The Porcelain Figurine

**Nate's POV**
**This chapter contains subject matter that may be sensitive to some readers.**
"Nate." She begged, calling my name with such fearful desperation that I was tempted to drop it and pretend I'd never asked, but I couldn't do that. We needed to have this conversation. I needed to know what I was in for when we decided to make love. I shook my head, moving forward again to take her in my arms.
She was shaking like a leaf, her crystal eyes wide and frightened, remembering things that I knew hurt her somewhere deep inside, somewhere no one else had travelled. Maybe I should've taken her to a professional, but it was too late for that. So I let her melt against me, sliding to my knees as her weight gave way, her knees collapsing beneath her. I used one hand to trace her spine while my other combed through her lengthy blonde locks.
"Shh… It's okay. I'll never hurt you, Alexandra. Tell me what happened, and I'll help." I cooed, my voice light and gentle, as if coaxing a frightened kitten from a tree. I just needed her to take that leap, and I could catch her. I'd catch her, care for her, cherish her, like she deserved to be cared for in the first place. I promised myself in the beginning that I wouldn't be a deadbeat dad. Well, I wouldn't be a deadbeat husband either.
She sniffled, shifting in my hold so that she was nestled between my legs, her back to my front. Both her hands came up to rest on my thighs, gripping them like her last tether to this world as she recounted a greater horror than I could've imagined. Her timid, cracking voice forced out her confession.
"It started when I was fourteen." I drew in my breath, holding it and leaning my forehead on her shoulder. "My dad called me to his office. It smelled like cigar, but not the kind he normally smokes. There was a… man there. Dad said he was a new partner of his. He said I just needed to do what he said and I could leave." She inhaled shakily. "He, um. He asked me to take my clothes off. I didn't want to, so I said no. Dad said if I didn't do it, he would lose the deal. He said he'd ship me off somewhere. But I still didn't. I couldn't, so…" I could feel her chest rising and falling, heavy and strenuous breaths that showed her pain, her trauma. "So… He did it for me."
"Fuck." I mouthed, snaking my arms around her waist.
"He touched me. I asked my dad to make him stop." *Don't touch me. Please, make him stop.* "But he didn't. After the first time, he would bring toys. He said I couldn't claim rape if he never entered me, but he didn't need to for it to hurt. It… It hurt so bad…" A small sob that she tried to withhold escaped, and I buried my nose in her hair, three words standing out to me. *The first time…*
"How many times did he do this?"
"I don't know. He stopped when I turned sixteen. He was relocated to L.A." So the bastard was still out there? Holy fucking hell.
"Did you tell anyone?" Then, unexpectedly, she whimpered. There was more she hadn't told me. How could there be more?
"I told mom. But… She… She couldn't handle it… She…" Christ.
"She killed herself." I all but breathed.
At that, she finally fell apart, unravelled in my arms as her violent sobs shook her entire body. She turned, burying her face in my chest as I rocked her, back and forth, trying desperately to hold her together.
Sorrow, pain, fucking rage for every single fucker involved in hurting this precious woman swamped my being, and my trembling was the only sign of it because I needed to be strong. I wanted to ask his name. I wanted to find that motherfucker and rip his dick off. I wanted to march into her pathetic excuse of a father's office and put a fucking knife in his throat. Hell, I wanted to raise the dead so I could shake her mother, to ask her why the hell she left her daughter behind to fend for herself. Why she was so damn selfish!
But I could do none of those things, so instead, I held her tighter, allowing her to empty years of unexpressed grief and distress into my chest. She began mumbling, shaking her head in her rants.
"I hate men. I hate them. They hurt. They always hurt." She cried, fisting my shirt.
"I know, love. Let it out."
"He made me. He hates me. I hate him, so fucking much!"
"Me too." Her sorrow was turning to anger.
"I-I don't want this! I-I don't want you!" She choked, but she grabbed at me as she said it, hanging onto me as her last breath of fresh air, just as she was mine. I pulled her back, just enough to capture her face in my palms.
"Hey, look at me." I commanded, soft but firm, and she reluctantly complied, her swollen eyes and sewn brows meeting mine.
"Nate."
"We both know that isn't true, Allie. Not anymore. Not for either of us. Please, love, don't let this break you. It can be different. I promise you, it can. You might not see it, but you are so, so strong. Fuck, you being here today is proof of it."
"I'm afraid."
"I know. And if you really don't want me, that's okay. It's damn time you start living for yourself, Alexandra. I won't let you get pushed around by anyone anymore, do you understand that? Not your dad, not the media, not your damn trainer." She let out a short, breathy laugh, and I smiled softly. "Do what you want to do. It's your life. Fuck everyone else, understand? Their opinions are shit anyway. They're all arseholes."
She took a deep breath, her eyes overflowing with new tears that I wiped away before they could fall. I felt her shivering hands make their way to my face as well, and I basked in the touch, nearly as much as her following words.
"I want you." She murmured, pulling me into her lips. Salty tears graced my tongue, but I didn't care. I accepted her kiss, my shoulders collapsing under the weight of emotion she put behind such a simple gesture. Starting with heartache, morphing into something more potent, more powerful and desperate; her need to be loved. I was cradling a porcelain figurine, delicate and invaluable, one bump away from shattering and the pressure was suffocating, but I rose to the challenge. She pulled away just enough to speak against my lips. "Don't hurt me." One last plea for the man who held her spirit.
"Never." I swore, and she was back on my mouth, this time allowing her fingers to tangle in my hair as she deepened her kiss.
My wife. My perfectly broken wife. The strongest woman I'd ever met.
I wasn't alone anymore.
Neither of us were.