Velvet Knives (Book 1)

5 years ago (18 years old)

I sink into the couch, the worn fabric soft against my skin, as I mindlessly scroll through my phone. The endless stream of notifications and updates does little to distract me from the gnawing emptiness inside. The minutes stretch out before me like an endless abyss, each second ticking by with agonizing slowness. Lennox is always busy never around when I need him. The silence of the apartment feels heavy, oppressive, punctuated only by the faint hum of the TV in the background, its flickering light casting shadows across the walls.

Bored out of my mind, I tap at my screen with increasing agitation. Frustration bubbles beneath the surface, threatening to boil over. I can feel the tension coiling in my muscles, the familiar ache of resentment settling in my bones.

Every minute that ticks by feels like an eternity, each second a painful reminder of the chasm between us. I glance at the clock and wonder if he's even thinking about me. Is he lost in his work, his ambitions, his endless pursuit of success? Or has he simply forgotten about me?

My fingers tighten around the phone. A mix of impatience and resentment builds inside. I can feel the words rising in my throat, the sharp retorts I long to hurl at him. But I hold them back, swallowing them down. I know that when Lennox finally does walk through that door, his apology will be hollow, his promises empty.

And so, I wait.

The sound of the front door finally opening jolts me out of my stupor, and I sit up straight. Lennox steps into the room, his presence immediately filling the space. He's dressed in his usual work clothes, still looking put together despite the late hour.

"Hey babe," he says, setting his briefcase down. "Sorry I'm late. The meeting ran over." I force a smile. "It's okay. How was your day?"

He loosens his tie, walking toward me. "Long. Exhausting. You know how it is." He leans down to kiss my forehead. "You've been waiting for me?"

"Yeah. I thought maybe we could spend some time together."

He sits down beside me, pulling me close. "Of course. I've been thinking about coming home to you all day." His hand rests on my knee. "What did you do today?"

"Not much. Worked on some sketches. Mostly just... waited for you to get home."

He's quiet for a moment. "You know I wish I could be here more, right? It's just this project is really demanding right now."

"I know. It's just hard sometimes. Feeling like I'm always alone."

"I understand that." His thumb traces circles on my knee. "But you know this is temporary. Once this deal closes, things will calm down. I'll have more time."

I've heard this before. "You said that about the last project."

His hand stills. "That's not fair, Ruby. Each situation is different. I can't control when opportunities come up."

"I'm not saying you can. I just miss you. Is that so wrong?"

"No, of course not." He pulls me closer. "I miss you too. That's why I'm here now. Let's not waste our time together arguing about work, okay?"

The redirect is smooth, practiced. I nod, feeling guilty for bringing it up.

"Good." He kisses the top of my head. "Because I've been looking forward to this all day. To being alone with you." His hand moves higher on my thigh, and something in my stomach tightens. "Lennox, I—"

"What's wrong?" His voice is gentle, concerned.

"Nothing. I just thought maybe we could talk for a bit? Catch up?"

"We are talking." His lips brush against my neck. "But there are other ways to connect too, you know."

"I know, I just—"

"You're tense." His hands move to my shoulders, massaging. "You need to relax. Let me help you relax."

It sounds reasonable. Maybe I am tense. Maybe I am overthinking things like I always do.

"Okay," I whisper.

"That's my girl." He turns my face toward his and kisses me. It's deeper than before, more insistent. His hands start to wander, pulling at my clothes. I pull back slightly. "Can we slow down a little?"

He stops, studying my face. "What's going on with you tonight? You seem off."

"I don't know. I guess I just wanted to ease into things."

"We've been together for over a year, Ruby. We're past the 'easing into things' stage." He says it with a slight smile, like it's a joke, but there's an edge underneath.

"I know, I just—"

"Just what?" He sits back, running a hand through his hair. "Help me understand what you need here, because I'm honestly confused." The way he phrases it makes me feel like I'm the one being unreasonable. "I don't know. Never mind." "No, tell me. I want to understand." His tone is patient now, like he's trying so hard to be understanding despite my difficulty. "I just feel like sometimes you want things to move faster than I'm ready for."

"Faster?" He looks genuinely surprised. "Ruby, we're in a committed relationship. This is normal. This is what couples do."

"I know that."

"Then what's the problem?" He reaches for my hand. "Are you not attracted to me anymore? Is that what this is about?"

"No! That's not it at all."

"Then what?" His thumb strokes my hand. "Because from where I'm sitting, it feels like you're pulling away from me. And I have to tell you, that hurts. I spend all day working to build a future for us, and when I come home wanting to be close to you, you push me away."

"I'm not pushing you away. I'm just asking to take it slow."

"Which feels like pushing away to me." He squeezes my hand. "I'm not trying to make you feel bad. I'm just being honest about how it feels from my perspective. Can you understand that?"

I nod slowly. Maybe I'm not seeing it from his side. Maybe I am being unfair.

"I love you, Ruby. I just want to be close to you. That's all I want." His voice is so sincere, so earnest. "Is that really too much to ask after the day I've had?"

The guilt settles in my chest. "No. It's not too much."

"Thank you." He pulls me close again, kissing me softly at first, then deeper. His hands resume their exploration, and this time I don't stop him. But as things progress, as clothes start coming off, that tight feeling in my stomach gets worse. His hands are rougher than usual, more urgent. When I tense up, he doesn't seem to notice.

"Lennox," I say quietly.

"Mm?" He's focused on unbuttoning my dress. "I'm not sure I'm in the right headspace for this." He pauses, looking up at me. "What do you mean? We were just talking about this."

"I know, but—"

"Ruby." He sits back, and I can see frustration creeping into his expression. "I'm trying to be patient here. I really am. But you're sending me really mixed signals."

"I'm not trying to."

"I know you're not trying to. But that's what's happening." He takes a breath. "Look, I get that you have your moods or whatever. But I'm a person too, with needs and feelings. And right now I feel like I'm walking on eggshells, never knowing which version of you I'm going to get."

"That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" His voice is calm, reasonable. "One minute you're saying you miss me and want to spend time together. The next you're pulling away when I try to be intimate with you. How am I supposed to interpret that?"

"I do want to spend time with you. That's different from—"

"From what? From actually being in a relationship? Because intimacy is part of relationships, Ruby. It's how people stay connected." The logic sounds right, but something still feels wrong. "I know that."

"Then help me out here. Tell me what you want me to do. Should I just go sleep on the couch? Leave you alone?"

"No, I don't want that."

"Then what do you want?" He sounds tired now, defeated. "Because I'm at a loss." The guilt is overwhelming now. He's been at work all day, came home to be with me, and I'm making everything difficult. Maybe I am being unreasonable. Maybe this is just what relationships are like and I need to adjust my expectations.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "You're right. I'm being weird."

"Hey, no." He cups my face gently. "Don't apologize. I just want us to be on the same page. I want you to be happy. That's all I want."

"I know."

"So let's start over, okay? Let me make you feel good. Let me show you how much I care about you." He kisses me again, and this time I don't pull away. His hands are back on my body, and I try to relax into it like he said. Try to let go of the resistance I feel building. He pulls me down onto the couch, his weight pressing into me.

"That's better," he murmurs against my skin. "See? This is nice. This is us."

But it doesn't feel nice. It feels wrong in a way I can't articulate. His touch is too rough, too insistent. When his hand slides up my thigh, pushing my dress higher, I instinctively try to close my legs. "Ruby, relax." His voice has an edge now. "I'm trying."

"Try harder." It's not quite a command, but it's not quite a request either. "You're so tense. Just breathe." I take a breath, trying to do what he says. Trying to be what he needs. But when his fingers hook into my underwear, something in me snaps.

"Lennox, stop." My voice is stronger than I expected. He freezes. "What?"

"I can't do this right now. I'm sorry, but I can't." For a long moment, he doesn't move. Then he pulls back, sitting up. His expression is unreadable.

"Okay," he says quietly. "Okay."

The silence stretches between us. I pull my dress back down, my hands shaking. "I'm sorry," I say. "I know you're frustrated with me—"

"Frustrated doesn't even begin to cover it, Ruby." He stands up, pacing away from me. "But it's fine. It's whatever."

"It's not 'whatever.' I can see you're upset." He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Yeah, I'm upset. I'm upset that my girlfriend can't stand to be touched by me. I'm upset that I apparently disgust you or whatever."

"You don't disgust me. That's not what this is."

"Then what is it?" He turns to face me. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you don't want me. And that's a pretty shitty feeling."

"I do want you. I'm just not ready right now."

"You're never ready lately." He shakes his head. "Every time I try to be close to you, there's some excuse. You're tired, you're not in the mood, you need to take it slow. When is it going to be the right time, Ruby? When am I allowed to actually be intimate with my own girlfriend?"

The accusation stings because part of me wonders if he's right. "That's not fair. We were intimate last week—"

"Once. In the past three weeks. Do you know how that feels? Do you know what that does to a person's self-esteem?"

I don't know what to say. I hadn't realized he was keeping track. He softens slightly. "Look, I'm not trying to pressure you or make you feel bad. I just... I need you to understand where I'm coming from. I'm a guy. I have needs. And when the person I love keeps rejecting me, it hurts."

"I'm not rejecting you."

"That's exactly what it feels like." He comes back over, sitting beside me but not touching. "Maybe I'm not what you want anymore. Maybe you've outgrown this relationship."

"No, that's not—"

"Because if that's the case, just tell me. Don't string me along."

"I'm not stringing you along. I love you."

"Do you?" His eyes search mine. "Because love is more than just words, Ruby. It's actions. It's showing up for each other. And right now, I don't feel very loved." Tears spring to my eyes. "I'm trying my best."

"I know you are. I know." He reaches out, pulling me into a hug. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I'm just tired and frustrated and I took it out on you. That's not fair."

I cling to him, relieved that maybe we can move past this. "It's okay." "No, it's not. You were trying to communicate your boundaries and I got defensive." He pulls back to look at me. "That's on me. I should be more understanding."

The sudden shift catches me off guard. "Thank you for saying that."

"Of course." He wipes a tear from my cheek. "I love you. Even when things are hard. Even when we don't see eye to eye. I'm not going anywhere."

"I love you too." He holds me for a while, and I start to relax. Maybe we can work through this. Maybe I was overreacting.

"I should probably go to bed," I finally say. "It's late."

"Yeah. Me too." He kisses my forehead. "Tomorrow will be better, okay?"

"Okay."

We get ready for bed in silence, the tension from earlier still hanging in the air but manageable now. As I lie in bed beside him, his arm draped over me, I try to shake the feeling that something is fundamentally wrong.

Because he apologized. He acknowledged my boundaries. He said all the right things.

So why do I still feel so hollow? Why does his touch still make my skin crawl? Why do I feel like I'm constantly walking a tightrope, trying not to upset him, trying not to be too difficult, trying to be enough?

At eighteen years old, I don't have the words for what's happening to me. I don't recognize the patterns. I don't understand that love shouldn't feel like this—like obligation, like guilt, like constantly failing to meet an impossible standard.

I just know that I'm exhausted. And alone. Even with him lying right beside me. And I have no idea how to fix it.