Page 56 of The Dark Before Light

He sits back and inspects his carving, which looks more or less like a lumpy blob with a smaller blob attached to one side. Exchanging tools, he begins shaving off long, thin curls from the bigger section.

“One, it doesn’t make me feel better or help me forget. Two, I don’t crave it when I stop or obsess over when I can have the next drink. Three, I don’t experience a marked change in thinking. Four, I don’t make excuses for it or manipulate, deceive, or blame others.”

I study his profile, fascinated by his answer.

“You’ve clearly given it some thought.”

He smiles slightly. “Scientist.”

“Then why do it?”

He shrugs. “Boredom tops the list. In case you missed it, I basically live in a cage. A nice one, but one that’s grown substantially smaller in the last few months. And sure, sometimes booze and a blunt can blunt the emotional edges.” He smirks at his play on words.

“By emotional edges, you’re referring to feelings of stress, grief, or profound powerlessness?”

“Tomato, tomahto,” he mutters, then glances at me from beneath his lashes. “Yes, Stirling.”

“Does casual sex achieve the same result for you? Relieve those feelings?”

“No,” he says, then hesitates. A moment later, his expression twists with irritation. “Shit. I hate it when you do that.”

I give up the thin pretense of carving, setting down my tools and swiveling to face him. “Can you admit that maybe you’ve fallen into the habit of using sex like you use drugs and alcohol? Perhaps even as your primary tool to escape boredom or overwhelm?”

His lips thin, but he doesn’t say anything.

“How long has it been this way?” I ask softly.

Brows drawn together, he mumbles, “Really gonna make me say it, are you?”

“Yes.”

He sighs. “Since Liz died.”

The treasure of his growing self-awareness floats into my hands. I’m so proud of him. Whether he realizes it or not, the work we’re doing is giving him back some of the power and control he’s lost.

The next part, I know, won’t be as easy.

“Have you attempted intimacy with a woman since the threatening phone call?”

His fingers clench on the carving. “Besides you?”

“Kieran.”

He flicks an irritated look at me. “What are you getting at?”

“That like drugs and alcohol, casual sex isn’t a healthy long-term coping mechanism. Some part of you recognizes this, otherwise you’d still be using it. I’d like to understand your reasons for cutting yourself off from a new relationship.”

“Who says there’s a reason?”

“Your personality says there’s a reason.” I tick off on my fingers. “Scientist. Engineer. Strategist. Planner. Methodical to a fault?—”

“Fuck, I get it.”

“Well?”

The chisel slips, carving off more than he intended. His jaw clenches. “Pass,” he growls.

“This isn’t a trivia show.”

---