Page 87 of Deeply Examined

His jaw tightens, but he gives a curt nod.

“I’ll call you later. I promise.” I turn my back on the storm clouds in his eyes and walk away.

Adam

The fireplace is lit, flames dancing with each other. Usually I find its warmth comforting, but tonight it mocks me. The fire hisses, crackles like it’s laughing at me. It seems to say, “You lost her, you idiot. Today you told her everything, let her see how ugly you are on the inside. You think anyone can love you after that?You pathetic piece of shit.”

I wince. That last part—I recognize that voice.

Mom, on her worst days.

The memory of her saying those words makes my stomach swirl with fear and loathing. She’ll never leave me, not really. I’ve carried her voice like a curse, every cruel word etched into the marrow of my bones. But when Jessica was here, it got quieter.

Jessica.

Jessica who I had, who loved me.

Jessica who I lied to, who I lost.

I wonder what she’s doing now? Probably registering with the witness protection agency. Changing her name, dying her hair, anything to shake me off her trail. It won’t work, though. I meant what I said in the hallway. I’ll follow her to the ends of the earth.

There’s a click from the doorway. I turn just as she steps in. Rosy-cheeked, pale hair glowing, reflecting the flames. Such a fucking vision that I almost buckle to my knees.

“Jess.” Wonder bleeds into my voice.

She stares at the floor. Awkwardly standing in the doorway like she needs permission to enter what I already think of as her home.

“You didn’t change the door lock,” she says quietly. “My thumbprint still works.”

My chest aches. I make my voice as soft and nonthreatening as possible. She’s like a butterfly perched on the edge of a flower. A strong breeze might send her fluttering away.

“I’ll never change it. You’re always welcome here. Come in.” I beckon, waving her toward where I sit on the couch, where we’ve read together, made love.

She approaches, moving so slowly it’s torture. She trails her fingers along the kitchen counter, meanders over to the bookcase, pauses to look out the window. I want to scream, to run to her, but I don’t. To calm myself, I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, hoping this is her stalling, her hesitating so she can make the right decision.

Finally, she stops a few feet away. Out of arm’s reach. She eyes me. “I—I wasn’t sure if I was going to come.”

“Me either,” I answer honestly.

My fingers flex against my thighs, aching for her warmth, her weight. I’m clenching each muscle. That’s how much effort it takes to stop myself from grabbing her, dragging her to me, but if I move too soon, I’ll ruin this.

She looks at the fire, silent for a long pensive moment. I’m sure then that she’s come to tell me good-bye. My stomach clenches. I brace for her to break the news and run to the door.

When she finally speaks, her voice is soft. “I’ve been thinking a lot about love. About how it’s not until you love someone that you find out who you really are. When you love someone, they test you, stretch the fabric of your morals, redefine your self-worth. Love transforms. Sometimes it brings out your best, or it can make you become smaller, a worse version of yourself.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to watch when she walks away. “Is that what you think I’ve done to you? Forced you to be smaller? To fit into the boundaries of what I want? I know I’m not the fairytale ending you probably dreamed about.”

I dare to open my eyes to see her looking at me with her face drawn, serious. She takes a step closer. A single step, but it feels like an ocean of divide has been reduced to a trickle of a stream. One that we can cross to reach each other. Hope flickers to life in me, a fragile flame.

Her voice steady, Jessica says, “That’s the thing. With you, I’ve never felt more alive. You’ve made me bigger, braver, than I ever thought I could be. You taught me the power of my own voice—how to speak up, to demand what I want.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“It is…but then you lied to me. You violated my trust. You could have just asked me where I was going, where I would be. You didn’t have to take information I would have freely given. I told you trust is important to me. My parents, they were good to each other, never lied to each other. I want a love like that.”

The sting of shame is tempered by the knowledge that I would make the same decision again and again. I need to know everything about her. To protect her and to love her are the same thing in my mind, inexorably bound together.

Still, she has a point. “Maybe I’m the one who needs to work on trust. Trusting you to be okay without me being so overbearing. It’s just—that’s nearly impossible for me.”

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