Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 92835 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92835 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
But I'm not ready for the harsh fluorescent lights. Not yet.
I wash in the bathroom in the hall, dry, dress in silk pajamas, find her sitting on the couch, staring at the skyline.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"Nothing. Just… I have to tell you something."
"Right now?"
She nods. "Before I lose my nerve." She turns to me. "Sit. Please."
I do.
"I need you to make me a promise."
"What kind?"
"Promise you'll wait until I'm finished to respond."
"What are you talking about, angel?"
"Can you promise, Adam? Yes or no?"
I nod. "Of course."
Then she takes a deep breath, and she starts.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Danielle
I take a deep breath. Let out a slow exhale.
I'm sitting here, in Adam's penthouse apartment, in the fancy silk pajamas he bought me.
I'm ready to say this.
Okay, that's not true. I'm not ready. I'm not ever going to be ready.
But I'm capable.
I've imagined this conversation a thousand times. With my photographer ex-boyfriend. With a theoretical man. Someone kind and strong and understanding.
Even then, even with my sweet, hypothetical boyfriend, the conversation went poorly.
He was hurt for me. Hurt I didn't tell him sooner.
Too scarred.
Or not scarred enough.
He understood too well.
Or he had no clue what it meant.
This is different.
Adam isn't theoretical.
He's flesh and blood, here, in front of me.
Warm and hard and safe.
He cares about me.
He supports me.
He sees me.
Is that enough? I don't know. But it's what I have.
And this is what I have to do.
"Danielle?" His voice is soft. Slow. Careful. "Are you okay?"
"I just…" I take a deep breath. "I am. Just. Nervous."
He nods.
It comforts me. I don't know why, but it does.
Okay. Here goes nothing. "Have you noticed?"
"Noticed what?"
"In my photographs? Or maybe when you looped your tie around my wrists." I suck a breath through my teeth. "Have you noticed?"
"I'm not sure what you mean."
"I…" Fuck, I have to do this. I can do this. "You really haven't?"
"Angel, you're scaring me."
"It's not…" Maybe it is bad. I don't know anymore. "It's just something I have to tell you."
Adam's deep blue eyes fix on me.
He studies me intently. Like I'm a subject he's photographing. Like I'm his favorite painting.
No. It isn't that. It's something much scarier.
He studies me the way a man studies a woman.
The way a person studies someone they love.
With all this concern and affection.
It's overwhelming.
Terrifying.
I want to touch him again. I want to disappear into that space where everything makes sense and nothing else matters.
But I have to say this.
I have to get it off my chest.
I take a deep breath. Push my exhale through my nostrils.
The lights are off. The space is dark. Lit only by the soft blue of the city and the silver glow of the moon.
In the dark, my scars are faint. Barely there.
In the dark, he can't see the fear in my eyes.
How the fuck can I do this?
"Are you ever overwhelmed by your feelings?" I run my fingers over the edge of my watch. "By your life going out of control? And you need to do something, anything to take control?"
"What do you think I'm doing with my tie?"
"It's not just your scars?"
He shakes his head.
"But that's a lot of it."
"Yes. But it's the same. The need for control."
"Is that the only thing you've tried?"
"Alcohol."
"Did it work?"
"No."
"Anything else?"
"What's wrong, angel?"
"I guess it's a stupid question. With everything you went through with Bash and the accident. Of course, you felt lost. Of course, you wanted control. I'm sorry. I don't want to speak for you. I just—"
"Slow down." His fingers brush mine.
It brings me back to Earth. "I used to feel like that all the time. Overwhelmed. With nowhere to put my feelings. Even before Mom died. There was always so much going on. There was always so much in my head. And then she died, and I couldn't pull myself together enough to keep us afloat… that's when it got really bad."
"When what got bad?"
"I used to cut." I swallow hard. "I was hurt. Angry. Disappointed. And I knew the only person who could take it was me. So I… I did the only thing I could. To punish myself. To make sense of it. To feel something else, something I could control for one fucking minute. I knew I shouldn't. I knew it was dangerous. But it was addicting."
His eyes stay glued to me.
"For a while I did it all the time. Then Remy caught me. And I told him I'd stop. I went to therapy and started exercising. And I did for a while. But then things got hard again, and I didn't know any other way to handle it. I didn't have anywhere else to put my pain." I turn my arm over. "Most of the scars have faded. They're light. Barely there. Most people don't notice."
Adam runs his thumb over my wrist.
"Did you?"
"No."
"There are so many."
"You wear long sleeves."