"Terra," I growl. "Breathe."
"Letgoletgoletgoletgoletgo," she hisses through gritted teeth.
"No."
She's turtled into a ball, every muscle tensed, breath coming in ragged whining gasps. This isn't a panic attack; this is something else. Fuck if I know what, only that she's not okay, very suddenly. After the most epic, intense, earth-shattering sex of my entire life, sex so deep and life-altering that I felt her soul winding around mine with each synched breath, each syncopated thrust.
She's terrified: I understand all at once in a flash of insight.
She felt that shit as deeply as I did and she's afraid of it. This is decades of trauma coming out all at once.
I have no fucking clue what to do, so I do the only thing I can think of.
Just hold on.
"I'm here," I say. "Breathe."
"Let me go. Put me down.”
"Never. I've got you."
"The hell you do."
"I've fuckin' got you, Terra Connelly."
"You fucked me good. Now put me down and go away."
"Nice try."
"Fuck you."
"Louder. Say it to all the fuckin' assholes who've ever hurt you."
"FUCK YOU!" she screams. Tensed, shaking, shuddering, sobbing. "FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!"
"That’s right. Let it out, babe."
"FUCK…YOU!"
"I know, baby. I know. Let it out."
"I was a kid!" she sobs through gritted teeth. "I was a kid. I was just a kid."
"I know, honey. I know."
"Why didn't he protect me?" Her voice turns tiny, helpless. "Why didn't he stop them? Why didn't he care?"
"Wish I fuckin' knew."
"He was supposed to love me. No one's ever loved me."
"I know how that feels."
"You have brothers."
"Yeah. Not the same, though."
"Saxon, please, just put me down and let me go."
