Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
“Would a bath be better?” she asks.
Undoubtedly. My legs won’t hold me up for much longer. “I suppose.”
As Ava draws me a bath, I rest against the wall for support, and I take in every inch of the space she designed. The vanity unit, where we finally came together. The shower, where I’ve cleaned her endlessly from the top of her beautiful head to the very tips of her perfect toes. The bath, the one I braved facing because she was in it with me. A bath before Ava crashed into my life was inconceivable. I could never have soaked, relaxed, not when every bath time with Rosie would have been at the forefront of my mind.
I swallow back the building lump and find Ava. She’s staring at the vanity unit. Is she thinking all the things I’m thinking? Seeing us both in here, naked, together, smiling?
And loving, even if neither of us found the courage to speak the words?
I see her physically shaking herself back to life, clearly unable to face those thoughts. “There.” She points to the full tub and makes a hasty exit.
“You’re acting like a stranger,” I call quietly, halting her escape. We’re not strangers. Nowhere near strangers. We’re one. A force. She’s a salve to my cracked heart. She’s my soul. My fucking everything.
“I feel like a stranger.” Her voice is wobbly, riddled with emotion, and it echoes in the silence that follows. Her pain, mixed with my pain. It’s toxic. We need to be rid of it, and yet, I have no clue how to start fixing it.
With the truth.
But the truth is too risky. I’m not prepared to make any moves that’ll see this woman walking away from me again. Never. God have mercy on my soul, I have to do whatever it takes. Anything. I will protect her from the truth if it kills me.
“Please look at me, Ava,” I whisper, begging, knowing our chances of surviving this will be so much better if she could just face me. See me. Feel me.
It takes too much courage of her part, and too much fear on mine, but she turns wearily. Looks at me. And her head starts to shake, tears brimming again. “I can’t do this.” She’s gone from the bathroom faster than my brain can compute what’s just happened.
“Ava,” I yell, begging my legs not to fail me as I run after her, chasing her down the stairs, reaching for her endlessly, but I grab thin air each time, missing her. Thin air. That’s what will become of me if she makes it out of this apartment.
Nothing.
Empty.
Dead.
I dig deep for some strength and seize her wrist, yanking her back. She’s facing me in a second, and I stagger back from the force of her frantic shove. But I don’t lose my grip. I can’t lose my hold of her.
“No,” she cries out, hysterical. “Don’t touch me!” The state of her, the state I’ve made of her, crucifies me.
“Ava, don’t do this.” I try to get my face close to hers, force her to see me. “Stop.”
Every muscle in her body seems to give, taking her down to the floor by my feet. “Please, don’t,” she begs. “Please, don’t make this harder.”
I look down at her, horrified. My God, what have I done? How have I managed to transform the fierce, sass-filled lady that I fell in love with into this? A shattered woman. A woman in despair. Broken.
Every reason for me to turn my back on my past, to bury it, is on her knees before me, sobbing her heart out.
I drop to the floor and grab her shuddering body, tugging her onto me, cradling her, hugging her, rocking her back and forth while praying into her hair.
“I’m sorry,” I choke, tears starting to fall. I cry for her. Not for me. I deserve this pain. Ava does not. “I’m so, so sorry. I don’t deserve it,” I whisper, “but give me a chance. I need another chance.”
“I don’t know what to do,” she sobs, hiding in my chest from our reality. She doesn’t realize it, but she’s doing it already. My trembles have calmed. My heart is steady. My delicate skin is relishing the friction of her all over me.
“Don’t run away from me again,” I order, though it’s gentle, and she sniffles, breaking away from me. My scar tingles under her gaze as I take her face and force her to look at me. I need her eyes. No matter if they’re full of hopelessness and not the fire I so love, I need them. Just to check she’s really here. Just to check she’s real. “I’m going to make this all right,” I vow. “I’m going to make you remember, Ava.”
Her look tells me she believes me. She should. I’ll never let her down again. I’ve been in various levels of hell. This is up there with the worst of them.