Page 124 of Carnal Urges
“I’m not even sure what you’re asking. It sounds like a hell of a lot more than the normal definition of trust. Do you need a heart transplant you’re not telling me about, and you want me to be the donor?”
“Iwillneed a heart transplant by the time this is all over.”
“Great. That’s very illuminating, thank you.”
He glares at me. I want to harm him with a stick. “How about if you tell me what your definition of trust is? Let’s start there.”
He ticks off a list like he’s got it tattooed on his brain. “No lies. No hiding. Complete loyalty. Complete dedication. Your life before mine, and vice versa. Everything I have is yours, and vice versa.”
“Sounds like joining a cult.”
“I wasn’t finished.”
“Jesus.”
“We always have each other’s back. We always keep our promises. And secrets are a thing of the past.”
His voice dropped on the last one. Dropped lower and gained weight, like a sinking ship taking on water.
Looking at him closely, I say, “You have a lot of secrets, don’t you?”
“You know I do.”
“And you want to tell them to me?”
“I want you to understand who I am.”
“I think I already do.”
“No, lass. Your understanding is the outer layer of an onion. The dry, thin skin. To get to who I really am will take a bit of concentrated peeling.”
“I have no idea where you’re getting your metaphors, but I’d like to point out that trust is something that evolves over time. It’s organic. It’s based on experience.”
“Wrong. Trust is a decision. You can make it between breaths.” He pauses for effect before he delivers his killing blow. “Like you did with me in the shower.”
I hate it when people have excellent memories.
“Hold on. Let me uncross my eyeballs. Are you saying that if I told you right now that you could trust me, that would be it? You would?”
“Aye.”
“And you’d tell me all your onion peel stories?”
“Aye.”
“Pardon the insult, but that seems extremely naïve for a man in your position.”
“It would be, if I didn’t already know you’d never say I could trust you if I couldn’t.”
Dammit. This relationship will never work if he’s going to be right all the time. “I propose a compromise.”
“I don’t like compromises.”
“What a colossal surprise. As I was saying, I think there’s a middleground somewhere between the two extremes. Why don’t you tell me one secret, and we’ll go from there?”
When he only stares at me, lips flattened, I say, “A small one. Like why you never wear a color other than black. Think of it like trust with training wheels.”
After a moment where he practices his glower, he says darkly, “There will come a time, lass, and very soon, when I’ll need to know one way or the other.”
