Even Heroes Have Scars

[86] Lightweight

Ansley's P.O.V.

Demi continued to kiss me as we perched on the edge of the tub in her hotel. Passionately. Lovingly. And it was beautiful, really, how our inundation of emotion could swell and swell and a simple kiss could guide the overflow to its proper placement. A purposeful action so sweet and pure and perfect.

But even still, my heart ached. She was in pain. The kind that couldn't be solved by this brief relief. This was something that needed attention and therapy and meditation and self-love and patience. This was something I couldn't fix. As much as I wanted to be the one to repair what the world (or her mind – I didn't know where this all originated and ignited from) broke, I knew at least the majority had to be on her. All I could do was support her from the sidelines and remind her that she wasn't alone in this.

So it took me by surprise, after everything that had just happened, that she began to intensify the kiss, pulling at my shirt and sitting up straighter – either as a result of some random confidence boost or to prevent herself from falling off my lap (probably the latter). Her hands were quickly in my hair to scratch my scalp and tug in just the right places that she knew drove me crazy. We both craved intimacy in this moment, but we craved different kinds: I wanted the intimacy of laying in bed talking about whatever was going on while cuddling her and comforting her; she wanted the intimacy of sex, of hiding her emotions and use of words and relying on this physical world between us to keep us close. And as much as I hated it, I couldn't allow her to do this. I couldn't.

I pulled away, keeping my hand on her cheek as I gazed into her eyes. "Demi..." I whispered, hoping she understood my hesitation.

Her eyes flitted between mine and my lips quickly. "Ansley," she replied breathily, seductively, and she leaned in again.

I barely escaped by leaning back when she managed to peck my lips. Still holding onto her on the side of the tub, I shook my head. "Not like this."

"Well, then, let's go to the room." Her breath was hot against my neck and sent shivers down my spine that I forced myself to ignore.

It was obvious that she desired this interaction, but I couldn't allow it when I knew the reasonings behind her intentions weren't healthy ones. She wanted to use sex as a way to numb and forget. But how could I, in my right mind, allow her to do that, knowing how dark of a place she must've been in? I'd been working for years to mend myself back together after being so broken and empty, and I'd been so wrapped up in myself that now Demi was sitting here before me, just as horribly broken and distraught as I'd ever been, doing the same destructive, avoidant things I'd done, and I didn't know how to help her. She helped me all these years, but I had no idea how to do the same for her.

"You're not in a good place for this," I stated, attempting to hold my ground.

She smirked, but it wasn't visible in her eyes. "I'm always in the right place for this. I'm already naked, babe. Come on. I want you. Don't you want me?" she asked persuasively as if she was actually horny enough for us to do something. And maybe she was. But I wasn't about to find out.

I sighed, knowing I needed to be stern as she kissed on my neck and jaw, her hand finding its way to my breasts. "Demi, no. You can't sit here having an episode like that and then just switch it on a dime, telling me you want me."

She scoffed and leaned back, removing her hand from my chest. "You know, I always pleasure you. At least three times this year, I've made you feel good when you wanted me to. Even if I was tired, or if I didn't have time for it, or if I wasn't in the mood. But when I want you to fuck me, you won't. That's real fucked up, Ansley." With a large huff, she was on her feet.