Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80302 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80302 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
That distance made it easier for my ex to sever those ties completely, almost effortlessly.
Acceptance is hard for nearly everyone. Sometimes it comes quickly, sometimes it takes a long time. Usually by his age, that acceptance, despite not being open about it, has already happened, but if this man still feels guilty about who he is, then he only thinks he’s accepted it.
“I won’t have a sexual relationship with you,” he says, but it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than he’s trying to convince me.
“We can be friends,” I offer, feeling a little sorry and sad for the guy.
Boomer’s eyes narrow in suspicion.
“Unless you’re afraid of what people will think or assume if you’re my friend.”
“I don’t give a shit about what people think,” he says, his lips tugging down even further. “Sorry for my language.”
I huff a laugh, thinking he’s telling a joke, but the chuckle quickly dies away as I try to recall previous conversations and whether the man has used colorful language with me.
“A friend would invite me into his room so we could talk rather than making me stand in the doorway like a stranger.”
I’m probably pushing my luck, but the guy needs to make a decision one way or the other. I’ve already lost enough sleep, enough time wishing and hoping for something with this man, to continue to do so.
I’m not lying about being his friend. It’s not exactly all that I want from him, but I’m not such an asshole that I would push my agenda on him when it’s clear the man is struggling in his own life. There was a time I would’ve turned and walked away. Drama and work where a friendship was concerned was just too much, but I’m no longer that man. I’m healthier, capable of helping if I can.
“Just keep a little distance,” he says as he steps out of the way.
“No problem,” I say, kicking off my shoes and dropping to the bed.
He glares at me as I situate myself with my back against the headboard but he doesn’t tell me to move.
“Everything you said at the domestic violence event was true?”
I have to nod, praying he doesn’t want me to go into detail about it. I go to therapy every week, as well as attend group counseling. I don’t want the time I spend with Boomer to be just another session.
“Tell me about yourself,” I urge.
“Like what? You know I work for Cerberus, and I’ll tell you before you can ask, I’m not going to speak about my work.”
“I wasn’t going to ask you about your work. Tell me about your childhood.”
“I’d rather talk about work,” he mutters, as he drops into the small chair on the other side of the small hotel room.
He smiles when I laugh.
“Have you gone to therapy?”
“I’m not talking to Slick.”
“There are other therapists than Slick,” I assure him. “Maybe if you—”
“I grew up FLDS.”
“Mormon,” I say.
“Different than Mormon,” he begins. “The branch of the church my family was a part of isn’t accepted by other LDS sects.”
“So you’re from the group that has multiple wives and shit? I mean stuff. Multiple wives and stuff.”
He huffs a laugh, and I find myself grinning.
“You don’t have to watch your mouth around me. I’m a Marine, remember? I’ve heard worse than you can ever come up with.”
“I don’t know,” I say, my eyes dropping to his mouth before I can help myself. “I’ve got a filthy mouth.”
He licks at his lips before clearing his throat as he shifts in the chair.
“Sorry,” I tell him. “Old habits are hard to break.”
“My full name is Alexander Isaiah Smith. I was born on a compound on the Utah side of the state border with Arizona. My father had three wives by the time I left. According to their beliefs, that’s how many a man had to have to enter the kingdom of Heaven. I was the sixth born child for my mother who had nine kids by the time I turned eighteen.”
“I get it now,” I say, sadness creeping into me.
“Get what?” The man can’t even maintain eye contact with me, and it makes that ache forming inside of me that much stronger.
“You mention beliefs. Religion is one of the hardest things to understand, especially for someone who doesn’t meet the criteria spoken about from the pulpit on Sunday mornings. I imagine it’s even harder for you than most because of how controlled by your faith you were with your upbringing.”
He slow blinks at me as if I’m the first person to make any sort of sense to him.
I understand control.
I’m well aware just how easy it is to fall back on old ways and to let fear and the words, judgments, and abuse of others, rule one’s life.
He doesn’t agree nor argue my words.