We have love for each other.
Stacey:
Well just be careful. I can’t bear to see you hurt again. You deserve happiness and a bit of rest after all you’ve been through.
I can feel her trying to get into my mind, to see what’s actually going on in there.
Me:
I’ll be careful. I promise.
Satisfied, she leaves it at that.
They say comparison is the thief of joy, but in this case, contrasting Dex with Timmy gives me nothing but joy.
Dex is strong, but he doesn’t use his strength to intimidate, coerce, or hurt me.
He’s confident, but he doesn’t use it to belittle me.
He’s interested in me, but he doesn’t weaponize my vulnerabilities and use things I tell him in confidence to hurt me later.
He’s generous—without expecting anything in return.
He never brings up my trauma with the purpose of hurting me.
He’s everything Timmy wasn’t.
Dex enjoys seeing me happy, just for the sake of it. He doesn’t keep a mental tally of favors or use my past against me. He has his own hobbies, his own life, and he respects mine. Sometimes we share, sometimes we don’t, and that’s okay.
He watches my shows without complaining, and I’m learning to enjoy football. Sometimes we’re in separate rooms, but we’re never far away.
I don’t feel the need to look at his phone or email or track his location. Realistically, may I peek from time to time? Probably, yeah. But it’s a trauma response I’m working through, and he’s never given me any reason to doubt him.
I know he trusts me. I hold that like a cherished gift—like one of those fragile decorative eggs some people collect, just so much more important.
He enjoys being there for me, supporting me through the bad and the good, surprising me, and just seeing me be happy. That’s all he wants.
For the first time in what feels like forever, I trust someone.Reallytrust them. It feels like a rare treasure I’m determined to protect.
I’d forgotten how good trust feels.
CHAPTER 145
NICE GUYS CAN HAVE BIG DICKS, TOO
MARGAUX
Later in the evening, we’re making out on the couch. It’s more than good, our tongues exploring each other while our hands roam each other’s body.
But then I have a flashback, and I frown. “I’m beginning to think that’s all women were put here for. To be used by men. To have our bodies trashed and desecrated for the pleasure of anyone with a dick. Until we’re just shells, bashed and broken until they move onto the next one.”
I’m having a bad day—nothing specific happened, just my emotions recovering, I guess, and—poor Dex—I’m taking it all out on him.What a mood killer. Why did I just say all of that?
But he doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t judge me. He just stays, steady and present. “That’s where you’re so wrong, Margaux,” he replies, his voice calm but with an intensity that pulls my eyes to his. “And you’re not wrong about much, but this is one of those times.”
He uses a thumb to gently stroke an escaped tendril of my hair behind my ear, sending a little shiver through me.
“How so?” I ask, though my throat feels tight, vulnerable.