Damaged

Chapter Eleven

"They tell us that suicide is the greatest piece of cowardice... That suicide is wrong; when it is quite obvious that there is nothing in the world to which every man has a more unassailable title than to his own life and person." - Arthur Schopenhauer.

DANTE 

"Well at least he gets out tomorrow huh?" I sigh as I put our clean plates in the cupboard. Everyone's down at the beach, while Anna and I decided to stay in tonight and have some quiet time together to speak about Stuart before his discharge tomorrow. "Yeah the day before we leave." 

"Exactly, the day before. We still have a whole day here before we have to leave." I smile at her warmly, wrapping my arms around her waist and kissing her forehead. She heaves a sigh and wraps her arms under mine, hugging me tightly. "I'm so happy I have you." She mumbles against my chest after a while of silence. I give a short laugh into her hair, holding her tightly as I say, "D'you know I was just thinking the exact same thing?" She pulls back to look at me and rolls her eyes, stepping back with a short laugh and saying, "Of course you were." In an over-sarcastic tone. She walks down the hall to her room and I follow suit a little shocked. "I was, don't get all sarcastic on me, babe. I mean it, I do feel very lucky to have you." She raises an eyebrow and pulls her half-packed suitcase onto the bed, turning to the wardrobe just as I put myself in front of it. I grab her tightly and yank her against me, pushing our mouths together and gripping her hips tightly to me. Her hands get tangled in my hair, and as the kiss heats I push her backwards towards the bed and she pulls me against her, making us both tumble to the bed.

ANNA 

My fingers knot in his hair at the back of his neck, keeping his head to mine as his lips trace across my jaw, down my throat and along my collarbones. A quiet moan of pleasure slowly slips out of my mouth as he tugs on my bottom lip with his teeth, his hands running up my t-shirt, pulling it over my head and throwing it in a corner. His fingers lightly trace my scars as we kiss, and for once I'm not worrying about them. I don't care about my scars. I don't care about how they got there. I care about here and now. With Dante. He straddles my hips as my hands claw from his head down his neck, down his back and around his waist to tease his shirt up a little, desperate to finally see his skin. As soon as I've distracted him enough with our kiss, I pull the shirt up his back and as he breathes in surprise at the sudden movement, I yank it over his head and throw it away, flipping us over and sitting pretty on his hips. Biting my bottom lip I observe him. His skin is perfectly toned and tanned, muscles any guy would be jealous of, with his V lines just as prominent as the dimples on his cheeks. I run my hands across his six pack, in awe of the solidity of the muscles, the bumps of the skin. "Impressive." I whisper, hovering just over his lips. He groans and slides his hands tightly through the hair at the back of my head, slamming our mouths together in some sort of urgency. Our bodies breathlessly move together as we kiss, his hands running through my hair and over the bare skin of my torso, teasing the strap of my bra before I get the chance to bite his tongue. He flips us back over and pulls my jeans from me before I yank his own off, him lying on top of me in nothing but our underwear. His hands work over my torso, feeling every part of me as his lips kiss me passionately. As his fingers catch my pants, toying with the waistband before his fingertips dance over my scars, my stomach flips.

That's when the memories come crashing back.

If there's one way to turn off, it's being reminded of my past. As Dante kisses down my stomach towards my pants, his nails biting into the skin of my hips as he keeps me pinned down on the bed, I swallow the moan which had been making it's way up my throat. "Dante," I pant, my fingers clutching at his hair as his teeth catch the waistband of my pants. "Dante please, stop, please! Stop, stop!" He groans against my skin but sits up in a panic as he hears the desperation in my tone. "Baby? What- what's the matter? What- have I done something wrong? What's happened? Are you okay?" His shaking hands fuss over me, his eyes panicking. "I...I..." I'm silenced by the memories, my past overwhelming me for the first time in my life. "This is all just too much." I whimper, covering my face with my hands. "Baby..." Dante sighs in a plead, peeling my hands away from my face. "You can take as long as you need to... I can wait." He laughs, running a caring hand across my cheek. I shake my head vigorously. "You've never asked how I got my scars." He seems taken aback by this statement. "I never ask after something that doesn't matter. The fact remains that you have them, they're a part of you, that's what's important." I smile tearfully and run a hand through his hair, leaving it to rest against his cheek for a moment before taking his right hand in both of mine. "This one," I whisper, brushing his hand along my torso. "Was my mom when I forgot to put the clean laundry outside," He grimaces and blinks at me seriously, composing himself. "These ones," I sweep his hands over the numerous white chunks over my torso. "Are from the night I escaped... I fell on the glass coffee table and shards of glass fell on me, scarred all over after that one."