Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 149606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 748(@200wpm)___ 598(@250wpm)___ 499(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 748(@200wpm)___ 598(@250wpm)___ 499(@300wpm)
And I know—I just know—this little folder is Asher’s portal back to the Ember he fell in love with and misses.
“What’s wrong? Did you get in touch with Katherine?”
I look up at him, standing there with his suitcase that has old band bumper stickers plastered all over it, and I have no idea what on earth to say. But the tears streaming down my cheeks, and my shaking hands, do all the talking for me.
Scrunching his brows together, he takes the tablet from my hands, and his face pales as he glances at the screen, realizing what I’ve seen.
“Em—”
I cut him off. “How often do you look at that folder?” I ask, my voice cracking. “Tell me the truth.”
Swallowing hard, his shoulder lifts slightly. “I’m not sure. A few times a week, I guess.” He throws the iPad on the bed.
“So you sit and look at sexy pictures and videos of her?”
“Of you, Ember. There is no her. It’s you.”
I cross my arms, unable to truly accept that as truth. “It doesn’t feel like it. Not to me. And ya know what? I don’t think it does for you, either.”
Taking a deep breath, he shoves his hands through his hair and sits on the bed next to me. “That’s not true. Not at all.”
The images are still a slideshow in my head, taunting me with the past, of everything I was and everything we had and everything we’ve lost. Everything we want back. I wipe at the tears on my face and struggle to understand why this has me so upset.
“I need you to tell me why you’re looking at all that…stuff. If it’s me, then why not look at me? I’m here, Asher, not on that screen.” He stares at me with a lost look in his eyes. “I don’t know what it is, but I can feel it. Something is bothering you. About me, or us. I think it’s a lot more than you just wanting to make sure I’m okay. It’s obvious from your little video performances that you love sex—”
He reaches for my hand, but I pull it away. I don’t want his sweet, soft touch right now.
“Ember, please. You know how complicated all of this is.”
“No.” I stifle a sob. “This feels like cheating to me. It feels like you’re looking at another woman, fantasizing about her.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not like that. That’s not how I feel at all. I’m just—” Tears pool in the corners of his eyes. “I don’t know how to explain this,” he says softly.
“Just try,” I beg, trembling with sobs.
“I don’t know how.”
I’ve felt this slowly creeping over us for the past few weeks. There’s been a distance to him as we’ve grown closer, which hasn’t made sense to me. Especially when getting closer seemed to be the most important thing in the world to him. He’s been so supportive, so patient and loving since I woke up.
Maybe he can’t deal with my memory loss. I know he’s tried, but some things are too difficult to work out. It would be understandable. Even I have to admit that. I’ve researched scenarios like ours on the internet when I’m alone. Most couples faced with a partner with memory loss don’t last. No matter how hard they want to, they can’t overcome it.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says.
My heart plummets at those words. Whatever’s going on, it’s obviously tearing him up inside, holding him emotionally hostage.
“In what way?” I force out through the tears.
“In any way.”
“You’ve been acting different lately. I don’t know what I’ve done wrong or what you want. Why are you looking at those things? I’m not good enough?”
He shakes his head violently. “You haven’t done anything wrong. There is no “good enough.” All I want is you. Us.”
I stare at him, and I’m at a total loss. The room is closing in on me, sucking up all the air. My head is pounding. Maybe he’s been right all along—maybe I’m not as strong as I think I am. Right now, I feel like the crack in my head is going to reappear from all this emotional stress, and I’ll be pulled back into the endless sleep, where the butterflies will protect me from it all.
Squeezing my forehead, I shove those thoughts away.
I will not be pulled to that place. “I’m so confused, Asher.”
“So am I.” He tilts his head back, flinging his hair out of his face. “That’s what’s wrong, Em.” His voice is low, tortured, dragged out of him. “My head is confused, and I’m trying to get it right.”
The raw, honest, agony in his words sends a shiver up my spine. Deep in my heart, an urge whispers for me to comfort him. Make this better. Take all this pain away from him. But I don’t know how.