought someone was expecting me to do. I was doing it for me, because I wanted it. Please don't take that away from me."
Ben cups my face and places another kiss on my forehead.
"I'll go and ice my bollocks now," he tries to give me a grin. It’s a half grin, but at least he didn't say no. I can't let him take this away from me.
Ben
I grab an ice pack from my freezer and head to my bedroom without another word to Amelia. I need to get out of the kitchen. When the door falls into the lock behind me I stare at the walls.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. I want to scream out loud but I don't want to distress Amelia even more. I almost can’t fight the need to throw something, punch something, but this is my bedroom. The best I can do is throw a pillow, and I don't think this will have the same effect.
Hearing her talk ripped my heart into a thousand pieces. I can't believe that I caused her so much pain. I have done this to her. The best thing would be for me to admit that I don't deserve her and walk away, but that would just hurt her again. No, I need to give her a chance to take whatever she needs from me.
I really am the biggest arsehole on the planet.
18
Time After Time
Amelia
Smutty’s tail whacks me in the face. He isn’t the easiest bedfellow. I press the button on top of the alarm clock and the numbers light up. It’s just after one a.m., which means I have been tossing and turning for three hours now and I’m nowhere near sleepy. The look on Ben’s face scared me. He looked ready to walk away from all of this and I wasn’t lying when I said that I haven’t ever felt myself as much as I did in the moments when I submitted to him.
The memory of his lips on mine and his fingers and… It makes my clit tingle and I press my legs together to subdue the need. I still feel raw from the conversation earlier and what I need now is to feel good. I need him.
“Smutty, stay here,” I whisper and slide from the bed. My little black shadow couldn’t care less and continues to snooze. When I reach my bedroom door I hesitate for a moment. This is insane. But it’s what I want. I want this so much. I catch sight of myself in the mirror. I’m wearing an oversized T-shirt that hangs off me like a sack. Not really sexy.
I tiptoe to the chest of drawers and dig around. Aha! I knew I had packed that soft black nighty. As I take my shirt off and slip the nighty on, my eyes fall on the plain blue knickers I’m wearing.
I slide them off as well and dig in the drawer again until I find the green lacy ones. I don’t tend to wear them because they’re uncomfortable and a bit too tight, but, with some luck I won’t be wearing them for long.
