Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
The hint of an eye twitch is the only thing that remotely cracks his sullen expression. “I’m not built that way,” he says.
“He’s dead,” I whisper.
“Doesn’t matter.”
“You killed him. What more do you need?”
“The truth.”
“I’m not your wife. I don’t need you to piece me back together.”
“My wife’s dead.” He swallows hard, barely holding it together.
I wince. “The truth is … nothing I can say will change what happened. There’s no revenge to seek. There are no broken pieces of me waiting to be mended. If it’s you who needs this, then maybe you should talk to someone.”
“I’m trying to fucking talk to you!” He raises his voice.
I stiffen. “Maybe a therapist—”
“My sister’s husband is a shrink. I don’t need a goddamn therapist. I need you.”
More tears fill my eyes. “It’s too … cruel,” I whisper.
“Frankie, I’m not …” He runs his hands through his hair, shaking his head while his eyes gloss over with emotion. “I’m not being cruel. I need—”
“I’m not doing this.” I turn and head toward my bedroom. “You’re asking for too much.”
“Goddammit!” His feet pound the squeaky hardwood behind me.
“Don’t!” I whip around after reaching my bedroom, holding a flat hand out and losing the battle with another round of tears. “Don’t cross that threshold. I’m taking my space. I’m being very clear with my words, and if you think you can bully your way in here and force me to tell you anything, then you are no better than him.”
Jack flinches like I smacked his face.
I swat at my tears. “You …” My voice cracks. I hate this so much. “If you really love me, you will never ask me to relive that day.”
He rests one hand on his hip and angles his torso away from me while his other hand rubs his eyes, and he clears his throat with a clenched jaw.
“Jack,” I whisper.
After a pregnant pause, he looks at me.
I stop trying to hold back my tears. Every blink sends another one down my face. “It’s embarrassing,” I can barely whisper the words. They escape on shaky breaths, and my chest feels like it’s splintering out of control. “And d-degrading.” Covering my mouth, I hold my breath to stifle a sob. “Hu—miliating.” I shake with more sobs. “And I … I fucking h-hate that you saw me on m-my hands and knees with no …” I can’t finish.
If I tell him, I won’t be able to look him in the eye ever again. And if that makes me weak, so be it. I’m nobody’s hero. Years of schooling, mentoring, and living have not changed me when it comes to love. I’m just a girl who loves a boy. I’m just a girl who wants the boy to see the best of me.
If I truly loved him, I would give him everything.
If he truly loved me, he would never ask for everything.
We are at an impasse.
Staring at the ceiling, I wipe my eyes and will away any new tears. “I don’t want that kind of love.” I look at him and want to erase that indissoluble, forlorn expression on his handsome face. “I need to see where you end, and I begin. If loving you means surrendering everything that makes me who I am, I will always fall short.”
Jack drops his gaze. After a few seconds, he turns and heads toward the stairs.
When he’s no longer in sight, I close my door and sit on the velvet bench at the end of my bed, hands resting on the edge while I release the rest of my emotions one tear at a time. It feels like I’m choosing myself over him. Am I not being empathetic enough? Am I incapable of that kind of love?
I rub the heel of my hand over my heart, trying to ease the deep ache. Then I sniffle and bury my face in both hands while I cry harder.
After a shower and a cold washcloth for my swollen eyes an hour later, I slide on my nightie and pad my bare feet to the piano. My fingers caress the idle keys several times before I play “Outside, Alone” by Peter Gregson.
Closing my eyes, I sway gently. Music has, in many ways, always been my first love. Perhaps it will be my last. If my greatest love affair is with these notes and the images they inspire, the peace they bestow, I will die having experienced an emotional dimension unlike any other.
Music reaches further than words. It stretches past the heart and settles into the soul, where it belongs. Music bestows hope. It unearths memories. It sparks joy. It’s without judgment. And it never dies.
When I play the last note, I feel Jack at my back. I keep my fingers resting on the keys and open my eyes.
“I should leave,” he says.