Page 37 of Vicious Temptation
“This really is something,” she says, looking around. “Just a regular guest room, hm?”
“You’ve been in my room at home before.” I shake my head at her, rolling my eyes a little. “This isn’t that crazy.”
“I’m just saying, it’s just about the size of my whole apartment. Really considering looking into nanny jobs,” she says with a laugh.
“That’s why I said I didn’t want to move in with you. Imagine how cramped it would have been.”
“I’d do it for you, though,” Clara assures me swiftly. “But I’m glad you found this job, Bella, honestly. I saw you out there while we were playing catch, and you looked genuinely happy. I honestly didn’t think you liked kids all that much, but you seem to be having a great time.”
“I still don’t know if I like kids,” I admit. “But I like these kids, and I think that’s what matters.”
I fish out two bathing suits, a couple of one-pieces that I had shoved in the back of a drawer. I toss the red one with white borders to Clara, since it’s a little more attention-grabbing, and take the black one with a high neck and thick straps for myself. I honestly don’t know why I bought it—it’s not the kind of thing I would have worn back when I wore swimsuits at all, but I’m glad I have it. A bikini would be impossible for me to put on now.
We change quickly, throwing our clothes back on over the swimsuits, and corral Cecelia and Danny to head back down to the pool. Clara lets out an envious little sigh as I open the gate to the pool, immediately sinking down on a lounge chair and beginning to slather sunscreen onto her legs.
“I forgot how much I missed being able to come over and use the pool at your house. It’s a perfect day for it, too.”
It was a perfect day for the pool. I feel my fingers tremble a little as I start to pull my t-shirt over my head, but there’s nothing for it except to go ahead and strip down to my swimsuit. Cecelia and Danny were already coated in sunscreen and running into the water. Clara is busily finishing swiping lotion over her arms to do the same. If I keep delaying, it’ll defeat the purpose of forcing myself into a swimsuit at all.
Quickly, I sweep a look around the perimeter of the house again. There’s no one around. I clench my fingers in the hem of my shirt, and yank it over my head.
Oh, god. The breeze on my overheated skin feels fantastic, and I know the cool water will feel just as good. I try to ignore the faint crawling feeling on my skin at being so exposed, and undo the button of my jeans, gritting my teeth against the panic I can feel starting to unfurl right behind my navel.
No one is looking at you, I remind myself. No one is going to hurt you. The people who would aren’t here. They can’t see you. You’re safe. Clara is here, and it’s just me and her and two kids having a great time in the pool. Everything is fine, I repeat in my head, taking a deep breath and pushing my jeans down my hips.
I fold up my clothes to buy myself a little more time before I let anyone see the expression on my face, wanting to calm down a little more. I set them on the lounge chair, and finally turn to Clara, who is capping the sunscreen bottle. “Can I have some of that?”
“Sure.” She tosses it to me with a grin. “See you in the water!”
I watch as she walks to the diving board, neatly diving in, sleek as a fish. Cecelia claps at that, a shining expression on her face, and I remember her saying that she wanted to try out for the swim team at school. I should tell Gabriel about that, if he doesn’t already know, I think, smoothing sunscreen over my arms, and I feel a startling tingle at the thought of him. Not the anxiety I felt a second ago while I was undressing—but something else. Something like what I felt last night.
For the briefest of moments, I imagine him out here with us. I imagine his eyes on me as I rub the sunscreen over my thighs, following the long line of my legs, sweeping over my figure in the tight one-piece swimsuit. I imagine his gaze resting on my hips, my breasts, moving up to look at my lips like he did last night—and for a moment, I feel okay. The thought of him looking at me doesn’t terrify me like it usually does, when I catch men looking at me in public now. The thought of him wanting me doesn’t feel like something to fear.
But then I imagine him coming closer, taking the sunscreen out of my hand, pouring some of it in his palm. I imagine his hand sweeping over my back, touching my skin—and every part of me freezes for a second, my breath coming in sharp, quick gasps as I press a hand to my chest and try to keep from spiraling into a panic attack.
“Hey, Bel, you okay?” Clara calls from the pool, snapping me out of it. “We’re all waiting on you!”
“Yeah, I’m fine!” I yell back. “Just making sure I don’t miss any spots. Wouldn’t want to get sunburned.”
I firmly push all thoughts of Gabriel out of my head, finish getting the last bits of sunscreen on, and go to join the three of them in the pool.
The water is every bit as blissful as I knew it would be. It’s been a long time since I’ve been swimming—since last summer, and it feels incredible. I sink down into the cool water, luxuriating in the contrast between the hot sun beating down and the crystalline water lapping at my skin, and let out a slow breath.
I’m missing out on so much like this, I think, a little sadly. I have to find some way to get better.
My psychiatrist has said it’s only been a few months. That it takes years to heal from something like what happened to me—and that maybe it won’t get completely better. That I should expect to always have lingering vestiges of the PTSD I was diagnosed with, that I should learn to live with it. Depression, anxiety, nightmares, jumping at shadows, and a fear of any kind of touch or physical intimacy—those are all a part of my life now. Things that I should learn to coexist with in case they don’t go away.
He’s right that it’s only been a few months. But that doesn’t make me feel better. Those few months have felt like a lifetime. I don’t want to keep losing chunks of my life to this, to keep wondering over and over if I’m going to feel like a shell of myself for years. If I’m going to be in my thirties, trapped in a loveless marriage with children of my own before I ever start to feel like I’m better at all—or, worse still, if being forced into that will really make certain of the fact that I might never recover. If I’ll always feel like this because the future my father wants for me can only be put off, not escaped altogether.
I want more moments like this. Feeling happy, free, splashing in the pool with my best friend and the two children I’m in charge of helping to take care of, feeling like I have purpose and direction for the first time in my life.
We stay out in the pool until Agnes calls us in for lunch, and I get Cecelia and Danny dried off, all of us changing back into our clothes and going inside for a lunch of lemon chicken salad sandwiches and sweet potato fries. Clara compliments Agnes at least twice on her cooking, which I can tell softens the older woman towards her a bit, and then I take the children upstairs for their nap.
Clara is in the living room when I come back down. “This place really is nice,” she says, tucking her feet up under her as she sits in the armchair. “It feels more like a home than your dad’s place does.” She winces. “I’m sorry if I shouldn’t say that, but?—”
“No, I know what you mean. I feel the same way. My house has always felt so—cold. It feels like a place to live, not a home. This house doesn’t feel like that at all.”
“How long are you supposed to stay here for? Has Gabriel said anything about that?”