E. Montes - Perfectly Damaged

I thought I’d be scared or ashamed because of who I am, because of the darkness that is a part of me. But in this moment, as affection pools in his eyes and acceptance in his heart, I feel nothing but free. Until now I hadn’t realized that Logan has been undressing me from the very first time we met. Slowly, layer-by-layer, he removed the facade that hid the real me beneath. The me I thought would always be concealed. But not anymore.

My love for him surges. The separation between us is too much. I sit up, my hand wraps around his neck, and I pull him down to me, connecting our lips once again. Instantly, we’re back in a trance, lost in our kiss, savoring each stride. I fall back onto the mattress, bringing his body down with mine, enthralled by the beat of his heart along my chest.

Logan slightly pulls away from our kiss. His lips flicker over my mouth—top, bottom, side… In a daze, I gradually open my eyes. I’m met with Logan’s adoring stare. His hand frames my face and his thumb traces up and down my jawline. Our breathing is shallow, our hearts beating as one. The tenderness in his gaze gives me all the reassurance I’d ever need. “Say it again,” he whispers. My brows draw in in confusion and I shake my head. He spreads my legs with his knee and sinks into me slightly—just the tip of him at my opening.

I gasp. Relief. Anticipation. Rapture. Ecstasy.

“Tell me again,” he says, imploring me with his blue eyes. And then it registers through my haze of lust and love and passion and promises that my confession has touched him more deeply than I’d realized. I lift my head, the tip of my nose grazing his as the curve of my lips mold to the curve of his. My stare lingers as I emphasize each tiny word slowly, proving to him that I mean each one. “I. Love. You.”

His lips ajar, a tiny groan escapes. My words encourage him, and he grinds his hips, inching himself farther into me. Thoughts flee my mind as air escapes my lungs. All I can feel is the delicious friction and pleasure coexisting within me. I shut my eyes, waiting for him to fill me completely, but he never does.

His face hovers over mine as his words drift over my lips. “I knew I was done for,” he says, “the morning I drove by and saw you alone, staring at that house. I told myself to keep driving, but something told me to stop. And when I’d seen how lost and confused you were, something told me I was meant to be there.” He kisses the corner of my mouth. “I was meant to be there so I could help you find your way.”

Logan digs his hips farther into me. My breath hitches and my eyelids bolt open. Our lips agape, he fists his fingers into my hair. “The night we went to the diner, when I told you about my accident—” He thrusts. I arch into him, whimpering as he fills me with his length. “You didn’t judge my past. That’s when I knew I couldn’t turn away from you even if I tried.”

He pulls out slowly then fills me again. He continues with gentle strides, picking up the rhythm gradually. I join him, rotating my hips, my body shuddering at how incredible it all feels. Our bodies move together, pushing and pulling in perfect accord.

“The night of the beer pong game,” he says roughly, struggling with his words. My breathing increases as he grips my thigh and tosses my leg over his waist, allowing him to push deeper into me. I toss my head back into the pillow, the desire burning in the pit of my stomach. “After we lost and I leaned into you. I wanted to fuckin’ kiss those lips so bad.” He grazes his lips over mine, sucking on my bottom one before taking a breath and mumbling, “But I saw how scared you were, so I gave you another kind of kiss.”

“Special Logan kisses,” I whisper.

His lips curl into a gentle smile, and he continues to drive into me. “Yeah, but you didn’t know that I’d recited how I felt for you right then, in that moment, in my mind. The words flowed silently, so easily. There was no mistaking them. When I gave you those three kisses, I was telling myself and you…” He pecks my nose. “I…” He kisses my forehead. “Love…” My heart swells as he presses his lips to my chin. Then he whispers, “You.”

Logan

Jenna lies beside me on her side, propping her head up on one hand as she traces up and down my torso with the fingers of her other hand. I’m lying on my back, staring at the ceiling. We’ve lain this way, in silence, for what seems like forever. But it’s a good silence. We enjoy each other’s company. Her fingers glide over my chest, making their way to my arm.

She begins drawing over my tats, up my bicep, and over my ribcage. The tip of her finger goes over the lump on my skin. Curiosity spikes as she leans in closer to inspect my scars. Then she finds the rest of them, several scars on the side of my ribcage and hidden beneath the ink on my arms.

“What are these from?” she asks, tracing each one.

“Surgery. After the accident,” I answer.

She doesn’t say anything for a while; instead, she admires and continues to trace my scars with her fingertip. I’m neither embarrassed nor attached to my scars. They are the consequence of my shitty behavior from one messed-up night. “You don't ever question it?” she finally asks.

I tilt my head and look at her. With furrowed brows I ask, “Question why I didn’t die?”

She shakes her head a little. “No. Question life. Why we turn out the way we do. Why we are the way we are. Why everything just falls out of place and seems screwed up eighty percent of the time. Why we’re tested over and over again, like a vicious cycle. Just like this.” She spreads her hand over my ribcage. “Why you lived and were brought back into a world that’s more screwed up than we’ll ever know. Why Brooke found me when I tried to take my life. Was it the universe’s way of saying we were given another chance? And if so, for what?”

My stare lingers on her for a long time, taking in everything she said. Then I turn my head and focus back on the ceiling. “When I woke up in the hospital, my uncle George was the first person I saw. My mother was talking to the doctors or something. He was the only one in the room with me, right at my bedside. He looked like shit, bags under his bloodshot eyes. When he saw I was awake, he tried to fight back a sob. I’d never seen him like that before. My uncle is probably the toughest man you will ever meet. I didn’t remember what happened to me or where I was. So I asked him. His response was, ‘You were given a second chance at life, son. You were brought back for a purpose.’ I had no idea what he meant by that.”

“Did you ever figure it out?”

I shake my head. “No.” I breathe in and blow out a sigh. “Life, Jersey Girl, sometimes pauses. It stops. Sometimes we don’t even realize how everything around us is moving so quickly while we’re standing in the middle of it, allowing it to pass us by. Most of us, if not all, just lose the why. Some of us never figure it out to begin with. We lose sight of the purpose that wakes us up every morning and pushes our day forward. We lose a sense of hope and the feeling of life in general. We view life as more of a test, one that’s trying to beat us down every day to see if we’re strong enough to keep going.” I lightly shrug. “That's why I just live today and push for tomorrow.”

“Live for today, push for tomorrow,” she repeats. “I like it.” She leans in and presses her lips to mine. Just like that, we’re lost in one another for the second time in one night.

For the last hour, Jersey Girl has been fidgeting. Her hands twist in her lap and her leg bounces as she stares out the passenger window. I’ve tried to hold her hand to stop her shaking. She eases for a few minutes but then goes at it again. “Shouldn’t I be the one nervous for dinner with your parents tonight?” I joke.

She shakes her head. “I’m not worried about my father. It’s my mother. She always manages to ruin everything.”

I continue to steer the wheel with one hand and reach out my other to hers. “You and I are in this together from now on. You know that, right?” I tear my eyes from the road and quickly glance her way. She’s looking ahead, nodding.

“I know.”

“So know this: I’m not going to let her hurt you. All right?”

“Okay.”

Dinner isn’t as bad as Jersey Girl had expected. Her mother is quiet for the most part. I’ve even caught her peeking over at Jenna from time to time. But mostly her father, Gregory—he asked me to call him that—keeps the conversation alive. We talk about the contracting business, his work, and even politics, which I don’t care for, but he makes it an interesting topic.

Gregory couldn’t get reservations for the restaurant he wanted, so he hired a private chef to come to the house and make us dinner instead.

I lean back in the chair, patting my stomach as the chef comes out with dessert. “I can’t. I’m going to burst at the seams if I have anything else,” I say.

Laura smiles. “I’m sure you can find some room for chocolate cake.”

I don’t want to seem rude, so I just nod. “I’m sure I can find room.”

“You don’t have to, Logan,” Jersey Girl says. Her hand reaches over and clasps my shoulder. “We can take some for later.”

Gregory nods. “Yes. Don’t worry about it. Dessert is my wife’s favorite part of dinner, so she always makes room for it.”

“It was Brooke’s as well,” Laura mumbles.

That was random and awkward. I don’t know what to say. I look between Jenna and her father. Gregory’s jaw tightens as he focuses straight ahead, keeping his eyes away from Laura. Jersey Girl bows her head, looking at her lap.