Page 82 of Rescuing Rebel
I cross the cold, dimly lit room, the air heavy with the lingering scent of terror and violence. Rebel’s back is to me, her shoulders slumped, her dress torn, her very being radiating defeat. The weight of what she’s been forced to do, the guilt and shame, clings to her like a shadow.
Quietly, I come up behind her, my heart pounding, my throat tight with emotion.
I wrap my arms around her, feeling her body tense before a shudder runs through her. She knows it’s me. Of course, she knows. Our connection runs too deep and strong for her not to recognize my touch.
“I’m here,” I whisper into her ear, my voice cracking with emotion.
She whirls around, her face pale, eyes haunted, lips trembling. No words are needed. We’ve shared too much pain for words.
Her arms go around me, holding tight as if I might disappear, then she breaks down, sobs wracking her body. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. What I’ve done—it’s unforgivable… Reprehensible… I can’t bear it.”
I hold her, rocking her gently. While I remain steadfast in not condoning what she’s doing here, I take some comfort that she’s not here by her own choosing. She opened up and told me the truth, but demons still drive her. She won’t leave until she’s found what she needs.
“I’ve become something I despise.” Her eyes search mine, desperate for reassurance, desperate for forgiveness. I see the battle within her, the self-loathing warring with the need to believe in herself again.
I lift her chin to look into her eyes. “I may not agree with what you’ve done or understand why you’re here, but I love you, and nothing changes that.”
“How can you love me after what I’ve done?”
“Because I believe in us.” I wipe away her tears. “You’re a victim, not a villain, and when you’re ready to let me in, I’ll stand beside you.”
She clings to me, her body wracked with sobs, her soul bared, and I realize that this moment, this raw and vulnerable connection, is the truest expression of our love. It’s messy and painful, filled with doubts and fears, but it’s real.
Slowly, her sobs subside, and she looks up at me, her eyes filled with a fragile hope, a tentative trust. I kiss her forehead, promising her that I’ll never let her down and that we’ll face this together.
Whateverthisis.
Because that’s what love is. It’s messy and raw. Beautiful and fierce. It’s as much joy and passion as it is pain and struggle. The good with the bad. It’s standing together, even when the world is falling apart around you.
The room seems to contract around us, the walls bearing witness to our shared pain and connection. We stand there, locked in an embrace that’s about much more than physical touch. It’s a lifeline, a promise, a bond that transcends all the horror surrounding us.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Rebel’s breathing steadies, and she steps back, wiping her eyes. The vulnerability is still there, but so is a spark of determination, a flicker of the fire that I know burns within her.
I watch her carefully, sensing the darkness she’s not yet ready to share, but I have to ask, even if it means unearthing more pain.
“When we talked, you told me why you’re here. You mentioned there was something else. Does Kaufman have some hold over you?” I ask softly, my eyes locked on hers.
She looks away, her face tightening, and I see her battling with herself, torn between wanting to tell me and fearing what the truth might do to us.
“It’s complicated,” she finally whispers, her voice trembling.
“Trust me.” A simple request, but one that carries so much weight. I want to trust her, but doubt gnaws at me, the fear that something she’s hiding could ruin us. “I need to understand.”
She shakes her head, tears welling in her eyes again. “It’s not about me. It’s bigger than that. There are lives at stake, secrets I can’t share.”
“You can share them with me.” I pull her close again, feeling the desperation in her voice, knowing that whatever she’s hiding, it’s tearing her apart.
She buries her face in my neck, her body shaking. “I wish I could tell you everything, but I can’t. Not now. He’s always watching.” The sorrow in her voice chills me to the bone.
I hold her tight, fear settling in my stomach, a premonition that whatever she’s hiding will change everything, but I push it aside, focusing on the here and now, on the woman I love and the battle we’re fighting.
“You’re not alone anymore. I’m here. Let me in. Let me help you.”
Deep within me, I rejoice. I rejoice because the real Rebel is still there. The woman I fell in love with, the fighter, the survivor, she’s still here, beneath the layers of pain and fear. I feel her, and that gives me hope.
My gut twists imagining what she must have endured alone all those months. If only she had trusted me.
But the past can’t be changed.