Page 61 of From the Ashes
“We gotta learn to walk before we start to run,” he murmurs. And I understand. He’s not stepping away. He’s protecting me. Giving me space, not because I need it right now, but because I might later. Because he cares.
Where was this man when I said I do?
It should have been him.
Sitting back in his chair, he takes back his fork and knife and digs into the food.
“When do you want to yell? Before or after dessert?” Carter’s delivery never misses a chance to startle me. I burst into laughter instantly. His bluntness will always be my Achilles’ heel, I just know it. How can he ask this so casually? My palms get sweaty at the thought of screaming in front of him, not that I have to, but I actually really want to do this. But thinking about it and actually doing it are two very different things. And I guess I’m chickening out a bit now.
“What is it?” he asks, tilting his head, a small crease forming near his eye. Does he even realize how unintentionally funny he is?
“I was kind of hoping you forgot about that…”
“About the yelling?”
“Yeah.” I laugh. “Yelling’s not exactly a date-night activity. Not very, uh…ladylike.” He frowns, and my eyes flick to the golden stubble on his jaw.
“But I thought you wanted to do it,” he says softly.
“I do,” I reply quickly, shaking my head. “I really do. But…I’m getting cold feet.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, it’s intimidating to do that in front of you…”
“More than me kissing your knee?”
“That’s different,” catching my lips between my teeth at the memory.
“I won’t judge you. I never judge anyone, actually.” He says, like me, yelling at our date is exceptionally normal.
“Really? I try to do that, but I can’t help myself sometimes. I feel like the only people never judging others are monks.”
“I’m no monk.”
“I know,” I blush.
“How ‘bout we finish this, you go out, let it all out, and then come back for dessert?” he states casually. He really doesn’t seem to see any issue with it. To hell with it, I’ll do it.
“Okay, yes, that’d be great.” We keep on eating while the wax on the candles melts on the tablecloth, the little heater in the corner of the room making it warm and cozy. Carter takes my hand from time to time and strokes it with his thumb. After a while, we’re both done and I fidget in my chair.
“Done?” he asks.
“Yep.”
“Do you wanna go now?” I nod, my heart pounding faster under my rib cage. It’s stupid, but my fingers start to tingle and my voice shuts down, like each time before a panic attack. The signs are there. Only this time I’m not here to absorb quietly. This time, I’m here to let my anger be loud. I step out of the cabin, leaving my cardigan inside. The cold evening air slaps my face, and the heels of my boots are digging holes into the leaves. The cabin stands proudly above a sort of cliff with a view over the city. Carter was right about choosing this place tonight; it is far enough from the city but close enough for me not to freak out about being too far from Noah. I glance at the cabin window and notice Carter’s shape behind it, standing tall, watching me, arms crossed loosely, giving me the space I need. He’s not out there with me, holding my hand or talking me through it.
This moment ismine.
And I guess he measured how monumental it was for me to do it on my own. The cold air bites at my arms, the kind that wakes up every nerve in your body. My hands curl into fists, my fingers digging into my palms. I’m shivering, but I don’t care; maybe I need to feel everything right now. Maybe it’s time to finally let the unpleasant feelings sink in. To welcome them.
Anger is okay.
Shame is okay.
Regrets are too.
I was just a girl when I married him. Now I’m a woman. I didn’t know I could say no. I didn’t know I could stand up for myself. I didn’t know I had a voice. Taking a deep breath, I open my mouth, fists clenched by my sides and ready to do what’s been petrifying me for years. I need to scream for every “I’m fine” I’ve muttered when I wasn’t, for every bruise I covered, for every time I stayed silent when I wanted to fight back.
