Total pages in book: 225
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
“You okay?” he asks, voice laced with concern. “You sick or… what happened?”
What happened? What happened?
My dam bursts and I crumble into a heap of emotion, covering my eyes, unable to swallow the ugly sob that comes from the depths of me.
I feel weight on the bed. He’s pulled himself onto it. He pulls me close, wrapping his arms tight around me.
“Chloe, hey… talk to me,” he requests softly, and this makes things worse, because he sounds like the old Adam. He feels like the old Adam.
He’s holding me tight, whispering into my hair. He actually gives a shit. And he hasn’t had the capacity to give a shit about me lately. I’ve missed it.
“I’m not built this way and I don’t think I…” I start to cry even harder, making it hard to speak.
He presses his lips to my forehead and squeezes me tighter. “God, I’m sorry.”
I weep into his chest, wrapping my arms tight around him, too.
It should feel right that he’s holding me like this, but instead, it feels strange. I don’t know how we move forward from here, if we even can move forward, but getting this reaction from him, it feels… hopeful?
I let it out. I cling to him and let it all just pour out of me. All the pain, the embarrassment, the missing him I’ve been doing for months because as hard as it is to miss someone who’s gone, which I know from losing my brother, it’s also really hard to miss someone who’s right there with you.
“You did it or you couldn’t go through with it?” he finally asks.
It takes a while for me to manage to say, “I did.”
He goes rigid and silent for a minute.
I’m about to pull away, feeling like it’s what he wants, but his grip on me tightens.
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” he says gruffly into my hair, “Please, please forgive me. I’m so sorry I pushed you.”
I reach for his face. It’s wet. Adam’s crying with me.
And this rocks my entire foundation. Because through all the anger and frustration he’s dealt with these past seven months, he hasn’t shed a tear, not in front of me at least. In the eighteen months we’ve been together, I’ve never seen him cry. He doesn’t cry during sad movies. He once told me he felt bad that he didn’t cry at his grandfather’s funeral despite that they were close, but said he just wasn’t a crier.
But he’s crying with me while he holds me.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.
I shake my head vigorously. “Never. Not ever.”
He doesn’t say anything, so I say it louder.
“Never ever ever, Adam. Never.”
“Okay,” he whispers and kisses my forehead. “If you change your mind, I’ll listen. I owe you that.”
I nod, but brokenly repeat, “Never.”
“I’m sorry I’ve been so fucked up. I’m trying. Trying not to be. I promise I am.”
I nod again, unable to form speech.
“I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to give you what you need. And it kills me. It really kills me,” Adam adds. “I owe you so much, Chloe. You’ve been incredible all these months since it happened.”
I squeeze him tighter.
He keeps talking. “You’re too young, too vibrant for the life you’re stuck in now with me,” he says softly. “This broke me. I know a lot of people bounce back and find new purpose, but this really fuckin’ broke me and I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t know if I can be the man you deserve.”
Hearing him choked up, vulnerable, it cuts like a knife.
“W-we d-don’t have to figure it all out tonight, Adam. You’ll bounce back; I know you can do it. Just can’t shut me out. I’m here for you, okay? But be here for me, too. Please. Even a little.”
He lets out a long sigh. “I hope you know that I love you.”
I manage to nod. But I don’t know if I’m being honest here, because I don’t know if he does love me. Like he’s just said, I don’t know if he’s capable of the love I need after all he’s been through. I just don’t know.
He says nothing for a minute, so I put my hand to his face and give him a soft kiss.
“What can I do to make this better?” he asks.
“Just this is enough for tonight,” I manage and snuggle in closer.
I’m holding the arms of my office chair so tight my knuckles are white. My eyes are on my screen and I’m seething at seeing him hold her like that. I want to rip his fucking face off. I want to take her and keep her where nobody but me can touch her like that. I want his blood. I want to ruin him.
I pull air in and let it out slowly, counting backwards from a hundred. Dr. Jones used to tell me to count back from ten when I felt like I would snap, that I’d find calm before I got to zero. Ten won’t cut it tonight.