[ A/N: *Trigger Warning* This chapter refers to emotional abuse between romantic partners. If you think you or someone you know has experienced or is currently in an abusive relationship, please call your local hotline. ]

I tried to keep my eyes focused on the wine I was pouring as Tom stripped down to his boxers. He draped his discarded tux over the back of my desk chair and then plopped himself unceremoniously onto the edge of my bed. I couldn't help but laugh as I handed him his glass.

He ignored it. "What?"

"Nothing," I laughed again but then sighed dramatically when he still wouldn't reach for the glass I held out to him. "Sometimes I just find it funny!"

The corner of Tom's lips began to tug upward, but his brows still furrowed slightly as if stubbornly attempting to hold on to their seriousness. Somewhat begrudgingly, he accepted the glass. "Find what funny?"

I finished pouring my own wine and leaned across him to place the half-filled bottle on my bedside table. I smiled as I felt the warm weight of Tom's hand on my hip and smiled fuller when it remained there after I'd straightened.

He tilted his chin up to look at me expectantly, perhaps not realizing his thumb had begun to make slow, languid movements underneath the hem of my camisole.

"Just that you're... Prince Thomas," I shrugged helplessly. "I know it's silly, but sometimes I still catch myself forgetting. Like when you flop yourself onto my bed," I added as I nudged his leg with my own. "Or make those truly awful puns of yours-"

"My jokes are pun-tastic!"

I let out a mock groan as I allowed my fingers to run through his hair. "It's just funny remembering who you are sometimes, that's all."

"I like that," Tom murmured as he closed his eyes and tilted his chin up farther.

"You've always been a sucker for a good scalp massage," I teased.

His hand on my hip migrated to my lower back and gently pulled me into him so his chin rested just below my ribs. "I meant the forgetting bit, but I am a sucker for... a..."

I smirked glibly as his voice trailed off and his head pressed into my hand. "You like that I forget who you are?"

He caught my wrist with his other hand-I hadn't noticed him placing his wine glass on the table beside the bottle-and brought it to his mouth to kiss. I shuddered at the sensation of his soft lips grazing the sensitive flesh of my wrist. "I like that you forget what my title is," he murmured against my skin. "I like that I'm Just Tom to you."

"You're not just anything," I whispered, the tremor in my voice surprising me.

In one swift movement, Tom pulled me into his lap and safely placed my glass beside his. I couldn't help but laugh as he nuzzled his face into my neck. He suddenly inhaled deeply and the feel of his breath tickled my skin causing me to squirm. His arms tightened around my waist, not too tight yet not in a playful squeeze either...

The air in the room suddenly seemed stuffy. My first instinct was to get up and open the window, but I knew somehow not to move. In a moment's time, it seemed my connection to Tom had become fragile, and I feared with a break in our touch the whole thing could shatter altogether.

"Tom?" I asked after a moment's hesitation.

He pulled away slightly and shook his head, as if to shake off the feeling, not realizing he wasn't the only one affected by it.

I cupped his face in my hands and gently turned it to face me. He looked at me-no into me-as if searching for something. His eyes were uncertain, but he must have found whatever he had been looking for because eventually, he began to speak.

"Sometimes," he started, but stopped.

I stroked his cheek with my thumb. "Sometimes...?"

He swallowed audibly and tried again. "Sometimes I wonder if... well, if someone hurt you, and if that's why maybe it's hard for you to let me in."

My thumb, along with the rest of me, froze. My vision was suddenly bombarded with flashes of a self-assured smirk morphing into a loathing scowl, of shouting and contrived apologies.

I shut my eyes trying in vain to ward off the memories while simultaneously praying they weren't visible on my face.

When I moved to crawl off of his lap, Tom started to protest, but I cut him off.

"I don't want to associate your touch with him," I bit rather curtly as I scooted against the headboard and pulled my knees up, into my chest.

It felt safer sitting there with the solidness of the wood supporting my back. I reached for my glass and Tom, watching me, leaned over and handed it to me. I smiled gratefully and took a large, unladylike swig.

Unable to meet Tom's worried gaze, I looked up at the white stucco. I took another long drink and then managed a few deep breaths.

It had been a long time since I had been assaulted by the flashbacks. Usually, I managed to keep them compartmentalized to an area in my memories I refused to acknowledge even existed. Bits and pieces would of course still pop up whenever something I encountered triggered one of those awful memories, but it was always just a fragment or shadow of a memory that would appear at the fringes of my mind-and those I had easily enough learned to ignore.

The flashes subsided and I loosed a shaky breath in relief. I could still feel Tom staring at me-I could almost feel him vibrating beside me with an intensity that made me scared to meet his scrutiny.

Was he angry at me for moving off of him when he hadn't wanted me to?

Did he think less of me now that he could clearly see just how weak I was?

Was he judging me? Trying to hatch an easy escape from my flat, from me?

Tom's voice punctuated the whirling hurricane of my thoughts. "Ems?"

My eyes dropped from the spot on the ceiling they had been fixed to at the sound horse sound of his voice, as if he were the one in pain.

And I realized, after a few moments, that he was.

I blinked several times in confusion as I took in his wide eyes, darting between my face and where I hugged my knees to my chest. The muscles on the side of his neck were taught and his jaw seemed locked in an odd angle. My eyes eventually fell to his hands, which were tensely gripping at the increasingly wrinkled sheets.

He took a steadying breath and attempted to keep his tone even as he spoke to me. "I know you said you didn't want to associate my touch with... but it really looks like you could use a hug. Would you-do you want one?"

I shook my head, no.

I wanted Tom's touch more than anything, but I was afraid if he gave it to me the flashes in my mind would swarm and convince me it was his.

I took yet another deep breath and was gratified to feel my trembling slowly subsiding.

I hadn't thought he'd meant it, or rather I hadn't understood what he'd meant. All those times Tom had rattled on about letting him in, sharing my burdens with him, about him wanting to support me. I'd heard his words, but still...

I had always known Tom was a wonderful boyfriend, scoring far beyond any measure I'd ever had before. But until that moment, I'd never truly appreciated what it felt like to have a partner-to know he would be there, that he wouldn't just get up and walk away. He would sit there and wait, like I know realized he always had done, until I was ready.

His fingers loosened their hold on the sheets before tightening again. I imagined he was looking down at them, too. When he spoke again, it was in a burst. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean-"

I shook my head again, more forcibly this time.

"He didn't..." I tried to start, but stopped.

I wanted so desperately to be ready, to let him in, to tell Tom whatever he wanted to know-but I had no idea how to begin. After years of repressing the memories, I didn't know how to talk about them. I wasn't even sure how to look them head on without shrinking back.

I ground my teeth and tried again.

"He didn't hurt me, but-" I inhaled a sharp breath and finally willed myself to meet Tom's steady gaze. "He certainly wasn't as kind to me as you are. I didn't... I felt like a burden, and I hated it and I don't want that to happen again."

I knew my eyes were visibly glistening with unshed tears, but I didn't care. I knew I had to make Tom understand, knew I had to at least try. "I don't ever want you to look at me the way he did towards the end."

Tom dipped his chin to look me squarely in the eyes. "You, Emma, are not a burden. You couldn't ever be, not to me."

"But I would be," I whispered. "If I moved in-if I let you take care of everything."

"But it wouldn't be a burden!" He exclaimed softly as he moved closer to me. "Lord knows I've been given enough money by my family to live comfortably several times over."

"But it's too soon! We've only been dating a few weeks!" I leaned back into the headboard, causing some of the wine to splash out of my glass. I cursed, but Tom merely took the glass from my hand and placed it safely on the table.

He turned back to me and held out his hands. I hesitated and then slipped mine in his. He let out a deep breath as he bent over and kissed each of them. I smiled softly, but faltered when he looked up at me, his expression sober.

"There hasn't been anyone else since the night we met, at least not for me-"

"Me either, but Tom-"

"So that adds a week or so! And besides, we both know I've wanted to propose since our first date-"

"Tom!" I exclaimed, tugging my hands back but he held fast.

"So in context, moving in isn't all that mad!"

I gaped at him. "Would you listen to yourself?"

"I am, would you? I love you, Emma, and I'm sorry for what's happened and the way it's rushed things, but I'm not sorry about us and I'm sure as hell not sorry about the way I feel about you!"

And by the mad glint in his eyes, I could tell he meant every word.

I squeezed both his hands and leaned forward, closer to him. "Nor am I," I said as I bore my eyes into his so that he would see my sincerity. "But that doesn't mean we should rush into anything."

"It's not rushing if it's right!" He countered.

"It can be right and still be rushed!" I pulled back and briefly covered my face with my hands before determinedly pushing them back through my hair.

"I just don't want either of us to regret anything," I said after a moment.

"We won't!"

I swallowed painfully. "You won't maybe."

Tom watched me for a moment and then nodded solemnly. "I'm terrified of losing you," he confessed quietly. "But I don't want to push you away either."

I shook my head and spoke firmly. "You won't lose me."

He hesitated before asking: "Even if you go back to Kerry?"

"Even if I go back to Kerry, though, I wouldn't ask you to wait for me-"

"You wouldn't have to."

I smiled at his quick response and serious tone. I took his hands in mine and eventually leaned forward to kiss him. I slowly extricated my hands from his as I slid down onto the bed and pulled him on top of me.